War Machine (The Combat-K Series)

by Andy Remic

  Pippa stood, hands on her hips; and despite her pyjamas—in fact, maybe because of the pyjamas—she looked truly fearsome.

  Franco found himself torn between arousal and fear.

  “Ahh, Pippa,” he said, admittedly, and even to his own ears, with rather a large dollop of lameness: like a puppy next to a pile of poo, like a pale-faced kid next to broken crystal.

  “Don’t fucking ‘ahh Pippa me’ you fucking little pervert,” she snapped. “You loaded me up, didn’t you? Used a DNA strand? What was it? My hair? My toenail clipping?”

  “What? Oh no no, come on Pippa, I’d never do that, how warped and desperate do you think I am—no offence meant—I mean, is there no trust in this contemporary world we inhabit?”

  “Computer?”

  “Yes, mistress?”

  “Replay the last five minutes, on the screen, from Immersion Console 6.”

  “I really don’t think...” muttered Franco with a worried glance.

  An image of Pippa appeared on the screen, legs apart, vulva exposed for all to admire, a technically perfect simulacrum, because the experience was based on her own DNA. On screen, Franco danced a little jig and got ready to get jiggy on the job.

  Pippa turned on Franco, a whirl of madness. “You are one disgusting pervert fucker.”

  “Yes, well, I mean...”

  “How could you, Franco? A no is a fucking no!”

  “Yes, but, you see, technically...”

  “I feel dirty,” she snapped. She turned and stalked from the narrow chamber. Franco relaxed back into the bath, and was just considering whether he dare risk putting the machine back on, when Pippa stormed back in.

  Franco raised his eyebrows.

  “I forgot something,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s in my hand.”

  Franco peered close. Pippa leant forward.

  “What is it?”

  “This.”

  She slammed her fist into his nose. Franco yelped, went under the custard immersion fluid, spluttered and choked and appeared, greased and lathered, to find that Pippa had gone.

  He touched his nose, which was pounding at him with flares of pain; then he grinned.

  “Feisty tough bugger,” he nodded, in appreciation, and wiped thick slime from his eyes. “Must add that to the immersion scripting directives for the next load... only, only afterI’ve had a suck on one of my lusty red pills.”

  It was a week before Pippa would even look at—never mind speak to—Franco Haggis. He took it rather well, and with an air of

  nose-in-the-air respect and dignity that did nothing to sedate Pippa’s fury, he continued his massacre of German sausages and the quaffing of multitudinous alcoholic beverages.

  During these tense days, Keenan had his work cut out pacifying Pippa, who was never stable at the best of times. On several occasions, Keenan heard her muttering phrases like, “I’ll show him” and “I’ll cut out the little ginger fucker’s spleen” and “son of a bitch deserves castration”. This distinct negativity, coupled with her long forages down in the Weapon Stores had Keenan on edge, and continually trying to ram warnings deep into Franco’s apparently impenetrable skull.

  “You are checking under the bed, aren’t you?” said Keenan over coffee one morning.

  “What for?”

  “Bombs? Guns? Some form of impaling device?”

  “Don’t be a dick, Keenan.”

  “Moi? A dick? I’m not the one provoking the most psychotic member of our little squad into violent action over a form of mental and sexual abuse she has every right to be pissed about.”

  “Yeah, but you did provoke her.”

  “Meaning?”

  “She thinks you betrayed her.”

  Keenan stared into his coffee, and realised that Franco was right. He sat, senses compressed. He felt as if he had a corpse in his mouth. Slowly, reality bled back into Keenan’s mind like a living rainbow, and he looked up at Franco, still happily eating his foot-long Bratwurst and chattering on aimlessly and gormlessly.

  “...and I smiled at her and said, ‘Nothing feels as good as tits,’ and we all laughed, we did, because it’s so true.” He stopped, and stared at Keenan. “You OK, brother? You look a little peaky? I think maybe you need a holiday.”

  “Not much chance of that.”

  “After the mission then?”

  “Unlikely, as there seems to be a ninety-five percent chance of death.”

