by Andy Remic
“She researches.”
“Researches what?”
“Oh, you know, just researches.”
“Well she must research something.”
“Well, sometimes I hear noises. Coming from her study. Lots of blips and blops.”
“Are the blips and blops part of the research?”
“They could be.”
“Is she researching anything important?”
“Oh!” wailed Jonno, “yes! Of course! By its very nature, research must be important because you’re finding out stuff, looking up stuff, coming up with theories on stuff. Oh, yes, all research must be important. Or else...” - he paused, eyes shining, looking off distantly into the ether -”why do research? I’m not bright enough to do it. With me, I’m just a simple soul. What you see is what you get.”
“Yes.” Amba formed a tight smile.
“Go on, then. What’s your name?”
“My name?”
“Your name.” Jonno rolled his eyes, as if Amba were being particularly dumb.
She smiled. It was a genuine smile. She kind of liked Jonno, in the same way one instinctively likes a puppy; only Amba didn’t. She could never quite see the cute side. She sighed. For a change, she accepted the temporary hand of friendship. It felt very strange, especially after an opening of raw combat... “It’s... Amba. Amba Miskalov.” She saw no reason to lie. Jonno would be dead in under five minutes, happy puppy or no.
“That’s a nice name. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I made a new friend.”
He moved forward, leading Amba through another grey alloy corridor which sloped upwards towards a patch of sunlight. Amba followed, removing the FRIEND from close to her chest and holding it low down by her thigh, modestly concealed.
“Me too,” smiled Amba, cradling the small, black gun.
~ * ~
Jonno took Amba to the door, delivering assassin to victim with sickening simplicity and ineptitude. If Monolith had been kind and allowed this particular early android an element of education, or freedom, or contact, he might well have possessed the internal mechanisms needed to recognise the danger in Amba. But his blind trust, like a dog in its master, would lead to his downfall; his bloody execution. And Amba felt no compassion, she did not care, she had no empathy; after all, she was an Anarchy Android. Detonation. Torture. Annihilation. All in a day’s work, before tea and biscuits.
Only...
She thought back to the young girl.
The white house.
The pale, blue door and the horrors that hid behind it...
Amba shivered.
Jonno grinned back over his shoulder at Amba, as if sharing some secret joke, some intimacy, and Amba tensed fast and hard, readying herself for combat, slaughter, execution, for this could all be a ruse and she wasn’t so naive that she trusted somebody, anybody, especially another android she’d simply met in the damn corridor of a High Security Military Facility... Cleaner or not.
He could be a Murder Model.
He could be an Anarchy Model...
Amba gave a tight, wry smile, and made sure the FRIEND was constantly between herself and Jonno.
Jonno finished punching a huge stream of digits into the digital lock, and he pushed the door open, a thick steel portal which swung wide with the ponderous mass of a bank vault entrance. Beyond, Amba could see dark trees.
“After you!” beamed Jonno, stepping to one side.
“Oh, no, no, no,” said Amba, voice low, “after you, really, I really do insist.”
She felt her senses stepping up in her head, as if driven by motors. Her very body became tuned, like a delicate instrument, and the world seemed to slow down. Colours had more colour, more intensity, she could smell a wealth of flora and fauna beyond the entrance, she could taste flowers and pollen in the air, Jonno’s stale sweat, his strange, metallic, almost insect-like vibe became more pronounced and when he moved it was with exaggerated movements, dance-like, almost in slow motion, and leaving blurred trails with every gesture.
“Hellooo-oooo,” he called, stepping through the portal and Amba was following close, using his body as an organic shield, absorbing the atmosphere with tuned-up speed, taking in every minute detail. There were towering trees in the chamber, huge trunks soaring off into the distance where sunlight streamed from high above. Plants grew to knee-height all around, ferns and flowers which shifted gently in some obscure breeze. Insects hummed and buzzed. It was like a forest, a real forest, inside the mountain.
