The Medida War

by Pat Mills

  "There can only be seven," said Mek-Quake mysteriously.

  He'd heard Deadlock say this and thought it was a pretty smart thing to say.

  "Mek-Quake?"

  "Yes?"

  "Shut up."

  Somehow, the robots' hearts weren't into finding a seventh warrior. Perhaps it was just too soon.

  Deadlock was out in the desert, beyond the suburbs of Marineris City. He had climbed down from the lip of the active volcano that overlooked Marineris, into the shaft itself. The magma that seethed and bubbled within was the same fluorescent green and gold as Scargill's waistcoats, so it seemed to the robot wizard he was standing on top of a giant lava lamp.

  He was communing with Medusa, desperately trying to make her listen to reason. But it was his reason, not hers. He pointed out that since the Biohazard Troops had gone into the ghetto there had been no further hostile acts against the planet. He asked for a peace treaty. Medusa replied that peace was what she also sought. The peace of eternal death.

  It took everything Deadlock had to persuade her to listen to him. This included a litany of how beautiful her mesas were. How proud her mountain peaks. How lovely her lava.

  He stopped in mid-compliment. "I'm not boring you?"

  "No, no, that's all right. Continue," purred the lava lamp.

  "How wild your wilderness. How cavernous your craters. How deserted your deserts."

  "Yes," said Medusa, sighing appreciatively. "You have a very smooth tongue, Mr Deadlock. I can see I shall have to be careful with you."

  "How red are your valleys. How breathtaking your canyons. How frozen your tundra."

  "You're very forward, young robot, talking about my tundra," she said with a giggle.

  "And your dry river beds are like writhing snakes."

  "That's so sweet."

  "The name Medusa really suits you."

  "Do you really think so?"

  "It conjures up the stony features on your planet face."

  "Oh, Deadlock..."

  He'd have to be careful. She'd be asking what his star sign was next.

  His chatup technique was hardly original, but Deadlock was a robot of the galaxy who had spent a lot of time in the drinking dens of the cosmos: from the Last Waterhole, Nova Amsterdam in the Red Light System to the Piston Broke on planet Hekate. So he knew what worked and what didn't. Although even he didn't want to risk getting her drunk as well.

  What would happen if she let down her defences completely didn't bear thinking about. To be embraced by all that molten magma was not an inviting prospect. That was the kind of thing consenting planets should do with each other, not with a mere robot. Jupiter, Saturn or Neptune when they were in conjunction, perhaps. But possibly not Uranus.

  "You amuse me greatly, Deadlock," the lava said. "But now," and the lava began to bubble vigorously, "let's get down to business!"

  Her voice was suddenly harsh and menacing. Her piercing, shrill tone reminded him of someone, but he couldn't find who it was in his memory banks. He vaguely recalled an ancient British female prime minister. Medusa had probably dug it out of the collective subconscious as the human female she most closely identified with.

  "Yes, I am very understanding of the extra-martials' difficulties. So I am prepared to hold back on the meteor storms, the acid rains, marsquakes and gravity storms."

  "You are too kind, your ladyship."

  "And any number of further nightmare scenarios, all of which are within my remit, and would sweep these annoying human insects from my surface."

  "I am overwhelmed by your generosity."

  "For now." She repeated herself in a saucepan-grating voice. "For now. Because," she said, in what Deadlock guessed was her attempt at a softer, girlish voice, "I have been most flattered by your compliments and your humble supplications. Most flattered."

  Stay on your knees, thought Deadlock to himself. You're on a roll. "And there is more where they came from," he replied. "I cannot thank you enough."

  "That's right. You can't."

  "I thank you most profusely."

  "Yes. Profuse is good."

  "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," he grovelled.

  By way of acknowledgement, there was a sudden dramatic rock fall which had Deadlock ducking for cover. And afterwards - silence.

  "Hello?" said Deadlock. "Helloooooo?"