  “Nah, what a load of shite. We’ll be OK. We’ll pull through. We’ve been through worse shit.” He laughed, chewing sausage, his feral eyes glowing in the cockpit lights.

  “Does nothing ever worry you, Franco?”

  “Hmm? No, not really. When you’ve been locked away for as long as I have, you always look on the bright side of life. Either that,” he grinned, “or you go mad.”

  An orange light glowed on the console.

  Franco nodded towards it. “We getting close?”

  “A day away.”

  Franco stared distantly. “We’re out on the edge of explored space, aren’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “And nobody knows we’re here?”

  “Hopefully.”

  “It’s a bit spooky.”

  “A bit spooky?”

  Franco shivered. “Yeah, wouldn’t like to be out here alone.” Suddenly, he lurched across the cabin and gave Keenan a big hug, the slimy bratwurst pressing against Keenan’s cheek.

  “I hope that’s still your sausage in your hand,” mumbled Keenan from beneath the cumbersome mass of Franco’s bulk.

  Pippa entered. She stood. She stared, long and hard.

  Franco emerged from the embrace with his sausage in his hand like a greased child’s lollipop.

  “Hi Pippa,” he said.

  “So you’ll be cutting and pasting Keenan’s face into your porno machine next, will you? Give him a good humping? Stick your uninvited todge in his well-lubed orifices?”

  Franco chortled, and bit his sausage. “Ha ha. Good joke, that is. You’ve got a wicked sense of humour Pippa. Glad to see you’ve got over our unfortunate misunderstanding. Ha ha.”

  “What misunderstanding? There was no damn misunderstanding about it, that’s for sure. You abused my digital representation using my DNA for accuracy. You took pleasure from an avatar you knew would piss me right off.”

  “Ahh, but only if you found out,” winked Franco.

  “Well, I found out. And I’m not happy.”

  “Anyway, I resent the word abused,” sulked Franco.

  “Look, look, guys,” said Keenan. “Listen, we’ve got a long way to go, and a lot of things still to do. If I can’t trust you not to squabble like kids in the playground then I’ll be hitting the surface of Teller’s World alone. You get that?”

  “Yes boss,” said Franco.

  Pippa scowled.

  “Pippa?”

  “I suppose so. I suppose, in some ways, I should be flattered.”

  “That’s the way to look at it! Atta girl!” beamed Franco.

  “Not with your digital mauling, fuckwit, with accompanying Keenan on the last leg of his mission. I know he would rather we weren’t here; you’d rather not be putting our lives in danger, hey, Kee?”

  “That’s true,” he said, “but a selfish part of my soul is glad you’re here, all the same, both of you.”

  “I can feel a three-way hug situation coming on,” smiled Franco optimistically.

  “Not now,” said Keenan.

  “I think it’s time we packed our gear. I’ve had a good rummage through the stores. I reckon that bastard JuJu was stocked up to invade the whole of Sinax. He’s got everything from 9mm ammo to Gas RPGs. We could supply an army with what’s in the hold, never mind the ship’s armoury.”

  Keenan stood up and stretched.

  “Let’s tool up,” he said.

  It was the last night.

  Packs were packed, weapons stashed, guns cleaned, ammo checked,
food sorted, maps plotted, PADs charged, and DNA-locked, primed and initiated. After a brief meeting in the Comms Room, checking what sparse map data they could gather, mainly from scattered dead satellite photographs and synapse translations/predictions of geography and geology, Emerald had turned in for sleep. Keenan, Franco and Pippa sat round the table, staring at one another with an air of expectation.

  Oval plates with steaming piles of chicken jalfrezi, cooked the Franco way, sat in front of them. He beamed expectantly. “Go on, tuck in; looks good to me!” His smile widened.

  “What I don’t understand,” said Keenan, slowly, warily, lifting his fork and poking at dubious items squalling in the steaming mush, “is why you didn’t just order it from the InfinityChef?”

  “Is not the same.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just isn’t.”

  Pippa lifted a forkful. She stared at its quivering contents and then glanced at the expectant look on Franco’s face. “So,” she said, “you ordered all the ingredients separately, from the InfinityChef, and then peeled them and poked them and put them all together in what you call... cooking?”

