Warhead

by Andy Remic

  ‘This way,’ snapped the guide. He held a digital map.

  The large group of armed fighters flowed through the building. At each key choke point they locked and barred doors, using industrial nail guns to fix them in place and leaving behind a few heavily armed men.

  ‘It’ll take the bastards hours to get through,’ said Sonia. ‘Hopefully we won’t need that long.’ She glanced at Constanza. The dark-haired woman’s face was stony. Her eyes, dark and forbidding, were fixed on the task ahead. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Let’s get this done. I want my life back.’

  ‘As do we all,’ muttered Sonia.

  They padded through plush carpeted corridors, up short flights of stairs and marble ramps. The tower was quiet inside, almost entirely deserted. Something big was indeed going down.

  Reaching the studios, Sonia J paused with her hand on the door. It was familiar—every studio in every Sentinel Tower across the globe was modelled on the same design.

  ‘You sure you can do this, Constanza?’ asked Sonia.

  ‘Just show me the keyboard. Now that we’re in, I can get direct links to the HIVE Media core mainframe. My little implanted subroutines will have been working hard—I should have control of the whole network within a few minutes.’

  Sonia could sense the studio on the other side of the door. Above it, a little rectangle glowed with the words ON AIR. She took a deep breath, prayed to the ghosts of her dead husband and child, and pushed open the door with a sudden violent movement, stepping back for the very last time into her media world ...

  The Comanche thundered through the African sunlight. Ahead, squatting black and massive against an endless expanse of bright blue sky, was the Dreadnought. Dreadnought NGO—the central core unit, hanging immobile two kilometres above the undulating plains, red-dust plateaux and jagged spinal mountains of Ethiopia.

  ‘That is huge,’ came Jam’s soft, rumbling growl.

  Carter nodded, his eyes focused ahead. ‘Yeah. Big and ugly. Just like you.’

  The Comanche climbed, gaining height, armoured rotors thumping. Scanners screamed then, scrolling with read-outs, highlighting a hundred different threats through the HIDSS and on cam-monitors inside the cabin. Carter’s jaw tightened, muscles clenching, and his eyes narrowed as below him he saw the sprawl of tanks, FukTruks, massive gun emplacements and SAM sites.

  This is it, he thought.

  This is the moment.

  Alarms sounded, red lights flashing and scattering across displays.

  ‘Durell won’t open fire,’ said Jam.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He will let you through. You have been invited.’ Jam’s head tilted, copper eyes staring at Carter’s back.

  Carter smiled then, without humour, his face a mocking skull mask beneath the HIDSS. ‘You ready for this, Jam?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You ready to meet your maker?’

  ‘I am ready to kill my god.’

  The Comanche had risen high above the Dreadnought. Now the world spread out below them, its focus a huge black rectangle of pitted, grooved alloy with scatterings of scanners, missiles, radar dishes, comms poles and stepped buttresses.

  ‘Impressive,’ said Carter.

  ‘And a great shame—for this is the legacy of Cain.’

  Carter slowed, pulling his weapons to him and checking their magazines. Then the Comanche dropped from the skies, howling, rotors a blur, tiny lights flickering on its armoured hull as it fell like a diving falcon towards its prey.

  The Comanche banked, rising to level out and roar along just above the surface of the Dreadnought. Below, near the stepped entrance leading below, stood massed ranks of Nex. In their midst was a cleared circle in which stood Durell.

  He was waiting, his gaze lifted to the heavens.

  Carter banked the war machine, slowing his speed, and came thundering back towards the gathering of Nex. Not a single blended soldier lifted its weapon. Not a single eye tracked the screaming combat chopper.

  ‘I’m taking her in,’ said Carter quietly.

  Jam merely nodded, H&K sub-machine gun in one clawed hand, spikes crackling up and down his forearms in a gentle rhythm of readiness—for battle.

  The Comanche touched down and Carter climbed from the chopper. A cool wind was blowing, but everything else was still, and as the aircraft’s rotors whined and thumped to a stop Carter and Jam looked warily around, staring suspiciously at the rigid Nex soldiers. As the Comanche’s blades finally fell silent an eerie calm descended on the Dreadnought. Nobody spoke. Nobody lifted a gun. Nothing moved ...

