by Andy Remic
“Hey, lover.” She moved to him, snuggled beside him, pressed up tight to him with tiny wriggling movements. Keenan laughed, stroking her hair with affection.
“Now you’re blocking the fire.”
“I’m cold. I was out fishing.”
“And now you’re wet! Eurgh! And you brought back the stink of fish! Is that supposed to impress me? Am I supposed to fall head-over-heels in love with you?”
“Maybe,” she growled, nuzzling under his chin.
“Did you catch anything? Or do we have to starve?”
“Yeah. I caught plenty. Enough for four days.”
“That’s excellent!”
Pippa pulled away a little. “Why’s that?” She raised her eyebrows, frowning.
“It means I don’t have to get out of bed.”
“Why, you lazy son-of-a-bitch!” She smacked his iron bicep.
“Hey, less of the abuse. I’m a gentle soul, y’know.”
“Could have fooled me.”
They lay, cuddled, in comfortable silence. For long minutes Keenan thought Pippa was asleep. But she spoke, eyes closed, lips pressed against his throat so the words tickled him. “I was thinking... about later, when, and if, we get home.”
“Yeah?”
“About me. And you.”
“Hmm?”
“Your kids. Your girls. Rachel. Ally. Do you think they’d...?”
Keenan pulled back, looked down into Pippa’s face. Still, her eyes remained closed. He gritted his teeth, wondering where this was leading and feeling suddenly like a stranded toddler atop the middle of a cracked and frozen lake. Helpless.
“Go on,” he whispered.
“Do you think they’d ever... take to me? As a mother, I mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do think I’m maternal, don’t you?”
“I do, my love.”
“I’d like to try and be their mother. One day.”
Keenan stroked Pippa’s damp, black hair, watched her fall into a lulled sleep. Then his eyes moved over her, to the fire beyond and the beckoning twisted limbs of wood, scorched and seared, and being slowly, inevitably, consumed.
Just like me, he’d thought.
And in his sleep dream nightmare Pippa’s face began to change and warp, morphing agonisingly into the face of a junk lying breathing gently in his arms and Keenan bit back a scream as he gazed down into that pitted metal face. Pippa opened her eyes, blood-red eyes, and she twisted, hauling him to the sand and pinning him violently down, cackling coldly as she drooled liquid putrefaction into his open, screaming maw...
“Shit.”
He awoke before dawn, shivering, cold, his Techrim in his battered hand. He stood and stretched, spine crackling, WORM-strips pulling tight, but there was no sign of Cam. He peered from the ring of rocks, then sat and watched the sun rise, sparkling over hills and mountains. Such a beautiful, sweeping, majestic land, he thought. And now it had been taken by force. Invaded. He shook his head. I thought we’d left the dark behind.
Cam appeared. “You OK?”
“I’ve felt better,” grunted Keenan.
“I failed to decode the SinScript. It is incredibly complex. But I found a manufacturer’s identity mark.”
“Where was it made?”
“What other planet would deal with immoral death-bringing toxic lifeforms? The City, Keenan, The City in all its glorious, humble decadence.”
“Great. You found QGM or Steinhauer?”
“No, we’ll have to break the signal blockade first. The good news is I’ve located transport via a pirate signal. We’re about seventy klicks from a billionaire’s extravagant PlayPad. Seems he has his own private Y Shuttle; I’ve made contact with the machine which calls itself the Drunk and Loving It; it won’t be hard to crack.” Cam sounded confident.
“I assume the junks have stuff in orbit?”
“They’ve some Cargo Hulker Class Is, and a few Marine and Offence Frigates. Most of their force appears to have invaded. From what I can scan.”
“I hope you’re right; if we leave in a damn Y Shuttle and the junks have Interceptors or Hunters—well, we’re dog meat. You realise that? And I bet you a pretty penny those bastards will be watching. Like you said, there’s a bigger game being played. They won’t want muppets jumping planet and running crying to QGM.”
“Well Keenan.” Cam watched him carefully. “We’ll just have to see what kind of pilot you really are.”
Keenan barked a laugh, and scratched his stubble. He lit a cigarette, smoke from the harsh Widow Maker tobacco filling the clearing. The flare of an open flame gleamed against his dark, narrowed eyes. “If those fuckers cross me again, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he snarled.
“Glad to have you back,” said Cam, and buzzed a little tune.
~ * ~
CHAPTER 5
THE QUANTUM CARNIVAL
The theft of the Y Shuttle went without hitch. They cruised up into the Big Blue, which gradually eased into black. Thankfully, Cam’s orbital scans had been correct; the junks were focusing on attack and their heavy-grade industrial military transports were easily side-stepped.
Keenan wandered into the cockpit of the Y Shuttle Drunk and Loving It, and slumped onto a pilot’s couch. Cam was floating, immobile, with no case lights showing.
“You awake?”
“Of course I’m awake. I’m piloting this craft.”
“You don’t look like you’re piloting this craft.”
“Well, I am.”
