Toxicity

by Andy Remic

  “Er, I think we should go,” said Svool. Lumar glanced back and gave a nod, and the horses skidded down a scree slope and into a jagged, stone-walled canyon. Ahead of them, the valley led off and was joined by more steep-sided rocky valleys, presumably carved by running water; or maybe even sulphuric acid.

  “This the right way?” said Svool.

  “I will guide thee,” crooned Herbert, and gave a heavy metal clonk.

  The horses started forward across the broad valley floor. It was made from dark sand and heavily littered with rocks. Svool found himself looking up at the steep sides of the valley walls, which were rugged and jagged, and covered in all manner of hardy clinging bushes and loose-looking boulders.

  “This is starting to feel dangerous,” said Svool.

  “As dangerous as fifty enraged bandits coming up fast behind us?” said Lumar.

  “Point taken.”

  They moved further into the canyon. The walls got steeper, craggier, more violent. The canyon floor got narrower and more heavily littered with boulders. It slowed their speed, but would presumably also slow down their pursuers.

  “How far do we have to travel to the tunnel entrance?” yelled Lumar.

  “It’s up ahead. Maybe a kilometre or two.”

  “Through canyons?”

  “Oh, aye,” said Herbert, and gave an acidic metal fart. There was a tinkling sound as several washers ejected from his metal bottom and spun on the rocky ground.

  “Are you feeling all right?” said Svool, frowning. Last thing he needed was his metal horse to break down. That would mean - the horror - having to travel on foot once more.

  “Just nerves,” said Herbert, grinning sheepishly. There were more clonking sounds from within. “I’ve met Black Jake. I’ve seen the horrors he subjects Special Friend metal horses to!”

  “And what about humans?”

  Herbert made a large gulping sound, and issued another sour oil fart. “I think that sums it up.”

  “Great,” muttered Svool.

  They continued through the long afternoon, the heat of the sun baking them, the stench of something sulphuric and eggy coming to their nostrils with increased regularity. The canyon through which they journeyed crossed other canyons, and several times Herbert chose a new and different route, zig-zagging slightly but always heading north and northeast.

  As the sun started to sink in the heavens and the Mercury Peaks reared above the travellers like some insane oil painting against the canvas of the world, the mountains filling the sky - blocking the sky - a harsh cold wind blew suddenly in down the canyon. Lumar, up ahead, dragged Angelina to a halt, and the metal horse gave a strangled metal “Neigh!”

  There, ahead of them, was a tunnel entrance. Rubble rockfalls to either side had obviously been cleared in the past, and the entrance was about the size of a normal doorway. It looked cold and dark and very uninviting.

  “Smells funny,” said Svool, wrinkling his nose.

  “Like something died in there,” agreed Lumar, jumping down off Angelina and stretching her back. She patted the horse’s rump, and Angelina nuzzled Lumar’s green fingers.

  Groaning, Svool climbed down from Herbert like a geriatric going backwards down a cliff. He hit the ground and stood for a while, like a sailor after a long voyage trying to find his land legs.

  “Gods, I feel sick,” said Svool.

  Zoot zipped along the canyon and stopped, bobbing before him. “They’re close,” he said. “And there’s seventy of them. All heavily armed.”

  “Seventy!”

  “We should get into the tunnel,” said Lumar. “At least it’s easier to defend in there. Despite the smell.” She moved closer, not just her nose but her whole face wrinkling. “Gods, that’s a fuckawful smell. Is it like that all the way through? And what is it, anyway?”

  “Well, the Asbestos Joy Mines are, despite the name, not a place for joy.”

  Svool and Lumar turned and stared at Herbert. The metal horse grinned sheepishly.

  “Asbestos?” said Lumar. “Isn’t that incredibly dangerous?”

  “Yes. But not as dangerous as the other things down there!” Herbert gave a metal shudder, and his eyes went wide in a face like a rusted skip.

  “Other things?” said Svool, carefully.