  Durell finally walked towards the two Spiral agents, his robes fluttering in the breeze, hood pushed back to reveal his incredible deformations. His slitted copper eyes did not glance at Jam; instead, they focused solely on Carter.

  ‘Welcome,’ he said, his voice a crackle of insect chitin. Carter nodded once, and looked past Durell to another figure; it was Mace, small and precise, wearing a simple grey body-hugging suit which reminded Carter of his first-ever encounter with a Nex, back at his home in Scotland years earlier. Mace’s eyes were burning brightly and he moved smoothly to stand beside Durell: a faithful puppy.

  ‘Put down your weapons,’ commanded Mace.

  Jam gestured with his H&K. ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘Ahh, Jam, my old and distant lover. It is so long since I heard the music of your sweet screams. So long since I inhaled the heavenly scent of your spilt blood. I miss you, Jam. Really, truly, this old torturer misses the most intimate of times we spent together; our sharing of a hard-core reality, and a most sexually satisfying experience. One day, my victim, we must return there. We must dance again. We must share again.’

  Jam growled, low and long.

  ‘You have come to kill me,’ said Durell, his stare still fixed on Carter. ‘But instead, I offer you a deal. You know you cannot beat me—look around you, look at the might of my soldiers, my armies, my Nex.’ He relished the word, rolling it in his mouth like a well-aged whisky, and took a step closer. Carter felt his own body become incredibly tense, muscles taut like steel coils, the Browning in his powered hand merging with him, a cyborg part of his flesh, a joining of body and metal and soul...

  ‘You have a deal to offer us?’ said Carter simply. ‘You plan to destroy mankind, to eradicate the human race. You wish to infect the planet with nothing but a virus of pure Nex ... and we just cannot allow that.’

  ‘Oh Carter, but you already have! You killed Jahlsen, helped to destroy SpiralGRID thus making my greatest enemies weak—and then you initiated the Evolution Class Warhead. You sent it on its multiple missions, got past the Spiral detection systems. You have forwarded EDEN to the masses, Carter. You have killed them. Killed them all. Killed your lover, your son—your whole fucking species.’

  ‘That was not my intention.’

  ‘Maybe it was,’ said Durell softly. ‘Subliminally. In the deepest, most secret corridors of your brain.’ He took another step closer, and now was close enough for Carter to reach out and touch. Oil glistened against the twisted armoured panels merged with the flesh of his face. Durell’s tiny tongue darted out. It gleamed. ‘We have been here before, Mr Carter. We have stood here before.’

  ‘Yeah, when you found out that I’m a fucking hard man to kill.’

  ‘Exactly so. As am I.’

  ‘You are no man, Durell. You are an abomination before God.’

  ‘Carter, you are a pawn, my friend. You have played the game well, but ultimately you are a pawn. You carry within you a part of me. You carry within you a slice of my soul. A slice of my seed.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Have you not worked out what Kade is yet? No? Not even after all these years?’

  ‘You are bluffing.’ But Carter had gone white. He was chilled. To the bone. To the marrow. To the core.

  ‘Not so. I know Kade, Mr Carter, I know Kade very, very well. And the incredible thing is, you don’t remember, do you? I thought for a long time you were b
eing merely strong-willed, a powerful mental adversary ... a sheer bastard for the sake of it. But then it dawned on me that you did not remember our good times, our first times, our best times. You did not remember the joining with Kade.’

  ‘Fuck you, Durell. Stop the Warhead. Stop it now, and it least I’ll guarantee you a clean death. Otherwise, I cannot be held responsible for my fucking actions.’

  ‘No.’ Durell shook his deformed, half-armoured head. Saliva glistened against his nightmare mouth. He reared up then, spine crackling like chewed ice. He shrugged rack his black robes to reveal the horror and the glory of his twisted shell, his mass of amalgamated organics, abdomen jointed like that of an ant, a wasp, his triumphant blend of insect and human.

  ‘So be it then, fucker.’

