The Medida War

by Pat Mills

  Diaz watched jealously as they ascended to Cloud Nine - the illuminated cloudbanks where partygoers densed in the sky to the throbbing beat. Then sullenly he turned away.

  The denseing took place away from the Red House itself, because it was covered by an ectoplasmic shield to prevent astral travellers remote viewing the president and his family. It had been a problem since psychic perverts first discovered how to RV - spy on the famous during intimate moments. The demons that bubbled inside the ectoplasm now kept any psychic voyeurs at bay.

  Both Joe and Juanita were slim, so they weren't able to do the Blubber Shudder with the quivering rhythm of some of the wide spread guests. But they made up for it with smooth gyrating movements impossible for an obeast, even with low gravity pills.

  They moved and grooved, Joe pulling her close, then spinning her away. He cartwheeled through the air after her, catching her in his arms, turning her upside down, and back again. They went hip to hip, and up and down, in a kind of aerial version of Saturday Night Fever, but without the white suit.

  Later, they rested on a cloud. His chest opened and he poured her a double malt from his drinks cabinet.

  "You're very smooth, Mr Pineapples."

  "You too," said Joe handing her some nibbles. "You know I probably shouldn't say this. No, I'd better not."

  "No, go on. Please."

  "Well, it sounds like I'm trying to flatter you, but I'm not. Honestly. Okay, here goes... The Music Box is my all time favourite movie."

  "Are you serious?"

  "Absolutely. You were incredible in it."

  "I'd have thought an ABC Warrior like you would be more into movies like Day of the Jackal or Enemy at the Gates."

  "No, I can't stand those kind of films."

  "Really?"

  "I suppose you could say I like more sensitive, more feminine films. Dogma. That kind of thing. That deal with real human issues."

  "Yes, I noticed there was something a little feminine about you, Joe."

  "You haven't been talking to Blackblood?"

  "Who's Blackblood?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "That's amazing. What a coincidence."

  "Perhaps it's fate, Juanita..."

  "Perhaps..."

  "I love that scene where you open your box for the last time, but your lover has gone forever. And you're lying there on the bed, playing 'Rhapsody on a Theme' by Paganini, I think. It's been a while since I saw it."

  "Yes, that's right. You've a good memory."

  "It was superb."

  "You're not just saying this?"

  "I have to tell the truth. It's part of my programming."

  "You know, you're a very special robot, Joe."

  "Oh, I don't know about that," said Joe bashfully.

  "No, you are."

  "I just thought it was so tastefully done. Soft lighting. The camera's not too intrusive. It leaves things to our imagination."

  "And what did you imagine, Joe?"

  "What I'm imagining right now."

  "And what's that?"

  He leaned forward and his warm, strong steel hands held her close, tingling ever so slightly. "Let's immense on the dense," he whispered.

  He switched on his thrusters and they disappeared into the heart of the cloud.

  It had taken Joe fifteen minutes.

  "Slow," he thought critically to himself. "I'm going to have to improve on my technique."

  On the Red House lawn, a micro-thonged nymph looking like Cleopatra came over to Hammerstein. He was standing by himself in a remote corner.

  Without Joe to help him chill out, he became an awkward, clumsy war robot again. Up till now, the only person he'd had a conversation with was a robot lawnmower who actually wasn't one of the guests but had been very happy to talk about the state of the turf.

  Possibly Hammerstein's constant references to grass had got her interested in him. "I like your hammer," she smiled, running her manicured nails over it.

  "Thank you, Miss."

  "Would you like to take an upper with me?"

  "I'm sorry, Miss. Not while I'm on duty."

  "Huh! You're no fun. Missed your chance." And with a flick of her head she stormed off, with a rear view to die for.

  "Flat screener!" she tossed back cruelly over her shoulder.

  Juanita sighed dreamily in Joe's arms as they floated on a cloud. "Intermezzo... I am dreaming of 'a wistful lion from another planet, cast up by the hide tide.'"

  "What?"

  "Pablo Neruda. My favourite poet.

  "Uhuh," said Joe.

