Theme Planet

by Andy Remic

  “And a very good morning, sir. What can reception do for you?”

  “Hi, er, this is Dexter Colls in room 237. I wonder, have you seen my wife, Katrina Colls, this morning?”

  “Yes sir, I have. They left early. Your two little girls -is it Molly and Toffee, sir? - they were wearing bathing costumes.”

  “Ah. Right, then. They must have gone to the pool.”

  “That was my assumption, sir. Would you like me to get somebody to give them a message?”

  “No, no, that’s okay. I’ll pop down in a little while.”

  He killed the comm and poured himself a coffee. An early morning swim, eh? Well, he had stayed in bed a rather long time. Serve him right if they disappeared for an hour without him. Dex added four large sugars to the coffee, and sipped it as he moved across the generous space of the suite’s living room. He reached the balcony doors and at a touch, one slid open. Warm air greeted him, and the scent of the sea. Sunlight sparkled silver on distant waves, and Dex stepped out into the beautiful fresh air, drinking in the scenery, the long widening snake of the beach, the turquoise waters, a few watersport fanatics out in boats and on hover-skis.

  Dex stood for a while, enjoying the sunshine and the gentle breeze which caressed him, blowing away the cobwebs of too much alcohol and too little sleep. Below, he could hear scattered voices and occasional laughter. And splashes, in the pool. The pool! Dex grinned to himself, and leant over the rail, which gave a warning chime. There, there was the water glittering under sunlight. And there... no. His eyes roved over those present, sunbathing, splashing. Few of them, in all reality. Theme Planet prided itself on vast accommodations; nobody, proclaimed Theme Planet literature, should be forced on top of one another during vacation time! and Dex heartily agreed.

  His eyes roved, but he could not locate Katrina and his girls. He gave a little shrug, went back inside, and arming himself with a lobster ice-cream from the freezer, headed out from the hotel suite.

  He padded along quiet corridors. Sunlight gleamed all around from high windows. It was a very relaxing, airy place to be.

  Dex reached the lift, stepped inside, and tapped his foot as Ronan the Android sang Life’s Just Another Rollercoasting Coaster. There was a pleasant bing-bong as the lift hit ground level and Dex stepped out into the marble-floored, plant-festooned reception area. It was as big and luxurious as he remembered; no, in fact it appeared bigger and more luxurious than he remembered. He glanced up at a mirrored ceiling so high it played havoc with his vertigo, and licking ice-cream, headed for the pool area.

  It was comfortably hot as he stepped into the sun-trap surrounding the pool. Doors slid closed behind him. Plodding along, licking his ice-cream, Dex’s eyes scanned the poolside. He frowned. No Katrina. No Molly. No Toffee. How odd. Maybe Kat had taken the girls to the toilet? Or the shops? The girls were always bloody nagging for a new toy, or some new gadget.

  He scanned again, searching the sun-loungers for personal sun towels bearing images of the legendary kids toys, Punky Punk and the Punky Puking Punks, and Bilbo the Badger. There were none to be seen. In fact, there were no sun loungers at all with abandoned towels.

  “How odd,” he said, out loud this time.

  He circled the pool area, and stopped by two young women who were creaming up. “Excuse me. You haven’t seen a woman out here with two young girls? I seem to have misplaced my family.”

  Both women smiled and shook their heads. “Not this morning,” said the brunette. “Sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dex continued his circuit of the pool area, dropped his unfinished ice-cream into a SuckSuck Basket, and entered the cool interior of the reception. To his right, a man in a cream suit was reading a newspaper. He was heavyset, with dark bushed eyebrows and shades on, despite being indoors.

  Dex moved to the reception desk. “Hello. I’m Dexter Colls from 237. I phoned down earlier, and was told my wife and children were by the pool.”

  “Oh, yes, Mr Colls. Your wife left a message for you. I’ll just get it.”

  Dex felt breath ease from his anxious frame and he relaxed. Of course! They’d got tired of the pool early on, moved somewhere else. But then, hadn’t the women at the pool said no family matching his description had even been by the poolside? Yes, but in reality the women had just been creaming up. So they hadn’t been there long themselves.

  The receptionist, a pretty little thing with glossy green hair and a neat black suit, returned carrying a small envelope. Dex broke the seal and removed a small card. On it, in Katrina’s small, neat handwriting, it said, Dexter - got tired of waiting for you. Gone shopping.

  Dex pocketed the card and gave the receptionist a smile and a nod. He moved back to the lift, stepped in, and pressed the button - just as there came a sudden whoosh of air and Lex the PopBot hurtled across reception and spun into the lift alongside him.

  “Ah, Dexter! There you are!” said the PopBot.

  “Have you seen Katrina?” said Dex, as the doors slid shut and the lift continued to play Ronan the Android’s happy, chirpy music.

  “No,” said Lex, the small black ball spinning slowly, “but that shouldn’t matter to you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m going to crack your skull like an egg.”