  The air had grown incredibly still. The whole surface of the Dreadnought lay under a veil of utter and total silence. Nothing stirred, and the immobile Nex in their ranks showed no signs of antagonism. They merely displayed a serenity, a calmness, a willingness simply to observe the scene unfolding before them.

  Carter leapt, his Browning whipping up—but Durell moved faster than any twisted deformed husk had a right to move. They slammed together, Durell’s claws knocking the Browning skittering across the alloy deck. Carter twisted, slamming his elbow into Durell’s head, ducking a high swipe of claws and ramming five low punches into Durell’s abdomen—into his thorax. Carter leapt to dodge another sweep of claws, smashed a right hook into Durell’s head, then took a blow which cracked into his broken nose and made blood splatter free, a curtain of crimson droplets. Stars flashed in his brain. Carter landed on the deck, panting, as another blow whistled past his ear and his boot lashed out, stomping against chitin with a sharp crackling sound. Durell made a curious keening noise, and Carter thought—I hurt him. I hurt it.

  Jam and Mace had also made their moves simultaneously, Mace pouncing with awesome speed as Jam’s sub-machine gun clattered and bullets scythed through the immobile ranks of Nex, standing with lowered Steyr TMPs in gloved hands—and not even blinking as bullets caved in their flesh with harsh slapping impacts. Such was their discipline.

  Jam was large and strong, but Mace was preternaturally fast, his fists smashing out to beat against Jam’s head and eyes. Jam thundered a blow into Mace’s head, stunning the smaller Nex. Spikes flowered along his armoured forearms as the ScorpNex swept his razor weapon towards Mace: who had tortured him, burned him and, ultimately, raped his humanity ...

  Durell came back with a straight and awesomely powerful blow that staggered Carter, hammering into his forehead and sending him reeling backwards. He lost his footing and slapped onto the alloy deck. Durell leapt., deformed shell twisting and claws slashing down—but Carter had rolled, a black knife appearing in his fist and slashing across Durell’s armoured shell with a tiny hiss of steel parting chitin-flesh. Dark blood rained down upon him, speckling his face and hands, as Durell landed and whirled, his claws smashing the knife away.

  ‘Not so fucking easy, is it?’ snarled Durell.

  ‘That hurt, didn’t it, fucker?’

  Durell charged again. Carter gritted his teeth and ran to meet Durell with his fists hammering, ducking blows, sidestepping, smashing a crazy combination of straight; and hooks, then leaping to kick Durell in the head with both boots. Durell staggered as Carter landed, whirled low and leapt at Durell once more, grasping the large Nex in a bear hug and then hammering his head down, mashing his forehead into Durell’s face time after time ... Something broke, a tooth or splinter of cheekbone, sticking like a needle into the skin of Carter’s forehead but Carter did not care, could not care as his savage and unrestrained onslaught continued ... With a terrible sigh-pitched scream Durell threw out his powerful clawed arms and Carter was knocked back, staggering and slipping on the blood-speckled alloy. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Jam battling, exchanging furious blows with the tiny figure of Mace who moved like a whirlwind, a bloodstained knife in each gloved hand, slashing and stabbing with deadly precision at Jam’s armoured body ...

  Durell charged. Carter ducked a flurry of blows and rammed both fists together into Durell’s groin, rolling away from Durell’s pounding claws and rising into a crouch. Then he caught sight again of Jam and Mace moving in a blur, with Jam being pushed closer and closer to—

  Carter frowned. What was that? Where the alloy deck sell away into—

  ‘A Gravity Displacer,’ said Kade gently.

  Durell attacked again, snarling, saliva and blood spitting out as Carter connected with several more punches and danced out of Durell’s reach. They were both fast, both powerful, but Carter had the edge: he was fighting for an entire planet, an entire race. And he was fighting for his son.

  ‘Come on!’ screamed Carter, his face a red mask, gleaming under the sunshine. He raised his fists, stained with both Durell’s and his own blood. ‘I will fucking beat you to death with my fists, you Nex cunt. I will rip out your fucking heart with my teeth.’

  A cry echoed, and Carter’s head slammed right. Mace had backed Jam towards the Gravity Displacer, with its treacherous steep slopes leading down to the dark mouth of the displacer itself. Jam had been kicked by a massive double blow and had toppled backwards, claws raking against the smooth alloy which screeched and tore in long jagged shavings of metal. Then he disappeared from view ...

