War Machine (The Combat-K Series)

by Andy Remic

  “Or... maybe you had a woman in there?” Franco glanced at Emerald, lost in her private meditation.

  “You wish,” snapped Pippa.

  “Now you come to mention it, I’ve compiled a list of possible candidates for a fantasy of hardcore lesbian coupling.”

  “God,” said Betezh quietly. Franco stared at him.

  “What, slack boy?”

  “You’re like children,” said Betezh. “I’m honestly quite stunned that you ever came back from a single mission alive. It’s like listening to a bunch of acne-riddled teen-angst muppets squabbling in the playground.”

  Franco shook his head. “No no no, you see, the way it works is this.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “We’re facing certain death, on regular occasions, right? So the best preventative tonic is to banter, lighten the mood, chill baby, so when you are required to blow some motherfucker’s head clean off,” he cocked his Kekra and placed four barrels against Betezh’s lips, “then it comes just that little bit easier, you can sleep at night, and not be haunted by the horror of your actions; comprendé?”

  Betezh nodded behind squashed lips.

  “Franco, leave him alone,” said Keenan. “Look, something’s coming up. We’re on. Put the gun away and get Betezh a pack; if he’s coming with us, he can carry the fucking ammunition.”

  “Me?” said Betezh.

  “You don’t think I’m leaving you here alone with our only damn transport off this barren rock world, do you?”

  “I... well, I...”

  “Although, yeah, you might be right, you may turn into a burden. I can do without having to check over my damn shoulder every ten seconds.” He smiled a sly smile. “I’ll let Franco deal with you, shall I?”

  “No, no. Carrying ammunition is just fine, great, dandy, in fact. Just show old Betezh where the heavy donkey-load is; Betezh the name, humping the game.”

  Franco slapped Betezh on the back, making him wheeze. Franco grinned a deaths-head grin. “That’s the spirit lad! You’ll fit in just fine mate!” He turned and, bristling with guns, headed for the ramp.

  Keenan, wincing despite a heavy load of painkillers, stood with dark sand staining his boots, and watched Franco bounce the Buggy from the ship’s hold. The Buggy was a little battered, its balloon tyres chunky with tread and grinding through sand as Franco revved the powerful 1000bhp engine. The machine flew down the ramp with a roar, spun, sending showers of desert cascading into a dune, and slammed to a halt inches from Keenan’s knees. Keenan smiled coldly.

  “Good to see I’ve still got it,” grinned Franco.

  Pippa looked serious. “Move over, I’m driving.”

  “What? No! But!...”

  “Yeah, move over,” said Keenan, brushing sand from his combats. “Pippa is definitely driving.”

  Keenan sat in the front with Pippa; Emerald, Betezh and Franco sat in the back, and Cam attached himself with a metallic clang to the Buggy’s hull. Without a backward glance, they set off across the featureless landscape, Pippa racing the engine and hammering along at a ferocious speed.

  Overhead, clouds the colour of lead bunched and fought. Lightning flickered in the distance. Wind howled a mournful song over rolling desert. Ancient sand churned beneath the Buggy’s wheels.

  “There are few mines in this vicinity,” explained Emerald. She seemed weak and drawn, her skin stretched back over her face, eyes narrowed as if in pain. “It became too treacherous for our people; we call it The Runway.”

  “Are you OK?” asked Pippa, glancing back.

  Emerald nodded. “My weakness is increasing. I think... something strange is happening to me, organically, biochemically, physiologically. I feel as if my homeland is drawing out my energy, my life. Maybe I’m not wanted.” She laughed.

  “We need to get you to The Factory,” said Keenan, and turned back, eyes scanning the desert. Clouds raced above him, and more black snow began to fall, thick, cloying, huge flakes tumbling idly through the air. The wind had died; apart from the Buggy’s roaring engine—even now subdued—a curious blanketing silence settled like a shroud across the land, across the world.

  “I don’t like it here,” said Franco.

  “You don’t like it anywhere,” said Pippa.

  “I like The City!”