  “Is right.”

  “And you heated it all up? Into this mush?”

  “Aye. Try it. You’ll like it.”

  “It smells... funny.”

  “Just taste it!” exploded a frantic Franco.

  Pippa tasted it, savoured it, and glanced at Keenan.

  “You going to die on me, girl, or what?”

  “Actually, it’s really good.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well I didn’t expect that.” Keenan took a mouthful. His taste buds exploded like firecrackers in his head. He took another, and another, until his plate was empty.

  “Is good yes?” barked Franco.

  “Excellent,” smiled Keenan. He patted Franco. “Good boy.”

  “Yeah, good doggy,” smiled Pippa. “Your culinary skills almost make up for you being a psycho pervert.”

  “A little harsh, I think you’ll find,” said Franco.

  “Not in my world.”

  Suddenly, Franco produced a bottle from under the table and popped the cork. He filled three glasses and lifted his into the air, which shimmered from the heat off the jalfrezi. Green wine sparkled, and Franco said, “I thought we should have a toast!”

  “What’s the occasion?” said Pippa, “Our impending deaths?”

  “No! Combat K re-formed! We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah, only by a miracle,” snorted Pippa.

  “You’re wrong,” said Franco, deadly serious. “We’ve got back that old magic, the magic that saw us through a thousand blood-drenched missions. We’re here, we’re back; we’re rocking the magic party, baby!”

  Keenan clinked his glass against Franco’s. “I’ve got to say, it’s been a pleasure working with you two. Yes, as a team we’re eccentric; but what the hell, there’re no other people alive I’d rather team up with: salt of the earth.”

  Glasses clinked again, and the atmosphere filled with warmth. The gentle lull of alcohol was cosy and filled with unity and a sense of good spirit. They drank more. Franco refilled glasses. They drank again in a comfortable silence.

  Franco yawned; he’d been hard at work for most of the day, servicing the engines and checking onboard systems on the Armoured Drop Buggy. As he pointed out (repeatedly), one didn’t want to get stranded with no engine oil. To which everybody constantly replied, “Yes, Franco”.

  “I’m turning in.” He glanced expectantly at Pippa.

  “Don’t even ask.”

  “This could be our last night alive.”

  Pippa nodded. “Exactly, and I don’t want my dying memories to be of your hairy arse.”

  “I could shave it.”

  “Franco!”

  “All right. Goodnight. Sleep tight.” He disappeared, with a pint glass of green sparkly as a winter warmer.

  Keenan and Pippa glanced at one another over the remaining liquor. Pippa stood, moved to the console, and the lights dimmed. Keenan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  They sat in comfortable silence for a while.

  “He was right, you know,” said Pippa at last, voice low and husky.

  “What’s that?”

  “This could be our last night alive.”

  “It’s not like you to be a pessimist.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve never had a mission quite like this before.”

  Keenan simply nodded.

  Pippa shuffled closer, and placed her hand over his.

  “I’m... sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Being so... unpredictable. I know I come across psychotic.”

  “What? Sweet little you?” Keenan was grinning. Pippa punched him on the arm.

  “Don’t get too cocky.”

  “I forgive you,” said Keenan magnanimously.

  “There’s so much else I want to say to you.” Pippa stood, leant over Keenan, and kissed him. He savoured the moment, head spinning, reeling back to old times and better times. Her lips were sweet, warm, slick, her tongue powerful and yet gentle at the same time. There was a lot of emotion in that kiss, and a lot of love. Keenan’s hand moved and rested against her hip. She groaned, and the sound was an animal one.

  Keenan pulled away. “I can’t...” he said.

  Pippa put her finger against his lips. She tugged him to his feet, took his hand, and barefoot, led him down the corridor to her SleepCell. She guided him to the bed, and then turned and closed the door.

  She undressed him in darkness, kissing him all the while. Her tongue traced circles across his neck, his throat, his chest; she tugged free his shirt, popping buttons with an almost childish giggle, then pulled free Keenan’s black combats and stood, gazing at his nakedness in the gloom.

  “You coming over all dominatrix on me?”

  “You wish.”