  There was no reply. The lava had calmed down. Deadlock felt his audience with the goddess was at an end and it was safe to leave.

  He gingerly clambered back up to the surface, congratulating himself on his technique.

  That line about the red sand providing the perfect make-up to hide all her crags and craters went down rather well, he thought. And I didn't even have to promise to take her out on a Saturday night.

  "Wait!" commanded a chilling voice below. "I haven't finished with you yet."

  "Ah," sighed Deadlock, stopping in his tracks.

  "Don't think I'm just going to leave it there."

  "It was naïve of me to think you would."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing."

  "Don't take me for granted, Deadlock. I don't like that."

  "I wouldn't dream of it, my nest of vipers."

  "And tell your friends to stop killing my Clone Cowboys."

  "Yes, she-who-must-definitely-be-obeyed."

  "It took a lot of work to create the Man With No Legs, the Centaur Cowboy, the Clone Ranger and a Man Called Horse."

  "Perhaps you should rest on the seventh day?"

  "Pardon?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "It's annoying when a bunch of robots come along and blows them all apart. It's time you ABC Warriors came off the fence, you know."

  "We're simply trying to increase the peace."

  "You have to take sides, Deadlock. It's either raining, or it's not raining."

  "Or in your case, acid-raining."

  "Quite. Do you have any idea how repulsive I find binary life forms?"

  "I only wish I could grow a third arm or leg so my presence didn't offend you."

  "They're extra-martials. Alien to my world."

  "As you've made very clear."

  "Even though I'm going to lay off the heavy stuff, I still think I need to remind the humans what I am capable of."

  "Er... perhaps."

  "And then, if they haven't taken note, if they don't shape up, they can ship out! Back where they came from!"

  "To Earth? To Gaia?"

  "Don't mention that bitch's name."

  "What have you got in mind, femme most fatale?"

  "You'll see," the voice spat malevolently. "You'll see."

  "Medusa...?"

  There was no response.

  "Medusa, what are you going to do?"

  He tried again, calling down into her fiery depths.

  But she wasn't answering her phone and had withheld her number, so there was no way of reaching her to find out more. Deadlock was left wondering exactly what tricks she had up her volcano vents.

  Clambering aboard his bike, he sped off across the desert. As he approached the Trans-Martian Highway, he switched from rough terrain to road travel. The wheels obediently made the adjustment. Joining the motorway, he sped off away from Marineris, in the direction of Viking City; pleased that, at least, there was some kind of truce. As he drove along the six-lane route, he noted it was deserted of all other vehicles apart from a few sedate Sunset Boulevard one-wheelers in the middle lane and the odd juggernaut or Fargo supercoach straddling the outer lanes. That left the four central lanes empty beneath them.

  He drove comfortably underneath a juggernaut, with plenty of headroom to spare, and soon there was only clear open motorway ahead of him.

  He wondered idly where all the traffic had gone. Then he realised with sudden unease why they were absent.

  The source of his unease was Medusa's not-so-veiled threat that she still intended to give the humans a reminder of her power.

  He remembered wha
t today's date was. It was a planetary holiday, commemorating the most important event in Martian history, the landing of the first humans on Mars.

  Colonisation Day.

  TWELVE

  As usual, President Cobb was celebrating Colonisation Day at the Red House. The party was bigger than normal because the election was coming up next year and he wanted to impress the voters, and also reassure them that the threat from Medusa was under control.

  There was skydenseing in the grounds of the Red House. Guests took anti-gravity pills and floated up to do the Blubber Shudder. The pills controlled their body density via signals from their DAs.

  Many were wearing very little, thanks to nano-technology hot pants that generated a heat aura around them. So they could admire each other's DAs that had become a fashion accessory. Tattoos, nose, ear and other body piercings indicated where their DA was located on their bodies.

  Their DAs controlled every aspect of their life: their health, wealth, entertainment and thoughts. A DA provided screenless viewing and communication. Their hard earned Es, the currency on Mars, could swiftly be transferred from one account to another with an effortless brain wave. The fact that the TIA could also monitor their every thought did not concern them. It was a necessary loss of freedom in the fight against terrorism.