Keenan pulled free a small flask of Jataxa and wetted his lips; then, with a glance at Cam, took a long gulp. He sighed, leant back, rested his head against the faux leather upholstery.
“Is that wise?”
“Are you my mom?”
“We’ve had this discussion before, Keenan. A thousand times. You said you’d stop.”
Keenan laughed. “Yeah. Only to shut you up, you nagging little bastard. OK. OK. Listen, I’ll try my best.” He placed the flask on the cockpit controls. “See? There? I’ve put it aside. Won’t touch another drop today. Scout’s honour.”
They slammed through the darkness of space, through trails of dust and endless void.
Keenan slept, hunched in the pilot’s chair, trusting the PopBot implicitly with piloting duties. A Y Shuttle was basic, with no form of sentient control. For a PopBot, it was child’s play.
Keenan yawned, opening his eyes.
“I’ve found a QGM Mobile Incident Unit. And General Steinhauer.”
“An MIU? Where?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Hit me.”
“The City.”
Keenan chewed his lip. “That’s... coincidental. Franco’s down there. What’s the little maggot been up to this time?” He laughed, but his joke fell flat. It’d take more than Franco Haggis to bring the might of a QGM Mobile Incident Unit into The City’s post-orbit.
“I’m just scanning QGM beacons.”
Keenan nodded, and pulled out his PAD. A PAD was a tiny mobile communication unit used by Combat K special forces; it was superbly powerful and could be used for messages Quad-Galaxy wide. A PAD also had an assortment of tiny weapon mods and intricate devices which could be used in the many uncompromising situations a Combat K squaddie encountered. It was the basis of all Combat K missions.
Keenan tapped the blue screen, then MESSAGES. He stared at the text; it had been sent by Franco only a few days previous, and Keenan had been waiting for Cam’s return in order to make the necessary travel arrangements.
Hey buddy, you’ll never believe it! I’m getting married! As you know, you’re my best mate, my only mate in fact, ‘cos I’m mad, but I want you to be my Best Man! The chick’s called Mel, she’s utterly gorgeous, and even more mad than me! Has to be, or we wouldn’t be getting wed. So, when you’ve got a free minute, get your arse over to The City and look me up. We’ve got a lot to discuss.
Keenan grinned. The text was Franco al
l over, ever the optimist, ever the wild man. But now he was... what? Trapped down on the city whilst God-only knew what sort of military shit was going on?
“OK. Got it. I’ve been granted download permissions.” Cam’s voice became suddenly bleak. “It would seem The City is under martial law.”
“Why?”
“There’s been an outbreak.”
“What kind of outbreak?”
“We’ll find out when we get there. You still want to see Steinhauer?”
“Yes. Have you sent them a report on the junks?”
“Doing it... now.”
Keenan nodded, silent and grim, and thought about Franco.
~ * ~
Pushing the Y Shuttle’s engines to the point of death, it took Keenan and Cam eight days of insane and merciless acceleration to reach the outskirts of The City. However, the journey left half the Shuttle’s engine pistons strewn across Sinax Cluster.
During that time, they received reports from Steinhauer on scouts sent to Galhari concerning the sudden invasion of junks. Other than that, communications silence was enforced.
The City had no laws, no immigration, no customs and excise. It also had no, official, police force—only a disparate group of privately owned agencies and armies, used for personal, political or financial gain on this, the Quad-Gal’s biggest steaming piss-pot of decadence, debauchery and anarchy. As such, there was no single company to police immigration—or to stop unwanted landings, despite the “outbreak” emergency currently unfolding on the streets and alleys below. The City and its inhabitants expounded the moral stance of freedom, a totality of no restraint. The City and its inhabitants had a core philosophy of what will be, will be. A shame, because what could happen, had happened.
Keenan whistled as they drew closer to The City, slamming past a Mammoth Class II cargo ship, in this case being used to run missions for Quad-Gal Military. They cruised under kilometres of dull grey steel. Ion Gunships and Fast Attack Hornets zipped and whizzed around the exterior, like a million insects around a huge hive. A thousand times they were challenged, and a thousand times Cam secured them passage.
“What’s going on, Cam?”
“We’ve just passed the EVH cordon.”
“What’s an EVH cordon?”
“An Event Horizon Cordon. Now, there’s no going back.”
“That’s just... just great.”
“You know Keenan, I’ve got a funny feeling in the pit of my... atomic furnace, that you’re going to end up going down to The City.”
“Ha! Yeah. So do I. Are QGM down on the city streets in force? Sorting out whatever problem’s dragged the military kicking and screaming across ten billion klicks?”
“No. QGM have imposed a circle of restraint. But they’re keeping their distance. Whatever’s kicked off on The City, well Keenan, it’s big time, my friend.”
Keenan rubbed his stubble. “How much hardware?”
“Ten Mammoth Class IIs, and fifty Titan Class Ills.”
“Fifty? Fifty? Cam, that’s enough flotilla to conquer a galaxy.”
“Still scanning, Keenan. Give me a minute. I’m trying to discover what’s going down.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Shut—up—data—streams—painful.”
