by Andy Remic
Go easy now, my little honey pot, thought Xakus as he backed away from the impending slaughter. HTanks can be dangerous weapons depending on what shells they’re carrying...
Don’t worry, thought back MICHELLE. I have every angle covered. Go and join Knuckles and Olga. Me and the boys can sort out this little raiding party!
An HTank fired, twin guns recoiling with a massive boom. MICHELLE slammed left, clanking, joints rolling as shells whistled past her flat vertical ears. She leapt forward, a huge fist slamming down to smash with terrifying force against the HTank’s hull, shunting it down into the ground which cracked and buckled under impact. Revving engines, the other HTanks leapt forward, treads squealing, guns pounding. MICHELLE dodged the shells, grabbed one HTank by twin barrels, and rolling back, twisting, she hurled it away in a flail of broken flapping panels. The HTank connected with a wall of Porky Pauper SlamTruks, there was spark of ignition and a fireball raged at the sky carrying whirling SlamTruk trailers and parts of a destroyed and decimated HTank... and illuminating the whole depot and surrounding warehouses in eerie green firelight. Smoke rolled out like a nuclear pall, lit by flaming shards of molten metal. Noise slapped the sky.
More guns fired, and MICHELLE stomped down on an HTank with a huge cubic boot, again and again with rending, tearing squeals of compressing alloy. The HTank finally groaned, and collapsed into a buckled V.
The HTank sporting Justice D had reversed, hard, to lead the battle from the rear. MICHELLE leapt again, the whole Porky Pauper depot shaking as she grabbed an HTank in each mammoth fist and whirled them through the air to collide, with a thundering crash. Again and again she smashed the HTanks together, trailing cables and panels and squealing treads, as far below Franco and Keenan retreated, MPKs thundering until with a final, titanic crash the battered HTanks exploded and sailed across the depot, hitting the ground in a tangled mash of merging melting alloy, guns bent, wheels skittering free, fire pounding the sky. Fiery grooves scarred the depot’s concretealloy as the mangled mess slid to a halt with a groan. Keenan and Franco looked at one another, ears ringing after the harsh metal onslaught. MICHELLE turned, as Justice D’s final HTank slammed and the shell caught her in the midriff. Her hands fastened around the glowing ball, locked, for a moment, as her head snapped up in realisation. The shell detonated, and fire raged over MICHELLE, engulfing her in screaming, billowing heat. Below her metal boots concretealloy buckled, cracked, and formed irregular pools of molten metal.
Xakus surged forward...
Keenan grabbed him. “Whoa, pal. You can’t go out there!”
Xakus strained for a moment. “I have to help her!”
“You can’t help her,” hissed Franco, voice low, Kekra against his cheek. “What you gonna do? Kill a tank?”
Xakus strained, and Keenan had to use both hands. “Wait!” he snapped. “Watch!”
The flames started to die down. As smoke and flames cleared, they saw MICHELLE was scarred, blackened, but still... alive. She had dropped to one knee, and with a creak her head lifted to fix on...
Justice D, striding through clouds of thick belching smoke. Metal debris littered the floor, twisted and buckled, reflecting the glow of flickering fire. He carried what looked like a long rifle, cradled in his arms. He seemed perfectly calm, tiny, out of his depth as he stared up at the fifty-foot bio-mechanical killer with something akin to a child’s curiosity. MICHELLE towered over him, smoke billowing from her shrapnel-embedded shell. Her face snarled...
Keenan blinked. Something clicked bad in his mind. Recognition. “Shit,” he snarled, MPK rising but it was too late.
Justice D lowered the IMS—an industrial molecule stripper, used predominately for hardcore demolition work. It reduced most materials to component atoms. The IMS was whining like a caged animal. Justice D and MICHELLE locked false eyes... digital to digital... and Justice D fired.
There was a whump.
MICHELLE’S legs were severed at the knees, and she toppled forward with a look of surprise on her woven face. Her steel eyes hissed as panels slid across one another.
“No!” screamed Xakus, sprinting towards her.
“Franco?” said Keenan, voice steady.
“I’m on it.”
Franco smoothly drew his Bausch & Harris Sniper Rifle; he steadied the weapon, and SSGK digital sights hummed. Franco released his breath, calm, and squeezed off a single shot. The bullet whirred across the clearing and slapped into one of Justice D’s mechanical eyes, flipping the SIM backwards to lie, stunned, on the ground.
“Good shot.”
“Cheers.”
“He’s not dead.”
“I know that.”
“I’ll get us transport. Keep everybody together. Here.”
Franco winked. “I can do that, mate.”
Keenan jogged off around the smoke-filled depot.
Franco aimed down the SSGK, watched Justice D push himself onto his knees. SIMs were notoriously tough; what Franco often called hard bastards to kill. He sighted carefully, knowing it was pointless shooting at the SIM’s armoured hide, arms, legs, neck, and even head. Even a Bausch & Harris round wouldn’t penetrate. But a SIM’s eyes... Franco grinned. That was its weak spot.
Knuckles touched Franco’s arm. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No lad. But it’s a brave offer. Thanks.”