  Only those who wore the coveted four-winged, digital Arch-Angel sign were free from such intrusions.

  Many were openly drinking neuropeptide-A which was only meant for the armed services. With its secret ingredient, neuropeptide-A was meant to bestow courage, but it could make people behave in unpredictable and dangerous ways. Some of the guests had already reached high tide.

  Many citizens saw the use of neuropeptide as a necessary way to let their hair down and go a little wild, after their brains were affected by the trivia all day. This was a device installed in everyone's home which kept people calm, but it could result in them spending an evening having a conversation about paper clips.

  With such techno-luxury and infinite inventions life on Mars was good for many of the colonists and they were not going to let the planet ruin it.

  "I'm not really a party person," said Hammerstein to Joe Pineapples as they queued up to enter the Red House grounds. Robot security guards checked them carefully as they went through the X-ray machine; then physically frisked them as well, before giving them their "Access All Areas" badges.

  They joined the other guests on the Red House lawn.

  "I don't really feel comfortable amongst all these humans."

  "Chill, Ham," said Joe. "It's party time."

  "But it feels like it could be a trap."

  "Probably. But that makes it all the more interesting."

  President Cobb had been advised by his new Special Adviser that it would be a good idea to make his peace with the men of steel and so they had been invited to the Colonisation Day celebrations. Hammerstein and Joe Pineapples were chosen as the most suitable representatives, but they had to leave their guns behind and deactivate their on-board weapons systems before they would be admitted. But the chance to meet the president was too good to miss, whatever the risks.

  Hammerstein didn't really approve of any of it. He was complaining about the guests drinking illegal drinks and taking anti-gravity pills. Hammerstein was invaluable in combat, but at parties he was no mover and groover. Joe wondered if there was some way he could lose him in the throng and meet up with him later.

  That said, they both enjoyed the sight of the beautiful partygoers in their hot pants and heat auras and not a lot else. Guests from Viking City tended to dress in pseudo-Egyptian fashions, while those from Marineris wore Scargills or Lowrys. There were also many male and female robots strutting their stuff.

  As humans became more like machines, and machines became more like humans, robot-human relationships were no longer seen as shocking or bizarre. Now it was seen as normal and part of being sentient. Any shortcomings robots might have in this direction could easily be solved by a discreet visit to a phallacy.

  So Joe and Hammerstein's comments to each other were along typically bloke-ish lines.

  "Drink my sump oil! Look at the bodywork on her."

  "What a chassis."

  "I bet she'd warm your circuits."

  "No need for X-ray vision with what she's wearing."

  "Check out Nefertiti over there."

  "And Cleopatra over there."

  "Did you see her heat aura?"

  "Sensualround 'sniff and glow.'"

  "I wouldn't mind doing the blubber shudder with her."

  They made the robot equivalent of a heh, heh, heh. A long, low hum. Hammerstein was beginning to loosen up a little, despite himself.

  Out the corner of Joe's eye visor, he saw a Hispanic beauty, wearing a lime green Scargill bikini and Electro-Luxor aura. She was arguing with a self-important man who wore a luminous blue suit with grey reflective stripes and yellow patches on the knees.

  "What is that he is wearing?"

  "I wouldn't be seen dead in a suit like that."

  "Actually, that's the kind of thing they used to wear on Death Row."

  Again, they made a long, low hum.

  "You have no sense of style, Ham. Can't you see it's the work of the French designer Rappel?"

  "Oh, yes. It's got 'Recyclage Chariots' written on the back."

  There was another hum from them.

  "He's trying to pull her."

  "He's not doing very well. Look at her body language."

  "Wonder who he is?"

  "Let me do a data check."

  "Senator Diaz. Represents Marineris City. Confederation of Martian Industries. Descended from the Foundation Fathers."