  “You know, the toxic deformed creatures, the lakes of bubbling acid, the pits of nuclear waste, the pipes of rancid starship fuel - that sort of thing.”

  Svool stared at Lumar, then back to Herbert.

  “You fucking said it was safe!”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you fucking did.”

  “Hold on,” said Lumar, holding a finger in front of Herbert’s nose. “You said the Mines of Mercury were a massive network of old tunnels, you said they’d be your top vote for crossing this mad bad country, you said they were cleared out by Greenstar years ago and there was nothing more dangerous than a fucking luminescent mushroom.” She feigned a metal horse voice that was pretty close to the original. “Trust me. I know whereof I speak.”

  “Yes?” beamed Herbert.

  “So you mentioned nothing about deformed toxic creatures, bubbling acid lakes and pits of nuclear waste. Did you? Dickhead?”

  “Ahh, well, you see, what I was actually talking about was the Mines of Mercury, you see, that Greenstar did indeed clear out and are friendly and safe and good, old-fashioned family fun.”

  “So these are not the Mines of Mercury?” laboured Svool.

  “Oh, no! First, we have to travel the Asbestos Joy Mines, the Pit of Nuclear Despair, and then the Caverns of Certain Doom.” He beamed. “Only then do you reach the sanctuary and relative safety of the Mines of Mercury.” He gave a little laugh, and shook his rusted head, as if talking down to the mentally challenged.

  “We have to go back,” said Lumar. She thumbed a gesture at Herbert. “This rusty fucking idiot will kill us in there.”

  “Too late,” said Zoot.

  “Meaning?” snapped Svool.

  “Meaning they’re here.”

  “Who’s here?”

  “Er. Black Jake,” said Zoot, and whizzed along, disappearing into the tunnel opening.

  Svool looked back, and saw the huge crowd of gunslinger-type desperadoes advancing down the canyon towards them. There were indeed about seventy of the deranged-looking individuals, who had left behind their metal horses and were creeping along, pistols in hand, moustaches gleaming under the dying green sun.

  “Er,” said Svool.

  There came a slither of steel on leather as Lumar drew two pistols taken from General Bronson’s men.

  “Get in the tunnel,” she said.

  “We’ll die in there,” whimpered Svool.

  “We’ll die out here,” said Lumar.

  “And there’s another thing,” said Herbert - happily oblivious, it would seem, to his impending doom at the hands of Black Jake. “That smell you’re smelling. It’s explosive. So don’t be firing them there pistols, or you’ll be bringing not just the roof down, but the whole dang and blast mountain.” He brayed, spittle flying from rubber lips, as if chuckling at some incredibly funny joke.

  Slowly, Svool and Lumar backed towards the tunnel mouth. Angelina and Zoot had already entered, and Herbert clipped and clopped his way round, metal legs working in all different directions, and headed towards the tunnel...

  Black Jake loomed to the forefront of the group. He was a big man, broad-shouldered, stocky, heavily-built, and fearsome. His head was shaved close to the skull and his black beard bristled fiercely. He was dark-skinned, his eyes black, his teeth black with the occasional glint of gold. He was grinning as he eyed up Lumar.

  “Are you the people who killed ma brother?” he said, and spat a long plume of brown phlegm to the rocky canyon floor.

  “Er,” said Svool.

  “He did,” said Lumar, gesturing with her head towards Svool.

  “Oh, thanks a lot for that stab in the back,” snapped Svool.

  “W
ell, you did, didn’t you? Shot him a good one between the eyes. BAM! Like that.”

  “Is that so?” Black Jake was scowling now, and his grin had gone, and a dangerous animal ferocity was on his face, in the hunch of his shoulders, in the clutching of his black pistols.

  “Get ready to run...” hissed Lumar.

  “Oh, dear! Oh, deary dear!” The voice was Herbert. He’d made his way to the tunnel entrance and pushed himself inside, but his metal hips seemed to have jammed in the opening. His back legs thrashed pointlessly and he clanked and clunked and made wheezing, unhealthy ratcheting sounds.