  Dex blinked, the words not quite sinking in, and suddenly the PopBot shot across the lift interior. Dex flicked himself to one side as the black ball whined past his face, missing him by a hair’s breadth, and Lex bounced from the wall with a deep metallic thunk, leaving a massive dent. On the ricochet, Lex slammed back at Dex like an insane return volley in a violent squash game. Dex threw up his arms, twisting, and the PopBot glanced from his limb, leaving a heavy black bruise from wrist to elbow, before whining upwards and smashing into the control panel of the lift. Sparks flew as the lift gave a mighty screech of stressed alloy and tortured components, shuddered and came to a halt.

  Dex rolled, came up fast, eyes narrowed and lips drawn back in a snarl over bared teeth. “You little bastard. What have you done with my family?”

  The PopBot extricated itself from the smashed instruments and spun for a few moments, tiny lightning arcs scattering across its black casing. Then it shifted to face him, and the slots glowed a deep, disturbing red.

  “Just die, like a good boy,” said Lex.

  “What have you done to my children?”

  “Eaten them, you human bastard.”

  The PopBot hurtled at Dex, and he leapt and caught the ball, which dragged him up with it and slammed into the wall and then the ceiling, where alloy panels rippled and lights seemed to smash and burn all around him. Dex was given a high-intensity electric shock, and flung from the ceiling back across the lift’s interior, as Ronan the Android warbled on, happily and blissfully unaware of the fight in the elevator cubicle.

  Dex lay for a moment, stunned, then crawled to his knees. Lights and fire smashed through his brain. He spat out a mouthful of blood, and a tooth, and his tongue probed the broken interior of his mouth.

  He stood, fast, training and instinct kicking in from years of violence on the streets of London. No weapons, no armour. He knew from experience PopBots were tough little bastards, and it took more than a right hook to damage their alloy cases. His mind worked fast, but not fast enough. Lex the PopBot hummed and spun, and descended from the ceiling to hang, immobile, directly before him.

  “Why?” said Dex.

  “Because,” said the PopBot, infuriatingly.

  It darted at him, a deadly circular missile, and Dex threw himself sideways with a speed that surprised even himself. Lex hit the wall, leaving another dent, but Dex was twisting, hand reaching into the cavity of the broken control panel and grabbing the insulated section of a sparking, high-voltage cable...

  “Don’t...” said Lex, as Dexter swung the thick, steel-woven cable at the PopBot. There came a terrific actinic zap which blinded Dex, and the PopBot hurtled into a central support strut. A deafening clang followed, and
the elevator shuddered. The PopBot hit the ground with a dull heavy clank, and lay on the thick carpet, unmoving.

  Dex dropped the fizzing cable, panting, and glanced at his injured right arm. The little bastard had taken a strip of skin from wrist to elbow; it was a damn miracle it hadn’t shattered his bones!

  “Where’s my wife?” he said, voice thick, head pounding, and kicked the PopBot. But it was immobile. It was dead. “Shit.”

  “Do not worry,” came the elevator’s automated emergency recording, “the lift is immobile for your best interests. Do not panic, do not worry, the lift has stopped, and you will soon be rescued. Do not panic, do not worry, the Hotel Management have been informed and you will shortly be rescued. Allow us to play Ronan the Android’s greatest hits for you while you wait...”

  Dex glanced up at the damaged elevator ceiling. He tensed himself, then leapt, fingers catching the edge of the shattered panel from which he had so recently bounced. He hauled himself up through smashed alloy panels into a tall, cool tower. Dex glanced up at a distant pin-prick of light. Huge cables as thick as his waist hung immobile above him.

  “Please come back,” said the elevator’s automated emergency recording, “You have entered a prohibited area. Humans are not allowed in the prohibited area. All damages will be charged to your room account for ENTERING THE PROHIBITED AREA. PLEASE COME BACK...”

  Far above, there were various clangs and bangs. He could hear voices. Dex picked his way carefully across the roof and noted an emergency ladder in a shallow recess. He started to climb, and within a minute had left the stricken elevator and its dead, blasted PopBot behind.

  A cool wind caressed him.

  As he climbed, he had a moment to think.

  Katrina, and the children, had been taken. Why? And by whom?

  What in the name of Hell was going on? Lex, the friendly little holiday rep PopBot, had turned nasty and foul - as so often holiday reps could, admittedly. But they didn’t normally try to kill the tourists! Had its AI screwed up? Had its programming become corrupt? Was it working alone? Or was it bigger than just one menial device...

  Dex shook his head, muscles burning with the stress of the ladder ascent. It just didn’t make sense. None of it made sense! They were on a bloody holiday! On Theme Planet! A holiday paradise!

  No. That just couldn’t be it. Katrina and the kids had simply gone out shopping, and this mad little PopBot bastard had burnt a circuit. Gone AWOL from the Logic Department. Got himself a dose of silicon rot, and taken a pop at Dexter; well, he would complain to the management, that’s for sure! To the highest authorities!

  Dex reached a platform and stopped. There were numbers on the wall and he squinted. Floor 2. His floor. He shuffled around to the elevator doors and glanced down. It wasn’t that far, in all reality, but certainly far enough to break a few bones. Or even a skull.

  Thankfully, helpful engineers had provided a lever for just such an eventuality. Dex pulled the lever, and it opened the doors with a grinding, staggered mechanical motion. Panting, covered in lift oil, Dex scrambled out through the half-open doors and stood on the plush carpets, feeling disorientated. 237. He turned. That way...

