by Andy Remic
Amba pulled the trigger, and Dex realised his eyes were closed, and there came a slam of energy and he felt the heat sear his face and he gasped, his hands rising reflexively, grabbing at his chest where he was sure to find a gaping hole with his ribs poking out.
But there was no hole. Only something hazy drifting against his face, as if he walked through a very fine drizzle. It pressed against his lips like a kiss, caressed his face like the softest of silk veils, and - opening his eyes with a click - Dex realised it was a cloud of blood. And Romero’s head was gone.
The large corpse buckled slowly, like a tower with its foundations bombed, and it folded gently to the floor. Dex looked up, looked at Amba, and she was crying and there was no sense there, no logic there, and she was not looking at him but staring off, into another place, another time, another world. A world where the blue door was never closed.
Dex stepped over Romero’s corpse and took Amba gently in his arms.
“Amba?” he said, softly. “Amba?”
“Mmm?” Gradually, she focused on his face, and said, “Oh, it’s you.”
“Don’t tell me your aim was that bad.”
“No. No. I love you, Dexter. But they chipped me; reset me. But I fought it, fought it like a demon. Not just for you; but for all those people I murdered. And especially my little girl. Especially her.”
Dex licked his lips, released Amba; and moving swiftly to SARAH he plunged his arm into the icy coldness of her core, grasped the FRIEND, and pulled it free. A voice chattered in his head, liked winged demons pecking on the diseased remains of his corpse.
Hello, said the FRIEND. I was enjoying that!
Tell me you left nothing behind? In SARAH?
Of course not. I am a consummate professional. Don’t you recognise my voice, Dexter? I am yours. Your FRIEND. Your specification. Your KillChip, programmed by Quantell Systems. I am a model 2.1 Kade. And I am yours for all eternity.
With a snort of disgust, Dexter threw Kade with all his might, and the FRIEND clattered along a metal walkway and was suddenly sucked into a huge black machine. Then it was gone. Then it was done.
“You hear?” said Amba, pointing upwards.
“She’s stopped screaming.”
“I hope we were in time,” said Dex.
“We were in time,” smiled Amba, and fell to her knees. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands. Dexter stared at her, not understanding, and she waved to him. “Go. Go check Katrina and Toffee. They need you.”
Dex ran to Toffee, and gently rolled her into his arms. Blood had stopped leaking from the split in her head, and Dex cradled his little one, willing his life force into her, willing his strength to flow into her bones and mend the break.
She opened her eyes. “Daddy?”
“I’m here, sweetie.”
“My head hurts, Daddy.”
“We’ll get it bandaged real soon, Toffee.”
“I’m not going to die, am I, Daddy?”
“No, sweetheart. I promise you. You’re not going to die.”
“Are we going home yet? I’ve had enough of Theme Planet.”
“Soon, little one. Soon.”
He removed his shirt, and rolled it into a pillow for Toffee. Then he crawled over to Katrina, convinced she was dead, and not sure how he felt. She had betrayed him so badly, said such evil things. But he loved her. He always would. It was hardwired into him. She might be a bitch, but she was his bitch. She might be a murdering, back-stabbing dirtbox, but she was his murdering, back-stabbing dirtbox.
“Kat?” he said, softly, eyes taking in the massive pool of blood. There was too much blood there. Way too much blood.
Amazingly, her eyes opened. “I’m still here,” she said.
“How can you survive that?”
“They made me tough. Just like you.”
“What do we do now?”
“We go home,” said Katrina.
“We can’t go home. We betrayed Oblivion. Ha. Sorry. I betrayed Oblivion. You’ll probably get a pay rise. Or some new upgrades. Or something.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m tempted to leave you here. Let SARAH deal with you.”
Katrina coughed, and her face was torn with pain. “I have a better idea.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Let’s find Molly. Let’s be a family again.”
“You all turned against me. Remember?”
Katrina grabbed him, grabbed him so hard her fingers left indents in his flesh. “They won’t let any of us live, you know. They’ll hunt us down. All of us. With Romero dead, they’ll appoint a new leader of the Ministers of Joy... appoint a new overlord to watch over the Anarchy Androids. We fucked it all up, Dexter. They’ll want us removed, for sure. And they’ll send their best after us; their best hunters.”
“Why should I help you?” said Dexter.
“Because you love me. And you know I love you. You know it.”
“I can’t trust you,” said Dexter.
Katrina laughed. “Good. That’s the way I prefer it.” She reached forward and pecked him on the lips. “It’ll keep you on your toes, chipmunk. “
Dex stared at her, and grinned at the insanity of it, and through the whirl of confusion that was his brain, through the ash confetti of his turbulent soul, he knew they had more chance of survival if they stayed together. Yes, Earth would want them dead. No matter what part they played in foiling Earth’s invasion plans; in their plans to kidnap and abuse this most incredible of alien wonders. Dex glanced over at Amba, and she smiled at him, and he knew she loved him; but his love was for Katrina. His first true love. His only love.