  Svool risked a glance back. Lumar kept her eyes - and guns - on Black Jake. Around him, his many bandit compadres were grinning and licking foul, black, rotting teeth. Some of them rubbed their hands together; Lumar fancied she even heard a cackle.

  “I’m stuck!” wailed Herbert suddenly. “Help! Oh, help! I have my arse wedged in the tunnel opening! I do implore you all to cease this aggravation and help a poor old wounded Special Friend. I’m your friend. A friend for life.” His legs kicked some more. There came more buzzes and clanks and clonks.

  Lumar watched as Black Jake raised his pistols. All around him, the seventy or so banditos also lifted their guns, a rippling of steel like spikes on a porcupine’s back. He spat on the rocks. “Anyways. Hardly matters who killed ma brother,” said Black Jake. He grinned wider. “Because I’m going to fuck you both.”

  “What do we do now?” hissed Svool, flapping in panic.

  “Looks like we die,” said Lumar, taking a deep cool breath, and firing both her pistols.

  ~ * ~

  ELEVEN

  JENNY XI AWOKE, upright, facing herself in a mirror. It was a strange awakening, from deep sleep to sudden total awareness. She was in a white stone room. There were arched windows looking out over a vast city -the capital city, Bacillus Port. Greenstar had a massive presence there, with a complex which itself could have been deemed a city; she remembered, as a child, visiting Bacillus Port and seeing the high white stone towers. Well, it would appear she was now inside one. And who would have thought, back when she was a child, that they were used for torture? She had always imagined something noble went on in there. Now, she was learning different.

  She was naked, and tied to some kind of extremely solid upright slab. Her tall athletic body was bruised and lacerated in many places, as she could see in her sad pale reflection. She did not recall getting the wounds, but they’d probably come from the bomb blast at the factory. She sagged against her bonds and looked into her eyes, into those reflected portals to the soul, and saw that she had aged. She no longer looked like a proud, strong warrior - no. She looked beaten, and battered, and bettered. Her face was gaunt, hollowed almost, and with a start she realised the effect Randy Zaglax ripping free her back teeth had achieved. He’d hollowed out her face. Hollowed out her soul. The bastard.

  She narrowed her eyes and scowled at her own weak, naked reflection. She was tied tightly to the slab, only her head allowed freedom of movement. She turned, looking out over the city she remembered so well from her childhood. A trip with her father, Old Tom. One of the good memories. They’d bought ice cream in the streets. Marvelled at the wonders of Greenstar’s newly created magnificence; right at the start, before the corruption and - ha, yeah - the toxicity took hold at the heart of the company. Well, at first it had seemed it could be good. A chance for the planet of Amaranth to shine. How wrong they had been. How wrong they had all been.

  Sunlight gleamed across the city.

  Tears ran down Jenny’s face.

  “That’s right, bitch. Cry it out. Because it’s only going to get worse.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’m pretty sure, in your unconscious state, you already have.”

  Jenny started to laugh as Randy came into view, and she took a good hard stare at his ruined face. “And I’m sure that’s how you have to take all the girls, isn’t it? Or it certainly is now. Your face looks like an explosion in a distorted chicken factory. And, oh, look, there I can see part of a frog’s arse. No matter how bad it gets for me, Randy, it’ll never be as bad as it is now for you, you fucking deformo. They call you Randy, but no woman on this fucking planet - not even the mutants - would want to fuck a fuck-up like you.”

  Randy leapt forward, a knife in his hand, murder in his pain-filled eyes. “I’ll cut off your fucking face, bitch, see how you like that...”

  “Randy.” The voice was female, and stern. With it came command, and Jenny was sure there couldn’t be that many people who had any form of control over Randy Zaglax.