  He started to run. He wasn’t sure why. Why run if it was a simple case of dysfunctional silicon shit?

  Dex rounded a corner, reached his hotel suite and slapped his palm on the reader. The door opened and he stepped in - to see a man across the room rifling through a chest of diamond drawers. It was the man from the lobby, the man in the cream suit. He whirled as Dex entered, and Dex froze for a moment, utterly lost. Then the man lifted his hand and at the end of it sprouted...

  A gun.

  Dex gave a skeletal grin.

  “So,” he said.

  “You’re to come with me and not cause any trouble,” said the man, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

  “Oh yeah? I suppose that’s why you sent the little bauble to smash my head in?”

  The man considered this, then opened fire - but Dex, trained in the scumbag shitpits of London’s Arse End, a man who had stayed alive by instinct and training and sheer bloody-mindedness - Dex had read the dude’s intentions and was already moving. He leapt across the kitchen counter as bullets whined behind him and dented the cupboards, and dropped into the kitchen behind them. More bullets thumped heavily into the counter, and sparks cascaded above Dex.

  “Come out, Dexter Colls. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way.”

  Dex said nothing. He knelt up and opened the first draw he came to on slick oiled wheels. Whisks and spoons.

  “Come on, Mr Colls. We have your wife and children. If you don’t come quietly then they’re going to get hurt. Well. Hurt more. “

  Dex ground his teeth. The third drawer held... knives. He smiled a cold smile. Dex liked knives. He understood knives. He pulled free a handful of diamond-handled blades with a faint rattle, separated them carefully, weighing each one, then eased along the counter, trying his hardest to make no sound. He opened the nearest cupboard, wincing at the tiniest of squeaks, and removed a steel pan.

  “I’m going to count to three,” said the cream-suited man, “then I’m going to come and get you. And when I come and get you, I won’t be a happy man at all. Do you understand me, Mr Colls? Do you understand threats of violence and torture?”

  Dex said nothing.

  “One.”

  Dex tensed himself.

  “Two.”

  Dex hurled the pan away from himself and the gun yammered. Dex was up, his arm whipped forward, and a long heavy blade sailed through the air. It slammed into the man’s throat, slightly off-centre. Blood spewed out. The man gasped, gun falling from loose fingers, and he went down on one knee. His hand came up and touched the blade gingerly. Blood pumped over his fingers, down his cream suit. He dropped to his other knee and Dex stood, leaping over the kitchen counter, glancing right to check the door, then moving to the man and glancing down at him, another knife in his fist, grim despair on his face.

  “Where’s my wife?” said Dexter.

  The man smiled. Dex back-handed him across the face, knocking him onto his side, where he rolled, gurgling for a moment. His sunglasses had been knocked free and his eyes were orange; and very, very bright.

  So then. A provax. One of the aliens that ran Theme Planet. One of the “men” in charge. Great.

  The man - the provax, Dex corrected - was stretching slowly for his gun as milky blood oozed from the wound. Dex strode and scooped up the weapon, eyeing the archaic markings on the dull black metal. Almost human. Almost.

  He pointed the gun at the provax.

  “Talk.”

  Wheezing, the provax sat up, back against a comfort chair, and again probed the knife. “You... you bast...ard,” he managed.

  “Where’s my family?”

  The man started to chuckle, milk blood bubbling around the wound. His hands dropped to his sides, and gritting his teeth Dex knelt down on the rich carpet beside him and took hold of the embedded knife.

  He glanced around. This was too weird. Too surreal. The perfect hotel suite on the perfect holiday planet. Coffee cups still littering the worktop. Kids’ toys on the settee. Discarded cardigans. Bullet dents in the alloy kitchen cupboards. Sunlight streaming through balcony doors.

  Distantly, the sea roared.

  Too weird. Too fucking weird by a long shot.

  “As you said, I’m going to count to three. Then...”

  “It won’t work. I don’t know where they are.”

  “Well.” Dex considered this. “I’m going to torture you anyway.”

  He pushed the knife in a little bit more, and the man in the cream suit started to thrash, gurgling, his hands hitting limply at Dex. Dex moved his face in close to the man. “Tell me where they are, cunt, or it’s going to take you a fucking long time to die.”

  The man started shaking, and Dex glowered at him, spittle on his lips and a furious anger in his mind. What was going on? What the fuck w
as happening to the world? And that was the problem, wasn’t it? - this wasn’t his world. This was an alien world. And for some reason, the fuckers had turned on him! On his family!

  He realised with a start that the provax was laughing. His bright orange eyes glazed over, more blood pumped out, and he went slack in Dex’s hands. Dex threw him down roughly and stood, fists clenching, shaking with fury. He lifted the gun again and stared at it. What now? Call the police? Call his own people?

  He moved to the comm and lifted the handset, then stopped. He stared at it, and slowly put it back in its cradle.

  Paranoia. Where they all in on it?

  Of course they were all fucking in on it! The receptionist. Lex the friendly happy PopBot. The hotel. Who else? How far did it go? But worse, what did they want?