  "He writes of a great lion who came from another world seeking blood. Are you my lion, Joe?"

  "Uhuh," said Joe.

  His metal skin was so warm and smooth, thanks to the underskin heating which he switched on for occasions like this.

  "Mmm," said Juanita romantically. "The last time I met anyone this smooth, they'd just had a 'back, crack and sack.'"

  Seraph Rosesand watched the lovers from an upper floor of the Red House. The slogan of his company, Conflict Management, was "Crisis intervention is our Business."

  It was time to intervene.

  The chance he had hoped for and the reason the Warriors had been invited to the Red House had arrived. Now was his chance to destroy them.

  The ectoplasm contained in the dome over the Red House, that should do it. G Men patrolled its perimeter, but as they all worked for him it was easy enough to send them elsewhere.

  Satisfied they were out of sight, he opened the valve that controlled the demonic fluid and the foul yellow liquid spewed out of the dome into the adjoining atmosphere.

  They broke up into three demonic forms and headed for Joe and Juanita.

  "Making films about my planet is not enough, Joe. That is why I joined Redpeace. This government is unbearable and I am very tired of it. I like to be screwed by a man, not by politicians."

  "Uhuh," said Joe.

  "The very big aspect of our troubles is President Cobb and Senator Diaz. They are very sad, common bastards who believe nature is futile. But Medusa will show them."

  "Uhuh," said Joe.

  "We have to stop them tormenting the future. I am praying you ABC Warriors can do this."

  "Uhuh," said Joe.

  "Tell me," she asked, "do you do Elvis impressions?"

  There was a pause while Joe considered this. Finally he replied.

  "Uhuh."

  Joe's auto-protect security scanners were always switched on, scanning for danger, even when his mind was elsewhere. So he was alerted to the demons and had time to warn her. "Juanita! Look out!"

  He drew ceramic components from his chest cavity that the X-ray security machine had failed to detect.

  Hastily he connected them together into a pistol and spun round to face the threat.

  There were three of them coming for Joe and Juanita at different angles. They were small, vicious and deadly and attacked with the ferocity of demonic Jack Russells. Their faces were concealed; all that was visible were savage teeth capable of biting through armour. They were the equivalent of guard dogs, unleashed from their kennels.

  "Merda!" screamed Juanita as the trio lunged at them in full Cerberus mode.

  The demon "dogs" were moving in a random pattern at incredibly high speeds. They stop-started, lunged, circled and zigzagged in a manner impossible for even the greatest marksman in the Galaxy to compute.

  Kicking out viciously at the first demon and sending it somersaulting back through the sky, Joe took off with Juanita in one hand and his gun in the other.

  The Hounds of Hell pursued, snapping at their feet.

  He skydensed like he'd never densed before, thrusters on max.

  But no matter how fast he flew, ducked, dived, kicked, butted, punched, they were on him all the time. Tearing great lumps of metal out of him. Ripping out power cables. Turning their attention to his bikinied companion.

  One of them lunged forward and sank its fangs into Juanita's leg. She cried o
ut in agony. The demon attempted to tear her leg right out of her socket, worrying it, shaking it and tugging it away from her hipbone.

  Joe opened fire, exploding the demon dog into a shapeless ball of ectoplasm.

  It immediately reformed into featureless, snapping, snarling fangs and returned to the fray.

  No matter what he did, they were able to imitate and even predict his every move.

  Relentless, tireless, merciless.

  He plummeted towards the ground, his protective arm beginning to lose its grip around a terrified Juanita.

  THIRTEEN

  As he fell, Joe assessed the situation coolly. First, he realised his mistake. By kicking the first demon, he had apparently stepped into a pool of ectoplasm that allowed them to have a psychic trace on him. It was as if there was an invisible astral cord tied to his ankle, permitting their high-speed imitative pursuit. Whatever he did, they could now copy it.

  Second, he knew that like many low-level demons, this needed the strength of others to provide its own.

  It was drawing on something in him, some hidden fear. But it had to stay hidden to have any power; hence its featureless forms.