Jonno led Amba down a well-trod path, and stopped by a clearing in the internal woodland. Sunshine glittered from damp palm fronds. Amba was sucked in by the tropical essence, felt herself believe they were in a jungle somewhere, some alien forest, some esoteric Other World.
In the clearing there was a desk, a huge ornate redwood edifice, varnished to a deep glossy shine. On the desk was a six-screen computer terminal with extra air-accessories, and in a leather chair sat an old woman. She was very tall and thin and bony, even when sitting, and her skin was pale and fragile, wrinkled beyond anything Amba had ever seen. After all, with the VATs and the QG Cosmetica Syndicate, one of the most affluent, powerful and influential of galaxy-wide corporations, they had pretty much eradicated old age - or at least the appearance of old age. “Why Grow Old!” proclaimed the marketing slogans with blatant disregard for correct punctuation. “Why Wrinkle and Prune!” spat aggressive marketing splats marketed 24/7 on all available channels. “Let the Cosmetica Syndicate help you beat those ageing blues... We make the Old New, we make the Crone Beautiful, our simple course of phenuclearaxiate injections make the Dead Alive! Only a simple remortgage required!! @ggg.iwanttobeyoungagain.ggg.” Across Earth it was all the rage, and no end of wrinkled old grannies had queued with vapid grins and drooling spittle to have their faces “Tucked and Fucked,” as the media started to call it. QG Cosmetica did indeed make the Old New, and certainly made the Crone Beautiful, but only, and this was the crucial bit, only on the outside. Inside, these newly-regenerated beauties were still the mumbling senile grumpy gits they had been when consigned to Humanity’s Great Natural Garbage Heap. It led to many an interesting interaction, throughout Earth’s nightclubs, and in shagpiles afterwards, when young and virulent Alpha Males realised they’d just enjoyed and pleasured somebody’s Great-Great-Grandmother. The Quack Clinics filled up fast with a whole range of new and invented mental disorders.
Amba stared at Lady Goo Goo. Goo Goo was old, and made no attempt to disguise the fact. Her one concession to oddness was her bright pink hair, which sat atop her ancient skull like an explosion of candy floss.
“You’re here,” said Goo Goo, looking past and ignoring Jonno, and fixing ancient, almost reptilian eyes on Amba. Those eyes sparkled with a lazy intelligence and Amba was immediately on her guard, scanning her surroundings, trusting her instincts. Goo Goo might have looked like a decrepit clown, but there was something very dangerous about this woman; this Researcher into Ride Organics and Alien Testing.
“Yes,” said Amba. She saw no sense in extending the conversation.
Jonno was looking suddenly confused, and took a step back from Amba. He could read something strange in the air, a set of emotions to which he was unused. His gaze was moving quickly, from Goo Goo to Amba and back again.
“Have I done wrong?” he asked, suddenly.
“No, Jonno,” said Goo Goo with a smile. “You weren’t to know.”
Amba’s senses were screaming. There was something terribly twisted here, something out of tune, out of key with the whole fucking universe. Lady Goo Goo was, to all intents and purposes, a sitting duck, a lazy target, but in Amba’s experience it was never that simple, never that easy, and a sitting duck was rarely a sitting duck - not at the level Amba was involved in.
“Romero sent you,” said Lady Goo Goo.
Amba said nothing. She took a step closer, looking up and around. She scanned for concealed weapons, she was a damn expert at concealed weapons, but Goo Goo wa
s clean. Amba lifted the FRIEND and heard Jonno gasp, but he was off to one side, sensed, experienced, unworthy of consideration; irrelevant. The danger lay straight ahead -very real.
Amba smiled then, a bare showing of teeth that had nothing to do with humour. She simply had to progress and react to whatever secrets Lady Goo Goo was hiding. And hiding something she was; that reptilian gaze screamed it harder than a thousand proudly displayed cluster bombs.
“I know it’s Romero. Earth’s Oblivion Government have wanted me dead for a long time. I’m just surprised it took this long for them to find me. You must be very... efficient.” She turned back to the keyboard, and her fingers flickered across air keys.