“Why didn’t the bullet enter his skull?”
“Because it’s solid,” grinned Franco, then glanced, worried, at Xakus. The old black man had run across the buckled, glowing, smoke-filled depot, kicking through bits of smouldering metal and savaged mechanism. He fell to his knees beside MICHELLE’S huge, angular face. They seemed to be talking, but without words.
Franco relaxed, and aimed again. Justice D struggled to his feet, anger his mistress, and staggered towards the IMS. His intention was obvious: he was going to mow them all down with the devastating industrial weapon. Vaporise them into component dust! Franco breathed free, gave himself a single, permissible nod, and squeezed the trigger for a second time.
The bullet slammed Justice D’s one working eye, shattering the high-tech optics and slamming off into the sky. Justice D hit the ground again, twisting, and this time the SIM groaned.
In the background, fire roared a symphony.
Green light shimmered, sending long shadows stretching over the scene.
Heat pulsed across the desecrated depot yard.
Franco strode past the dying form of MICHELLE, to halt at the SIM’s groping hands. He kicked the IMS away, and it clattered over broken metal. At the noise, Justice D lunged for Franco, but the squaddie leapt back. He smiled at the ironic reversal.
“What’s it like to live in fear, little man?”
“The human has blinded me! The human will die for this!”
“I think you’ve uttered your last threat. Buttered your last toast. And believe me, mate, you’ve eaten your last pork pie!” Franco turned, stared at Xakus who was weeping, rocking backwards and forwards, his hands on MICHELLE’S dying, pain-filled face. The bio-mechanical war machine had leaked a lake of blood. Franco could see tubes and wire erupting like arteries from her severed legs; they were still pumping, gushing, foaming ersatz blood into the gutter.
Knuckles ran to Xakus, and helped the man to his feet. Franco joined them, and placed his hand tenderly on Xakus’ shoulder. Behind them, the SIM started to squeal and wail, high-pitched feminine shrieks which shattered the ambience of the war-buckled depot as he pounded his fists against the ground in pure frustration.
“She died to save us,” said Franco.
“I know that. But... I could never explain the bond between us. She was more human than human to me. I... loved her.”
Franco nodded, knowing he did not have the words to ease Xakus’s pain. Then he turned, and Olga approached. She pointed at the sky, through clouds of smoke. “The battle is growing close. It will be here soon. Then we know which sides fight, yes?”
“I think we have a b
igger problem than that,” said Knuckles.
“What’s that, lad?”
The final, remaining HTank—which had shelled MICHELLE and given Justice D time to attack on foot with the IMS—revved its engines with a spurt of chemical exhaust. It had crept forward through the smoke, masked, hidden, overlooked. Closer and closer... until it stopped only a short distance from the group.
“Oh dear,” said Olga, eyes wide. She cracked huge knuckles and squared herself. “Time to fight.”
“Damn and bloody bugger! I forgot about that bloody badgering bastard!” Franco scrabbled in his pack for bombs as the HTank roared and charged, slamming and crunching through debris crushing and pounding and pulping everything under compressor tracks as huge twin guns turned, rotated, with an agonising precision to reveal twin black eyes locked on the group with a promise of violence and disintegration and death...
~ * ~
Keenan climbed the ladder, rungs cold even through gloves. He reached the corrugated roof of the depot out-building, squinted through smoke, heard the rev of engines and sprinted with all his might, boots pounding the roof as the HTank sped below and he leapt, teeth grinding, fists clenched, landing on the HTank’s hull in a crouch. He popped the pin from a BABE concussion grenade and dropped it through the open hatchway. There came a muffled crack. The HTank slewed sideways, missing the huddled gathering of vulnerable, shivering flesh, and grinding to a shuddering, juddering halt. The engine died. Keenan, crouched on the turret, glanced down at Franco who gave him a grim nod and thumbs up. Keenan aimed his MPK through the hatchway and bullets screamed, echoing and ricocheting in the HTank’s belly. Smoke rolled up from the dark hatch. It stunk of death.
“I’m coming out!” The voice was gravelled, and filled with a heavy, guttural coughing.
Keenan took a backward step down the HTank’s hull as the SIM appeared, bloody and tattered, torn and with one side of its semi-mechanical head caved in. Gore glistened, and blood had run out from beneath shattered mechanical eyes.
The SIM struggled out, and staggered across the hull of the HTank. It dropped to the floor, stumbled, and fell to its knees with Franco covering it with his Kekras.
Warily, Keenan leapt down into the HTank’s interior, then reappeared. “It’s clear.”
Franco glanced at Xakus. “You want to kill it?”
“No.”
“It helped murder... MICHELLE.”
“I am a peaceful man,” said Xakus, eyes filled with tears.
Franco lowered his gun, then leapt back as the SIM was suddenly slammed in half, the body sliding in two directions, melted flesh glowing, a cross-section of abdomen, bowel, spine, fat, flesh, all sliding and melding together to an accompanying aroma of roast pig.
Franco’s head rose, slowly, to stare at Knuckles. The young lad’s face was grim, tears on his cheeks streaking lines through smears of dirt. He held the IMS not quite pointing at the group.