  "He's really against Medusa. We'll have to watch out for him."

  "What about her?" asked Joe curiously.

  "Juanita Perez. Lead actress in the award winning movie 'The Music Box'."

  "Never heard of it."

  "You wouldn't have, considering your favourite films are Day of the Jackal and Enemy at the Gates."

  "What's it about?"

  "Natural resonance chambers."

  "Ah."

  "She's one of the leaders of Redpeace."

  "No wonder he's not getting anywhere."

  "They're meant to be really crazy."

  "The Song of Medusa's affected them."

  "D'you know they include Breatharians?"

  "Breatharians?"

  "They use breath-filters so they won't harm Martian micro-organisms in the air."

  "Oh, yes. And there are the Breathists who have their air imported from Earth, just to be sure."

  "Don't forget the Dropists. They only eat fruit that's fallen off Martian fruit trees, so they're not harming the planet in any way."

  "Yes. Any Dropist caught shaking a tree is instantly dismissed."

  Hammerstein and Joe were now humming very loudly.

  Juanita turned and glanced in their direction. For a moment her dark brown eyes locked onto Joe's eye visor and he realised how absolutely beautiful she was. Then she returned to haranguing Diaz on his anti-planetary policies.

  "You know, I've always been a great supporter of Redpeace," said Joe. "I think there's a lot to be said for Breatharians."

  "She's certainly taken your breath away."

  "I don't breathe."

  "That's what I mean."

  "And there's a lot to be said for Dropists too."

  "Really?"

  "And I'm sure her film is an artistic triumph. I'm going to quickly download a couple of scenes."

  "You have no shame, do you?"

  "None whatsoever."

  Juanita was continuing to lecture the Senator on his ecologically unsound ways.

  "My heart feels marked by destiny to fight for Mars, Senator. Her geological hour has come. The self-replicating material her DNA produces must be acknowledged. She is planning a spiritual event and we have to prepare for it. The answers are profound, but I don't know what they are. As a woman I feel M
edusa's pain, her agony, her loss. It makes me sad. I am lost for words."

  "Would you like to come back to my place?" said Diaz. He smiled suavely.

  That is, as far as a man with "Recyclage Chariots" written on his back can be suave.

  "I don't depreciate the needs of the colonists," said Juanita, pretending not to hear. "But Medusa's needs must be recognised, too. And to address this question, it is important to examine together its philosophical concepts."

  She spoke rapidly, with her whole body as well as her mouth: her shoulders shifted, her hands waved and she emphasized everything with her fingers.

  "You've got a great body," said Diaz.

  "Such an examination involves firstly a discussion of your methods and an exploration of their relevance and practices. Secondly a consideration of the implications of doing it needs to be made, and finally there is the question of your motivations."

  "I'd like to show you my antique Terran road sign collection."

  "That's very kind. But there are still some guests I need to talk to here," said Juanita, finally losing patience with him.

  "I have an early belisha beacon and a 'Highways Agency. Work starts here on fifth January for two years. Delays possible'," said Diaz running his hand down her arm.

  It was an offer most girls couldn't refuse, but somehow she succeeded. She shook off his hand, annoyed that he wasn't taking her seriously.

  "Another time. Goodbye, Senator." She walked away.

  But this only seemed to encourage him, because he pursued her through the crowd, grabbing hold of her. "But we've only just met. When I return to Marineris, I want you to come and visit Camp Diaz."

  "I have a very full schedule, senator."

  "To talk about Redpeace's proposals."

  "We can discuss them by thought-mail."

  Once again she politely but firmly pulled herself free from his grip. She looked for a way to escape his further advances.

  Her eyes fell on Joe.

  "Are you denseing?" she enquired. Her aura looked even more appealing in close-up.

  "I'm denseing," said Joe.

  "I think I'll sit this one out, Miss," said Hammerstein.

  "Let's go," said the Latin lovely, ignoring him.

  Joe and Juanita took a couple of uppers and floated up over the Red House grounds.