“Hands up,” growled Amba.
Lady Goo Goo stopped typing suddenly, and turned her head to Amba. Her wrinkled old face crinkled into contempt and she began to laugh. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you? For an executioner. What Generation are you? You’re certainly not a Five, like the simpleton over there.”
Again, Amba said nothing. In her experience, it was better to say nothing.
What was the point? In a few minutes, the Lady would be dead...
Lady Goo Goo licked her lips and her eyes narrowed. “Aah. I see! You’re Anarchy, aren’t you? I can smell it, dearie. I can smell it - on your skin, in your metallic breath, in your fucking pussy. You ooze it like alien semen.”
Amba stepped closer, the FRIEND held steady, her eyes focused, senses screaming imminent danger. But from where? Which direction? Hidden guns? Turrets? A sniper? All came back as unprocessed, unchecked, non-viable.
“I’m sorry,” said Amba, and she did not know why she said it.
“I know,” said Lady Goo Goo, pink hair wobbling, and she smiled, and gave no signal, no gesture, but the whole damn forest came alive. The trees and ferns and vines creaked, groaned, and suddenly vines shot towards Amba and she leapt up and backwards, a flip that left her in a crouch, face neutral, FRIEND extended towards Lady Goo Goo.
She fired, but Goo Goo had gone, a backflip of her own. The desk and terminal vanished with a whump of disintegrating matter and Amba shifted her stance, dropping one leg a little, but there came a hiss of air and she twitched her head left, too late, as a vine slammed down and took her FRIEND. The weapon sailed up into the forest and Amba stared for a moment in disbelief, before another vine - with razor-sharp fins - slashed for her at head height. Amba ducked and rolled, looked back to Goo Goo, and realised the old woman had... changed. Nothing visible, just in the way she moved. She was crouched on all fours, back arched easily. In fact, her stance reminded Amba of a large cat. Another vine slashed at her, and she back-flipped three times, landing lightly next to Jonno. She crouched, her hands whipped out, and took away his leg splint. The shotgun.
“Hey!” said Jonno.
“Sorry, I need it,” said Amba, without looking at him. She was watching Lady Goo Goo, advancing slowly across vegetation, moving on all fours, undulating with a rippling spine.
“I thought you’d help me become more human,” said Jonno, miserably.
“You’re doing just fine,” said Amba, looking swiftly about for more attacking jungle.
“But I need help!”
Amba and Goo Goo launched at one another at the same time, flying through the air, and Amba cocked the shotgun and fired once, twice, three times before they connected. Amazingly, she missed. They slapped into each other, and the shotgun spun away, landing with a muffled thump in vegetation. Amba punched hard, three times,
five, ten, slamming her steel fists into Goo Goo’s head even before they landed together, in a tight embrace. Goo Goo took the blows, reached out, and grabbed Amba by the throat and cunt. She threw Amba away into the jungle like a toy, and the android spun, crashing into tree trunks which suddenly came alive, groaning, and reached for her with splayed branches like fingers. She hit the ground and rolled fast as a trunk the thickness of her waist crashed down, impacting where her head had been. She crouched and scuttled forward, as more branches and razor-tipped vines whistled past her, grabbed the shotgun, somersaulted over an aggressive plant snapping at her with the teeth of a piranha, and landed before Goo Goo.
The Lady was waiting for her, wrinkled face full of humour, reptilian eyes watching her. She took a step back, and it was like watching a snake recoil, readying to strike.
“What are you?” said Amba, slowly, not taking her eyes from Goo Goo.
“One of your nightmares,” hissed Goo Goo, and struck fast. Amba dodged, shifting right, licking her lips. She’d never met a creature that could move so fast. She glanced down, saw twin slits across her forearm, oozing blood. She wasn’t even sure which part of Goo Goo had inflicted the wound... until she saw a tongue with razor barbs flicker from the ridiculous old woman’s mouth...