  “Only because you’re a whore.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  The more snow fell, the more subdued Keenan felt. His depression grew. It was as if a huge cloud was sinking, enveloping his existence. Dark snowflakes settled on his shoulders and hair, and he shivered, not just from skin-chill but from a deep wound inside his heart. He ground his teeth, ignoring the dull pain from the vicious battle with Mr. Max; he had to push on, had to see this thing through. The memories, and honour and justice for his dead family, depended on it.

  Pippa slowed the Buggy. “Something’s coming up,” she said, dropping another gear. The Buggy shook and rumbled, restrained with engine-braking, then slowed to a halt. A narrow tear appeared across the ground in the rocky substrate, perhaps only a couple of feet across; it dropped, a crevasse, into darkness below.

  “Follow the crack,” said Emerald, rubbing at her weary face. “There is an entrance.”

  Pippa cruised, the Buggy’s suspension pounded by the desert and rocky ground. Suddenly, a low black archway loomed out of the thick falling snow; Pippa stopped the Buggy with a crunch, and Keenan climbed out.

  He strode forward, MPK ready, eyes alert. He reached out, then snatched back his hand, leaving a layer of his glove on the archway’s surface. “Gods, that’s cold,” he hissed. His head lifted, following the archway, reading the deeply carved inscription there.

  “What does it say?”

  Emerald gave a weak smile. “Only those with the Dark Flame may pass.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Something in your heart,” said Emerald, and Keenan met her gaze. They stood there, locked, and Keenan felt suddenly foolish; suddenly, deeply unsure of himself, his motivations, his direction in life. He gave a cold bark that masqueraded as a laugh.

  What the hell am I doing here? he thought.

  Is revenge so damned important?

  Am I just another pointless fool?

  He rubbed at his head, closing his eyes, breathing deeply. This whole place, Teller’s World, was beginning to get to him, to eat into his heart and soul like a maggot in an apple, compressing him, destroying him from the inside out.

  Despite reports to the contrary—that of no life on Teller’s World—he could feel something there: a presence, something mystical or magical, not a life-form as Quad-Gal understood such things, but a dark entity, an oppressive existence, a... dark God...

  Leviathan.

  It came as a whisper from the darker reaches of his imagination, from the factory that churns out nightmares. Looking at Pippa, and Franco, he saw they were experiencing a similar feeling. He forced a smile through gritted chipped teeth and hoisted his MPK. Sweat glistened on his brow, despite cool whispering air and chilled snow.

  “What now, boss?” said Franco: a gentle exhalation.

  Keenan glanced at the arched gateway. Beyond, the slope led very, very steeply down. A foul air exhaust blew up, howling just at the edge of hearing. He looked again at Emerald, but her bright green eyes were closed; her breathing was ragged.

  “We’re going in,” he said, “and I’m driving.”

  He climbed into the Buggy, slipped the clutch, and spun the vehicle round, leaving ruts in the desert sand. Then, with a final glance at the open spacious world about him and above him, he accelerated hard, hammered through the archway and bubble tyres left the ground—were airborne—before touching down on the slope and slamming Combat K in a near vertical descent into blackness and cold, cold oblivion.

  The slope was an umbilical, a rollercoaster road leading ever down. Gloom flooded in the absence of light, and the Buggy’s headlights cut bright white swathes from the charcoal. The path cut steeply through
rock, twisting and turning, sometimes cutting back on itself, hairpin following hairpin, and in grim silence Keenan unleashed the Buggy, dropped with alarming and insane speed into the nightmare of descent and horror he knew had to come... had to be overcome. And yet he could not help himself, could not hold back speed for fear of pain or death and with gritted teeth as wind and rock flashed by at incredible velocity and he heard Franco gasp, then scream, Keenan focused and rushed headlong into the abyss...

  The Buggy growled, tyres and suspension thumping. Rocks thudded from the chassis. Several flicked up, bouncing from the vehicle’s plastic windshield, and flew over their heads. Franco, knuckles white, hung on for dear life, and when he glanced across at Betezh, he found the shaven-headed ageing ex-doctor grinning inanely at him.

  “What are you laughing at?” screamed Franco.

  “If I’m going to die, at least you die with me!”