“Shit,” he muttered, covering his eyes.
“What’re we gonna do, Dex?” whispered Katrina.
“Let’s find Molly, and explore the Quad-Gal together,” said Dexter.
~ * ~
Released of the FRIEND, SARAH raged. And with her rage came control.
On the command bridge of the lead bomber, General Kome released his grip on the comm as the mountain range reared up, expanding like stretched rubber, mountains melting into one another and flowing into a mass of liquid rock before they expanded, and like a mammoth hand reached out towards the bombers - a thousand bombers - and engulfed them with one easy swipe. Kome and Peterson and the bomber were instantly crushed down to the size of a sardine tin. All the bombers were destroyed in an instant.
Elsewhere on Theme Planet, SLAM fighters and KULA jets and Warbirds and T6 AirTanks were similarly attacked by their surroundings. Huge pillars of ocean leapt upwards, defying gravity (indeed, all the laws of physics and probability), and took out single fighters with well-aimed stabs, dragging them screaming back to the depths of the ocean, engines howling and jets burning and missiles steaming beneath the churning waters. Across deserts, huge sandstorms leapt into existence from nowhere, and pilots suddenly found chunks of rock the size of groundcars sucked into engines, sending aircraft and Shuttles plummeting to earth. Over rides, the tracks of many a rollercoaster or vertical dive suddenly twisted, screeching upwards towards their attackers and firing ride CARs like machine gun bullets through the air, Bam-bam-bam, with perfect accuracy. SLAM fighters were taken down by multiple hits from ride CARs displaying clown faces. KULA jets were speared like a slab of pig on a fork by twisting, squealing sections of high rollercoaster track. Theme Planet, now under the direct, aggressive control of SARAH, went on the attack, the offensive. Theme Planet became a living, breathing, weapon.
Kome had mocked Monolith for having such a lucrative business venture with no protection. How wrong he’d been. Monolith, SARAH, had simply never had reason to show her strength before. Now, after the pain and agony of torture under the FRIEND, her rage spat through her planet-wide shell. She terraformed thousands of parts every minute, every second, changing and moulding and altering, great fingers of rock and glass and tree branch and ocean cylinder, all stretching out, expanding, deforming, to slap and smash and swat Earth�
��s Oblivion Warfleet from the sky. Thousands upon thousands of attacking craft were destroyed in only a few short minutes, such was SARAH’s rage; and then her rage subsided, and what few Earth craft remained limped like puppies with broken backs, up, out and away from Theme Planet, which had returned with so much ease to a holiday paradise destination. A place where fun and joy could be had. Where children splashed in the waves and families enjoyed peace, and relaxation, and more excitement than any other holiday destination ever!
And if you hadn’t been sick?
Well, you soon would be.
~ * ~
EPILOGUE
STATE OF THE ART
The droning Circle-Tour Shuttle was bound for the next, exciting and turbulent world, known simply as The City. Dex got up and limped down the aisle for the toilet. He’d spent the last three hours scanning all ggg sites across the Four Galaxies, but there was no mention of Earth’s intent to invade and conquer all, to build a New Empire, a New Order. And Monolith, with its almost perfect strangle-hold on total media output and its own image, had certainly played down the incident, talking up Amba’s broadcast as the act of an insane religious zealot. Probably worried about adverse publicity ruining its profit margins, eh? thought Dex. And after all, what planet wasn’t allowed the odd “natural disaster” to account for the loss of half a million tourists? Small fry.
The Shuttle cruised through the emptiness of space, and through clouds of freezing hydrogen. The engines were quiet, and Dex locked the toilet door, wondering if he dared light up a cigarette.
Back in their seats, Katrina, Molly and Toffee looked at one another. Katrina was still ashen from the pain-killers, but the drone doctor sent by SARAH did a good job of stapling her back together, administering antibiotics and giving her much-needed engineered fake blood. Molly was her same old self, moody and dark and frowning after being rescued from a Ride Sump. It had taken three hours just to get the ride engine oil from her hair! And Toffee was a reformed child, bright and cheerful as a bunch of freshly picked flowers. How easily they slipped back into their roles. How fluidly they took on the mantle of “human.”
“It was a shame Amba wouldn’t come with us,” bubbled Toffee.
“Yes, a great shame,” said Katrina, thoughtfully. “She could have been useful. Very useful indeed.”
“And a good thing Daddy is so trusting and forgiving,” said Molly, with a narrow, dark, knowing smile.
“Molly!” chastised Katrina. “You’re not to upset your father again!”
“Upset him?” she half-laughed. “You had us try to kill him!”
“That was then. This is now. Things have changed, children. Wait until we get ourselves established in The City; we can form our own organisation there. There are... people who will pay a lot of money for our skills.”
“Our skills?” said Molly, dark eyes flashing, voice a hushed decadence.
“Yes. The arts of torture and murder,” said Katrina, with a smile.