“Frightened now, are you, my little sweet?”
Goo Goo struck again, and Amba twisted backwards, raising one arm to deflect the blow. This time pain flashed through her, and she spun around, rolled with the blow; ended in a crouch, cradling the shotgun. The tongue had cut her right bicep to the bone. Blood pulsed from her arm, pattering on the jungle floor.
“I’m going to cut you up, one piece at a time,” said Goo Goo, moving towards her, head bobbing, whole body rippling like a cross between a big cat and a striking adder.
Amba pumped and fired the shotgun, which gave a boom and blasted shrapnel through the vines and ferns. But Goo Goo had slipped right, body oscillating, and the shells missed their mark.
“I’m going to tear you up, eat your flesh, and send your bones to Android Hell...”
She attacked, and Amba waited the blink of an eye for her to get in close before unleashing the shotgun, catching Goo Goo full in the belly, but still the old woman came on, slamming into Amba and sending them both rolling in a flurry of limbs across the thick vegetation. A branch nearly decapitated Amba, and as Goo Goo’s face came close she slammed two fingers into the old woman’s eyes, up to the knuckles, with a disgusting squelching sound. A deathblow. Amba’s fingertips were in Lady Goo Goo’s brain...
The eye sockets went suddenly hard, clamping Amba’s hand in place, and with a flick of her head Goo Goo sent Amba sailing back across the fake woodland, finger bones snapped. She landed hard, broken fingers twitching, and got slowly to her knees. Her eyes focused. Goo Goo, despite having no eyes, was orientating on Amba and grinning like a village idiot.
“That hurt you, pretty little Anarchy Android, didn’t it? Do you really think I need eyes to see you with? This is my domain, pretty little dove. This is my world... and now it’s time to stop playing games with you. Now, it’s time to put you gently to sleep.”
Lady Goo Goo stood, body rigid, and Amba was panting, the wounds on her arms stinging, blood drenching her flesh, fingers broken. In all her assassinations, she had never been wounded. Not once. And now, here, this old woman with candyfloss hair was making a comedy of her attempts...
Amba’s jaw set tight.
“Tell me what you are. Before you kill me,” she said, realising the woman was not human, not android... but something else, something far more complex. She was like no recognised and accepted alien Amba had ever heard about...
She was... adapting, almost. A shapeshifter.
Amba’s head snapped left. Jonno was standing, mesmerised, and there was something about the look on his face, something which didn’t fit right, didn’t sit true, and struck a discordant note of disharmony in Amba’s soul.
“Too late,” said Lady Goo Goo. “Time to say goodnight, sweet dove.”
Lady Goo Goo’s mouth opened, suddenly too wide, in a massive, screeching, grotesque show of teeth. The mouth was as big as Goo Goo’s whole head, a deep black-and-crimson maw edged with black bone and filled with row after row after row of chattering razor teeth which chattered and chomped and promised.
Goo Goo leapt, so fast she was a blur -
And Amba was frozen to the spot.
~ * ~
CHAPTER EIGHT
<
br /> INSIDE OUTING
Sometimes she had a dream, and she didn’t know if it was real or imagined. And in the dream, or maybe the reality, she was surrounded by a blackness so intense and thick, like an oily smoke which did not choke her, that even when she lifted a hand before her eyes she could see nothing. Not her pretty white fingers, not her prettily painted fingernails. Then, to make things worse, with a start, she realised she wasn’t actually standing on anything solid - no rocky ground, no fancy wooded flooring, no slick bathroom tiles. She just hung, immobile, as if from wires, as the thick blackness engulfed her and filled every sense, her sight and sound and taste and touch, filled everything with a nothing.
Shit, she realised, and even her internal voice had no sound, made no echo, had no real substance. Maybe I’m dead. Maybe I’m dead and this is what it feels like, this is where you go? To this deep dark hole, down in the centre of the world where nothing can infiltrate your doom; your oblivion.