  Franco was about to scream a retort when the narrow road soared upwards, leaving the rocky walls behind, and they were suddenly suspended on a high bridge in the midst of an enormous cavern. Engine growling, Keenan reined in the power, and the Buggy finally slowed, coming to a halt with a judder on a treacherously high narrow walkway. Franco peered over the side, but couldn’t leave the confines of the vehicle, only a severe drop greeted him. Keenan eased the Buggy forward again, more sedately, and the bridge dropped and turned, spiralling into a corkscrew that dropped down and down, down to the broad flat rocky floor. Keenan killed the engine, feeling sick, and it died with a burble of unspent fuel.

  He climbed out, scratched at his chin, and breathed the stale, metallic air.

  “Emerald?”

  “Yes?” Her voice was frighteningly gentle, like silk smothering a candle flame.

  “Something’s coming.”

  “I know. Be calm. You must remain calm.”

  Distantly, something moved. The rock seemed to waver like a desert mirage, and then it shifted, advanced, and a wave of bright metal flowed forwards, hugging the ground as it skittered towards them. The carpet shimmered in the eldritch light of the cavern, rippling, undulating with insect union, and a sound came drifting like storm-sand. Keenan squinted hard, trying to add clarity to his blurred vision.

  Franco took a step back. He drew and cocked his Kekra. Pippa, mouth dry, also cocked her MPK sub-machine gun, and started tracking this imminent and vast new threat.

  “No!” snapped Keenan, holding up a fist. “No shots.”

  “But Keenan...” breathed Franco.

  “Wait. Don’t do anything. Trust her.”

  “I trust nobody,” grated Franco, but he hefted his weapons and stood his ground. The sheet of metal sped towards them, a flood of fist-sized metal objects which, as they neared, turned from a buzzing humming vibrating blur into—

  “Machines!” blurted Franco.

  “They’re robots,” said Pippa.

  “Whatever you do, don’t fire your weapons,” growled Keenan. His eyes were narrowed, and he recognised an unstoppable threat when it approached. Each machine was the size of a child’s fist, and comprised a tiny cylinder with spinning, cutting blades. There were hundreds of the machines, thousands: a swarm, like a metal disease, glittering bright and oiled, and humming as they jostled and merged, and sped towards the group. The wave hit them like a cold metallic wind, invading their senses, and they could smell oil and grease, and taste metallic flakes in the air. The tiny machines bumped them, rising up, surrounding them, engulfing them, and all the group could see was a shimmering metal field.

  And yet—

  Despite Franco opening his mouth to scream, there was no pain.

  “Keep calm.” Emerald’s voice cut through the billions of tiny vibrations surrounding Combat K. Even Betezh was silent, mouth and eyes tight shut, praying to a God he didn’t believe in for a miracle that wouldn’t happen.

  And then... then they were gone, flooding back across the rocky cavern floor, a jostling, bumping, humming buzzing. Keenan stared, steel-eyed, watching the flood change into a metal waterfall that flowed into a kilometre wide slot in the ground. He released a pent-up breath, wiped sweat from his brow, and allowed himself the luxury of oxygen.

  “What happened?”

  “They tried to eat us!” squawked Franco.

  “If they’d tried to eat us,” growled Keenan, “then we’d already be dead.” He glanced at Emerald.

  “They are autonomous drones; they respond to aggression. If you attack, they simply pulp you into an organic mist. I, of course, was immune because of my Kahirrim blood; you would not have been so fortunate.”

  “Were they sent by your brother? Raze?”

  “No. He has no control on these upper levels. Despite his prowess, his might, he is trapped by the same mechanism that held me on Ket for so long. However, he guards The Factory, and will kill me before allowing me a full return to power. These machines are part of Leviathan’s internal protection system, part of the natural defence of Teller’s World. One of the reasons nobody leaves this place alive.”

  Keenan nodded. “Let’s move.”

  “I think I’ve soiled my pants,” grunted Franco.

  “What, again?” snapped Pippa.

  “You’re so damned understanding.”

  Pippa lifted her MPK, grey eyes bleak. “Understanding? That’s not a word in my vocabulary,” she hissed, and stalked ahead, MPK sweeping the surrounding area. She turned, calming her breathing. “This is a bad place, Keenan. I think I might just regret following you.”

  “I never said it would be easy,” said Keenan.