  ‘No!’ yelled Carter. Then Durell was there and a blow hammered into his temple, staggering him, and another heavy blow to the bridge of his already broken nose dropped him to the deck.

  Carter lay there for a few seconds, panting, staring down at the black alloy veined with minute traces of silver. A pool of his own saliva and blood formed under his face, a slick mirror of crimson in which he could see a reflection of his own battered and broken features. His own eyes stared back at him, accusing him, and for once he didn’t need Kade to fill him with horror, regret and shame. You are beaten, said those eyes.

  You have given your best. You have fought hard—but ultimately you know, you recognise, you understand: the world is doomed, humanity is doomed, and you cannot halt the inevitability of fate.

  Durell’s damaged claws rolled Carter onto his back and he stared up at the terrible deformed visage, Durell was battered and broken too but he was also grinning and drooling, his slitted copper eyes staring down at Carter with contempt.

  ‘See?’ he hissed. ‘See?’

  Carter coughed, spitting out blood. Then he focused. ‘I see a face in need of a plastic fucking surgeon,’ he snarled. His fist lashed up but Durell stamped on his arm, pinning it to the deck.

  Carter turned his head and could see Mace looking down at something. Durell turned, and Mace pointed. ‘He is hanging on. He has dug his claws into the slope halfway down. Do you want me to finish him?’ Mace tossed one of his bloodstained knives into the air, where it spun, shining darkly with gore before being caught neatly in the Nex’s gloved hand.

  A Nex approached at Durell’s signal and handed him a Steyr TMP. Durell levelled the gun at Carter’s face and looked down at him.

  ‘What do you think, Mr Carter? You want your best friend, my best creation, to finally shuffle off his Nex coil? You can prevent this. You can prevent all of this.’

  ‘By joining you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why the fuck do you want me, Durell? What the fuck can I possibly offer you?’

  ‘I want you,’ said Durell softly, his voice barely more than a low, lilting croon, ‘because of the KillChip.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Three seconds to decide, Carter. The Warhead is nearing its pick-up. We haven’t got time for games. Your world hasn’t got time for the playing of games.’

  Carter stared into Durell’s copper eyes. The Spiral man’s face contorted in rage, his eyes sparkling with tears of frustration and a need for pure hot violence. ‘Fuck you, Durell. I would rather die.’

  Durell’s head turned, and he nodded to Mace. ‘Kill Jam.’

  Mace
smiled, a thin-lipped evil smile. ‘My pleasure.’ Durell stared down the Steyr TMP pointing straight at Carter’s face. He smiled sadly. And then he sighed a sigh of genuine regret.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Carter.’

  CHAPTER 19

  EVOLUTION

  The earthquake rumbled. It took Africa in its fist and violently shook the entire continent like a dog with a bone; a Sleeper Nex with the corpse of a mutilated woman.

  A Dreadnought used Gravity Displacers, but it was still linked to Earth by the force of displacement and the laws of displaced physics. So, as Africa trembled, so too did the Dreadnought, swaying violently as ranks of Nex shifted their positions, guns coming up for balance like tightrope walkers’ poles as they attempted to stabilise themselves on the rocking, swaying alloy deck ...

  Mace threw his knife, but the quake nudged him and the blade glanced off down the sloped channel, raising sparks and then disappearing into the small black mouth of the displacer.

  The quake put Durell off balance and Carter slammed a right hook into the stock of the Steyr TMP. Bullets chewed a groove through the alloy, ricocheting off as flattened sparking pellets. Carter lashed out, connecting as the Dreadnought shook again—and Durell took several steps back as Carter’s fury returned tenfold. Carter climbed to his feet and launched a kick that sent the gun clattering across the deck.

  ‘What is a KillChip?’ he hissed.

  Durell paused then, head tilting to one side as he surveyed Carter with an expression of concern. ‘You are too late to stop the Warhead now, Carter. Soon, EDEN will start to detonate across the globe. They will all die. I am assured that it is quite painful.’