Keenan clamped his teeth, pulled out his Techrim 11mm, slammed it on the console in temper, then rolled himself a Widow Maker cigarette. He lit the weed, annoyed even when the internal fans clicked on to extract pollutant. “Shit,” he muttered, grabbing his Jataxa spirit and taking a huge swallow. “We leave one war zone just to enter another. The Gods truly are insane. And laughing and pointing at me.”
There came a buzz from the small security Pop-Bot. It rotated, red lights flickering at Keenan. “OK. We’re going to merge with Steinhauer; he’ll be able to answer your questions. He seems... very keen to meet you.”
“Yeah?” Suspicious.
“Yes, Keenan. QGM have a problem.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing fifty damn Titans couldn’t sort out,” he muttered.
The Y Shuttle slammed past a Titan Class III, and Cam gyrated madly as they were caught in a Boomerang. A Boomerang was a capture net of force-fields which locked onto a ship and brought it around in a gentle arc to dock... decelerating it in the process.
“Steinhauer’s in there?”
“Yeah. They’re waiting for you, Keenan.”
“I knew it was going to be a bad day.”
“Franco’s down there on The City. He’s your friend. You should help if you can.”
Keenan stared at the PopBot. “I know that, Cam. I know.”
Cam remained silent, and they watched grey fill their vision until tiny specks of light in the wall of grey became huge docking mouths which grew and expanded, ringed with emergency doors like rows of teeth. The Y Shuttle was sent like an unwilling sacrifice into a moon-sized maw, and behind, spirals of alloy whirled and closed, sealing the Shuttle in the belly of the Titan.
~ * ~
Doors meshed and Keenan squinted out onto the ramp. Ten soldiers were waiting, uniforms crisp and smart, weapons tracked on him. He strode down the ramp, boots clumping, hands open palms outwards to show he was unarmed. A Widow Maker dangled from his lips and he squinted through smoke as he stepped onto the vast metal floor of the docking mouth.
“How’s it going, guys?” said Keenan through a tight grin.
“Sir, please accompany us. Your counsel is urgently requested.”
Keenan squinted at the badges of rank on the young officer’s uniform. “Sir?” He laughed a hollow laugh. “And you would be?”
“Captain J. K. Neggra.”
“This your ship, Captain?”
“Negative, Mr Keenan. This is a Titan III. I don’t rank that high. I wish I did.”
They walked, and with a squawk Cam found himself surrounded by a sudden flurry of BattleBots—far, far superior to a simple PopBot mechanism. BattleBots were machines built for war. They were matt green, and stamped with stencilled lettering. They growled and jostled Cam into a holding cage. Cam decided not to argue as the hotbars fizzed. Instead, he simply revelled in superior intellect.
Keenan was marched, smoking, through long corridors and up endless speedy lifts. Finally, he was ushered into a long low room glittering with terminals. The far wall was a sea of black looking out onto the gulf of space. Distantly, The City glowed.
A man stood, surveying the vista.
Keenan walked forward, feeling like a schoolboy approaching a headmaster. The man turned and smiled. He was large, grey haired, with square sideburns and pock-marked skin. His face was flat, jaw angular, eyes dark and unreadable. He was large-framed, and had put on some weight since Keenan last saw him. Fat disguised muscle, but Keenan knew this man was as strong as an ox. He had to be: he’d trained Keenan.
“How are you, old friend?” The man’s voice was soft.
“You’ve heard about the junk invasion of Galhari, General?”
“Straight to the point, Keenan. As ever.”
Keenan stared hard at Steinhauer. “It’s a subject close to my heart.”
“Then, yes. We have a Mobile Incident Unit on path. The problem is, the junks are highly toxic—as you know. And with ten million on the planet...” he let the sentence hang.
“It’s infected. So you can’t send in the infantry.”
Steinhauer nodded, turned, stared back at the distant glow of The City.
“They’ve poisoned it, Keenan. And they poisoned you.”
“I’m not infected. Cam checked me over.”
“You have forty-eight hours to live. Unless I administer an antidote.”
Keenan held up his hands. “Whoa. Hold on, Steinhauer. You forget—I know you, I know how you operate. You brought us Combat K boys up real good; you allowed us to think. I trust you, but I’m not sure I trust you that much.”
“Yes!” hissed Steinhauer suddenly, “I trained you, so use your brain now, Keenan. The Quad-Gal fring
es are awash with junks, millions of them, advancing, polluting, spreading their toxic wrath. We thought they were extinct. Ten million, Cam reported. Is that just the beginning? Where did they come from? What do they want? Keenan, Cam told us what you carry. An excised SinScript. This could be the key for us, the key to Quad-Gal Military halting the junks. And... we know about Franco Haggis down there; you were to pay him a visit.” Steinhauer smiled. His eyes glittered. “I suggest you still go ahead with that journey. Catch up with your old friend. Have a chat. Things are... strained on the planet at the moment, but we will give you every bit of help you need.”