“Drop the weapon, lad,” said Franco, voice soothing.
“I had to kill it! It wanted us dead!”
“Sure you did, son.” Franco moved forward, stepping over the slopped SIM corpse. He reached out, prised the IMS from Knuckles’ knuckles, then glanced back at Keenan as Olga hurried forward to embrace the shivering child. Keenan nodded as a concept flickered between the two Combat K men—
Knuckles was a danger to himself, to the group, and to the mission. They needed to cut him free, but safely... The group dynamic had become too complex. And where they were going, deep into the heart of The Hammer Syndicate... well, they’d be lucky to walk out alive.
Franco moved to Knuckles. “Look at me, lad.”
“Yes?” There was a snarl of defiance there; Franco smiled.
“You’ve proved yourself efficient. So I’ve got a job for you.”
Knuckles’ eyes narrowed. “You’re getting rid of me.”
“No lad. This is important.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Franco eyed the approaching battle; he needed something to keep Knuckles occupied, to get him away from the battle and the huge concentration of zombies.
“We’re heading for The Black Rose Citadel— NanoTek’s HQ. But we can’t infiltrate alone. There’s a man, a Combat K man, Slick Guinness. You need to find him. Tell him what we’re doing, explain about the corruption of the biomods. Tell him to round up any Combat K squaddies who still survive in The City—and to bring them to us, to The Black Rose. We’ll need all the help we can get. Can you do that?”
“Where will I start?”
“I’ll write down his address. Can you do this?”
“I can do it.”
“Franco, why are you sending ze boy away?” scowled Olga. “He will die for sure!”
“No!” Franco glared at her. “You understand? We’re heading to The Hammer Syndicate. And NanoTek. You’ve heard of those guys, right? And you’d want me to drag a ten-year-old into their lair?”
Olga nodded. She laid a hand on Knuckles’ shoulder. “I will help him. I will take him to zis Slick Guinness. But I do it for you, Franco. Because you saved my life. Because I... have feelings for you.”
“I am betrothed to another,” croaked Franco.
“Still. I will wait for you. If it take eternity!”
Franco stared at her quivering bulk, and gave a weak smile. “Whatever you say, love.”
An engine roared, and Franco glanced over to Keenan who’d hot-wired a Jeep 6X6. Fumes plumed from spluttering exhaust. Franco pointed to the vehicle. “Your transport.”
Olga suddenly reached out, clasped Franco’s cheeks between the iron grip of mighty hands, and planted a long and lingering kiss on his lips. Franco squirmed and grunted, kicking his legs as Olga lifted him from the ground, still kissing him, her eyes closed and mind lost in a faraway place of romance and pleasure. Then she dropped him, suddenly, and he hit the ground on his arse.
“Knuckles! Come! We have ze important mission, no?”
Knuckles saluted, giving Franco a lop-sided (and somewhat evil) grin, and followed his adopted matriarch to the Jeep. He turned then, staring at the three men, and the slow spinning battered PopBot. “I won’t let you down,” he said, and gave a single nod.
The group watched the mammoth figure of Olga reverse the Jeep with a clatter of crunching debris, and head off through rubble and smoke, heading away from the fast-approaching roar of battle.
An eerie veil descended through the smoke. Distantly, guns rattled. An explosion lit the underside of the clouds—and the sky suddenly ignited in a roaring sheet of flame, a nuclear umbilical between World and God.
“Will they be safe?” said Xakus, voice soft.
“Safer than with us,” grunted Franco.
“That was a clever thing you did,” said Cam, moving close to Franco. “You have probably saved both their lives. I doubt they will even find Slick Guinness; not in this insanity, this mess of a world. You have gone up in my estimation, Franco Haggis. You are a kind man. A man of honourable character.”
“Bugger off, you little poisoned scrotum,” said the old soldier, scowling.
“Also, I’m absolutely certain your plan had nothing to do with getting rid of a certain amorous member of the party.”
Franco eyed the machine beadily. “I don’t know what you mean. She chose to help him. She chose her own path.”
“Olga would never have let Knuckles travel alone. And she had, on six previous occasions, shown signs of mothering the boy. It doesn’t take a brain-box to work out the probable outcome of sending Knuckles on a mission.”
“Like I said, I don’t know what you mean.”
The HTank roared into life, and Keenan popped from the hatch. “Time to move, guys. The BABE caused only superficial damage; this monster is still operational.”
“Oh no,” said Franco. “I remember what happened the last time you drove an HTank. You sent it over a cliff, all rolling down and smashing trees and ending up on its roof on top of a guard barracks! You were drunk
er than a skunk and singing a song about sausages!”
Keenan stared hard at Franco. “That was you, dickhead.”
“So it was.”
“Get in. And Franco?”
“Yeah boss?”
“Grab the IMS. We might need it later.”
~ * ~
In a dark vault beneath the earth it waited, without power, without sense, without intelligence, without emotion, without instruction, without focus. It was one step away from death. Drowning and lost, deep below a catatonic state of sleep.
It rotated, a slow, aimless drifting on ionised currents which preserved its State.