  He must have some personal Room 101 he'd forgotten about, but the demons hadn't.

  He did a full system scan of past threats looking for a match.

  It came up with the Phage, an alien life form that could eat through any known substance. Joe had blasted it at point-blank range to no effect. He had called out to Deadlock, "Do something, Deadlock. It's devouring everything in its path! And I'm next!"

  Deadlock had used his Khaos magic to banish it.

  Joe had felt powerless and frustrated that Deadlock, and not he, had disposed of it.

  Identified, it was now possible to erase the memory. And once this was confirmed, the ectoplasm had no fear to feed on to give it form.

  It returned to three featureless and futile blobs.

  Effortlessly Joe shot them out of the sky, while his auto-repair systems began repairing and replacing his armour and wiring.

  Cradled in his arms, Juanita looked lovingly up at him as he descended gently to the ground.

  "My lion," she smiled.

  Then she passed out.

  On the Red House lawn, Hammerstein was now talking to a waiter robot that looked very similar to his one-time companion, Ro-Jaws, a cleaner robot. Sometimes, Hammerstein hankered for those old days, when the two of them had been a robot Laurel and Hardy. He wished they could return, even though he knew they were gone forever.

  This robot was sprayed red and, like Ro-Jaws, his body was balanced on one large wheel with a little stabiliser wheel behind. He had a big mouthful of teeth and a shovel-like hand for balancing plates and a pincer hand.

  "What, ol' Ro-Jaws? Yeah, I remember him. We was on the same assembly line together. We was cousins, the same basic model. But he had some different modifications to me. Like an uncouth program, cos he went in for cleaning out the bogs and I went in for serving nobs. That's why I've got a bit more culture, like."

  "Right."

  In between emptying rubbish and ashtrays into his mouth, the Ro-Jaws look-alike told Hammerstein an amusing anecdote about ex-President L Beejay.

  According to the waiter, he'd brought L Beejay his dinner but he'd tripped and it had ended up in the president's lap instead.

  "Leave it, boy," L Beejay had said in his Terran twang, with his dinner all over his trousers. "You put it there. I'll eat it there." Which he proceeded to do.

  In true Ro-Jaws style, the waiter carried on with more gossip. "Yeah, and you know all this electronic money they use on Mars?"

  "It's so E-azy with Es."

  "Yeah, well, let's say that's all a load of old cobblers. You can forget that. Know what I'm saying?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, that's easily traceable through everyone's DA. Right?"

  "Right."

  "And all your top nobs, your inner circle like, aren't going to stand for that. Know what I'm saying? Not when they're into your bribery and your corruption, like."

  "So what do they do?"

  "Your Arch-Angels still use old-fashioned cash for bribes."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Straight up. L Beejay told me himself." The waiter imitated L Beejay's slow WC Fields drawl. "That's how things are really done in this world, boy. People flying all over the planet collecting and delivering black bags. You want to get on in this world, boy, you got to get yourself a black bag."

  Hammerstein realised this Ro-Jaws Mark Two was no dumb waiter. He could be a valuable contact. A spy inside the Red House.

  He had just made a note of the waiter's thought-mail address when he saw Joe approaching with Juanita in his arms.

  "Joe! What happened?"

  Joe sent him a t-mail with a vid attachment, editing out, naturally, his more private moments with Juanita. So Hammerstein knew in seconds what had happened.

  Diaz pushed his way forward and asked the same question.

  "Psychic leak from the ectoplasm dome. Demon attack," Joe responded.

  "Oh, my dear," said the senator looking down with great concern at Juanita.

  He turned to Joe. "My limojet will take her to hospital. I'll see to it that she has the very best medical care." He nodded to one of his burly robot bodyguards.

  Juanita was in urgent need of a doctor, but Joe wasn't comfortable entrusting the care of the actress to a man she clearly despised and who didn't seem to take "no" for an answer.

  "There must be a paramedic team here for the President."

  "Of course. For the President only. They are not allowed to leave his side for any reason."

  The senator's black limojet hovered down and the bodyguards gently lifted Juanita inside.