  “Actually, now you mention it...” said Keenan.

  She undressed, and it was a slow dance that held Keenan hypnotised; he was a snake under a charmer’s spell; a planet in the pull of a black hole. Finally, she stood naked and proud before him, and he drank in the sight of her, revelled in her beauty, her taut flesh, her readiness.

  “It’s been a long time,” said Keenan.

  She moved towards him, pushed him back on the bed, and straddled him roughly. “And look what you’ve been missing,” she growled. Her hands rubbed up over his chest, her body dipping towards his erect cock, touching him, then moving away. Keenan groaned. Pippa kissed him.

  “Have you missed me, lover?” she whispered in his ear, warm words tickling him, taunting him, teasing him.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  “Do you want me?”

  “I want you,” he said.

  “What do you want to do to me?” She nibbled his ear, his throat, her hands stroking his forehead, his chest, his belly, his thighs. Keenan groaned this time.

  “I want to fuck you,” he snapped.

  “Gentle or hard?”

  “Hard,” he said, and grasped her hips. She lowered herself onto him, and he fell into her warmth, into her honey, was taken by her and held tight. He buried his face between her breasts and she started to fuck him, her body taut, rigid, yet soft and pliant at the same time. Her mouth and hands were everywhere, her scent filling Keenan’s senses like a rich aroma not just of woman, of sex, but of something more, something deeper. He was infused not just with sex and lust, but with a deeper love.

  “I wanted you for so long,” she breathed in his ear.

  Keenan kissed her throat, her breasts.

  “I wanted you so bad.”

  Her tempo increased, and Keenan realised he was perspiring, sweat stinging his eyes, his breath coming in ragged gasps as this beautiful rampant wild psychotic woman thrashed above him, worked him fucked him used him abused him. He did not care and he took what she had to offer and rode with her fell with her and they spiralled
at breakneck speed into an oblivion where nothing mattered, not life nor death, just the intimacy and the violence of the moment.

  Pippa screamed as she came, rigid above him, body arched back and locked to him; her whole frame was a clamp holding him tight and only a bullet through the head would have stopped her. Keenan came a second later, rushing into her, emptying himself into a bottomless vessel and the world and Pippa’s smell was around and everywhere. He may have screamed. They fell to the bed, joined, exhausted, slippery in one another’s sweat.

  As they cooled, Pippa chewed his ear.

  “I missed that.”

  “You should have come back sooner.”

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  “You were wild.”

  “Yeah.” She smiled in the darkness. “A regular wild child.”

  Keenan ran his hands through her hair, and together they pulled silk covers over their languorously chilling bodies; she snuggled against his chest, one leg over his thigh, her hand idly rubbing his taut muscled abdomen.

  “Do you love me, Kee?”

  “Until I die,” he said.

  “That may be tomorrow,” she pointed out.

  “Maybe,” agreed Keenan.

  The Ion Gunship Reason in Madness cruised the darker edges of the Sinax Cluster. Teller’s World was a world apart, lit only distantly by four suns which, between them, managed to heat the ball of rock to a temperature just about habitable by the human species. Except, the planet was forbidden, and—reportedly—uninhabited: a forced emptiness, enforced by unseen execution.

  The Gunship cruised, engines howling, and gradually began deceleration, as the grand barren vista of Teller’s World spread out in all its wonderful desolation. The ship gained the upper edges of the atmosphere. As requested, Pippa slowed the Reason in Madness to a crawl, and Combat K and Emerald stared out over a distant arena of barren black. Far away, jagged rock rose in a violent staccato range of volcanoes. Fire glowed briefly. A storm raged, and molten rock seared the land.

  “Looks like there’s no life down there to me,” snorted Franco.

  “It’s a Forbidden World,” said Keenan. “What did you expect, a carnival?”

  “I just thought, you know, a few trees or plants or something, maybe a beautiful mountain or two, a few lakes, a town, a brothel: Not... that.” He glanced at the terrain scanners. “I am right, aren’t I? It’s just a black flat desert and some volcanoes. No seas, no forests, no mountains, just no goddamn nothing for a man to get his teeth properly into.”