  “Yes,” he said, and his eyes focused, but when Jenny looked at him she saw a new-found core of hatred for her, nestling in his eyes and face and hands. He’d kill her as soon as he could, she realised. In fact, his insanity was probably only held in rein by iron-hard bands of authority. Who? Which bitch sat behind her, out of view, watching like the ultimate voyeur?

  It had to be the Big Boss.

  Renazzi Lode.

  Small, perfectly formed, but with a tongue of acid, a brain of poison, and the military might of the entire Greenstar Recycling Company behind her. Jenny had a limited knowledge of the way the organisation worked - except, perhaps, for how to best destroy its factories with bombs - but one person she knew held the monopoly and the casting vote was Renazzi Lode. And the woman was, perhaps, in the room with her. If Jenny could get to her... reach the unreachable... and slit the bitch’s throat. That would be a result, surely? Not exactly a direct command from Mr Candle, but hell, to assassinate the head of Greenstar? Surely it was every ECO terrorist’s wet dream?

  But how?

  Randy was staggering in front of her, and he drew back her attention. He waved the long slender blade under her nose, and he was grinning, a lop-sided, hanging-flesh look Jenny had come to know and understand.

  “You know something, Randy? I’ve known beautiful people with the insides of a fucking sewer. And I’ve known ugly, deformed, twisted toxic mutants - yes, worse even than you - with the hearts and minds of angels. Looks do not define a person. I know that. I understand that. But you, my happy little torturing rapist, you have it all. A face like the inside of a pig’s rectum, and an inner poison worse than any pollutant Greenstar could ever pump into the soil. Truly, it would be a service to the Quad-Gal to put five bullets in your skull. And I say that without hatred or malice.” She looked up then. “I say it out of love.”

  Randy made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and looked off over Jenny’s left shoulder. So. To the left. Good. She had a position.

  “You think you’re so perfect, hey, Jenny Xi? Well look at this. Look at what you’ve done...”

  “What I’ve...”

  The mirror before her suddenly gleamed, and then oozed into transparency. It was a screen, looking into a small, dark, damp cell. There was a figure chained tight and upright against a wall. It was the naked figure of Sick Note, his skinny arms and legs covered in bruises and blood, his hacking cough unmistakable. His face was filled with anger and defiance. “I’ll never fucking talk,” he was muttering, even as the three men waded into him with baseball bats. His arms and legs jiggled under the impacts. His head was batted left, then right, like a balloon on a string. They hammered him and Jenny felt her own mouth go slack in disbelief, for this was not just a beating, it was fucking murder, the murder of a man, one of her squad, whom she knew and loved...

  “No,” she hissed.

  “Yes,” said Randy, close to her, his stink, the stench of iodine and painkillers and antiseptic filling her nostrils. “Watch this bit. I think it’s going to be good. And, you understand, we’re not torturing him to make him talk... oh, no! What would be the point of that?” Randy grinned at her through destruction. “We’re just fucking him up to show you what you are doing to your friends. You lost your last squad, right? Lost them to a man. The only survivor was Jenny Xi. Well, let’s see if history can’t repeat itself...”

&nb
sp; “Stop,” said Jenny, suddenly weak, voice husky. “Stop it, now!”

  “Oh, stop, stop, stop!” exclaimed Randy effetely, placing his palms against his raw stitched cheeks, against his torn ragged face which made the effeminate voice and play-acting seem even more ridiculous; even more surreal. But what happened next was in no way a dream. What happened next forced ice acid into Jenny’s brain and held it there; like her head was on a spike.

  A chainsaw’s roar broke the squelching and cracking in the chamber, and the men with baseball bats backed away. Sick Note sagged against his chains, weak, battered, but still defiant. He spat out blood and broken teeth. “Fuck you all!” he growled, and Jenny’s heart went out to him then, went out to his strength and courage and fearlessness. The chainsaw was buzzing, and blue smoke filled the chamber. The blade came into view, and Sick Note was watching it uneasily, his face still strong but his eyes betraying a shard of fear for the first time.