  "I'll go with her," Joe volunteered.

  "That's not necessary," answered Diaz.

  "Yes, it is," insisted Joe.

  There was a brief standoff between the two of them. The senator looked imperiously at this arrogant robot that had the temerity to challenge him. He was well aware of Joe's identity as one of the hated ABC Warriors and that didn't help either.

  "There won't be room for you as well."

  "I'll follow."

  Diaz nodded in the direction of his various wounds. "Don't you need a blacksmith or something?"

  "I'm self-repairing."

  There seemed no answer to that.

  Then Hammerstein intervened. "Joe, we have a meeting with the president later."

  "You can go."

  "We both have to be there."

  "What about Juanita?"

  "She's in good hands," smiled Diaz smoothly across at him as he closed the door. The limojet sped away.

  Joe prepared to run after them. Like the other ABC Warriors he could run at over one hundred and sixty kilometres per hour for several hours without fatigue.

  Hammerstein held him back. "Joe! Get a grip."

  "But-"

  "This meeting with the president is vital if there's going to be an end to the conflict with Medusa."

  "I know, but-"

  "Joe, we're here to increase the peace, not for your private assignations."

  Joe stared worriedly after the limojet as it disappeared into the night.

  "You can see her later. The job must come first."

  Then he saw Hoodwink and Mass Destruction approaching them.

  "Well, well, fancy meeting you here," sneered MD.

  "Ignore them," Hammerstein mind-commed Joe. "The last thing we need is to get into a fight with them."

  "Right," Joe commed back. "Especially as we don't have our usual weapons."

  "I'd have thought this party was a bit out of your league," said MD. "Or are you here as door security?"

  "Come on, Joe."

  "Walking away from a fight, eh? I guess you can't handle it anymore, clanky."

  Hammerstein was keenly aware they were at the party as diplomats. They had to show the humans there was no need to be afraid of them.
<
br />   "Please be quiet, MD," ordered Seraph. "We have to show respect for them. They were superb robots."

  "In their day."

  "Yeah. In their day."

  MD sneered right in Hammerstein's face. "And they've had their day."

  Hammerstein gently pushed MD's face out of his way.

  "Hey, who are you pushing?" MD shoved him in the chest.

  Hammerstein remained calm and walked away from him.

  "What are you doing here?" Joe asked Seraph.

  "I am the president's Special Adviser."

  "No wonder he's been making some bad calls."

  With a leer of relish on his hideous face, Seraph revealed, "I was the one who told him to send the Biohazard Troops into the ghetto."

  "You?" said Hammerstein.

  "That's right. Is there a problem?"

  "You're responsible for the murder of all those trimorphs!"

  "Ham, take it easy," said Joe.

  "Unfortunately, they resisted the Biohazard Troopers when they tried to relocate them to camps for their own security."

  "So... it was you! You're responsible for the death of Morrigun."

  "That tin tramp who used to hang around with you? I'm sure if you're desperate, I could find another one for you."

  "You bootleg!" he snarled.

  "Hey, Hammerstein," purred MD. "This is a party. Why don't you learn to chill, loser?"

  Hammerstein was equipped with emotional empathy buffers designed to prevent MBFS: machine battle frenzy syndrome. But the realisation that Hoodwink was responsible for the death of Morrigun brought on a state of severe MBFS.

  "You piece of biol!" Wielding his hammer, he swung at Hoodwink.

  "Come on," said MD, stepping in the way. "That's not right. You're picking on a poor, defenceless old man."

  His body opened up. Guns and spikes appeared from a number of directions and ripped into Hammerstein.

  Hoodwink looked on triumphantly.

  Perfect.

  Hammerstein had attacked first, so MD was entitled to retaliate and deal with this security threat. And, apart from his hammer, Hammerstein was weaponless.

  The partygoers backed away in alarm as MD fired a missile at point-blank range into Hammerstein. It exploded on his armour, but failed to penetrate it. But it did weaken it, because he could then follow through the armour with a steel fist, even as he avoided a blow from Hammerstein's hammer.