  Pippa returned to him. “That’s right.” She touched his arm, returned to a state of calm. “Don’t worry; I’ll follow you through the gates of Hell, and beyond, into Eternity.”

  “Me too!” said Franco.

  Keenan laughed. “It’s good to be among... friends. Come on, back in the Buggy. I get the impression we’ve a long way to go, and Emerald is starting to look... odd. I think this place is draining her, draining what energy or power she has. I’m worried that if we don’t get her to this Factory...”

  “She might die on you?”

  Keenan nodded.

  “And you need your answers, right?” Pippa’s eyes gleamed with silver tears.

  “I need revenge, Pippa. I need to make them pay.”

  “I’m sure you will,” she whispered.

  They climbed back into the Buggy, and Keenan drove fast and straight, following Emerald’s directions. The huge tyres thudded over the slots that had disgorged the swarm of drones. Then they were slamming along to a high-pitched engine scream.

  Keenan felt Cam, spinning by his ear. He glanced at the tiny PopBot. “You OK?”

  “We’ve travelled a long way together, Keenan.”

  “Yeah.” Keenan fumbled out a home-rolled cigarette, lit the weed and took a deep toke. Cam made an annoyed buzzing sound, but didn’t comment. He’d been trying to get Keenan to quit since their time back on Galhari. “And you’ve been a good little PopBot.” He stared hard at the machine. “You did disarm that internal bomb, didn’t you?”

  “Of course, Keenan. It was primitive. Mr. Max should have stuck to sneaking up behind innocent old ladies and murdering them with a garrotte. Explosives, alas, were not his forte.”

  “Good. I mean, I’m glad you’re not going to explode.”

  “So am I. What I want to say, Keenan, is that since arriving on Teller’s World I’ve been experiencing a few tiny malfunctions.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I’ve run systematic and repeated internal diagnostics on all systems and sub-systems; there are no hardware or hardwired errors. That means I am being subtly altered by an external power source.”

  “What power source?”

  “The point is, my casing is Special H graded, which means I am built to a set of military standards, and that means that practically nothing can infiltrate my shell. After all, I wouldn’t want to be marooned on a distant world and have me develop a fault—una
ble, for example, to open a can of beans.”

  “Very amusing. You’ve waited to slip that one in, haven’t you?”

  “The point is, there is an awesome power source, here.”

  “Where?”

  “According to my covert and tentative explorations it’s... everywhere. But it’s confusing me, Keenan; the whole damn planet of Teller’s World is just downright odd. It’s not something you can see from the outside... but from the inside...”

  “What?” Keenan glanced at Cam.

  “There’s something not right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s difficult to quantify.” If Cam had possessed shoulders he would have wriggled uncomfortably. “The place doesn’t work right. I’ve analysed mass, velocity, spin, diameter, and gravity: the whole package doesn’t add up.”

  “What are you trying to say, Cam?”

  “This isn’t a planet.”

  Pippa, who had been listening from the passenger seat, snorted a laugh. “What the hell are we driving across? A custard pie?”

  “No.” Once more Cam adopted a prim pose. As the Buggy rode chasms and ruts, dipping and riding rock waves, so Cam remained perfectly level between Keenan and Pippa. His flight control was phenomenal, accurate to an nthdegree.

  “A jelly donut, perhaps?”

  “This is not a planet.” His voice went hard. “It’s a machine. And it’s hiding something at its core: something big, something with the sort of energy output to create worlds.”

  “Or destroy them,” said Keenan.

  “And that’s why nobody has been allowed to explore this planet; that’s why it protects itself so violently, why millionshave died... to protect the Big Secret!”

  “What are you thinking, Kee?” Pippa’s eyes were bright. She placed a hand on his knee, and he touched her gloved fingers; a small sign of affection in a dark cruel place.

  “I’m thinking that what started as a simple quest for knowledge has turned into insanity, a maze of complexity: GodRaces, Forbidden Planets, awesome power sources at the core of machine worlds... All I wanted was a simple life. All I want is to commit a bloody act of retribution; then I’ll die a happy man. But it’s as if God is laughing at me; he keeps throwing random variables into the damn mixing bowl and expecting me to cope. I’ve pretty much had enough of this shit. I never thought I’d say it, but I’m ready to go home.”