Biohell (18 page)

“Go on,” he whispered.

“Do you think they’d ever... take
to me? As a mother, I mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do think I’m maternal, don’t
you?”

“I do, my love.”

“I’d like to try and be their
mother. One day.”

Keenan stroked Pippa’s damp,
black hair, watched her fall into a lulled sleep. Then his eyes moved over her,
to the fire beyond and the beckoning twisted limbs of wood, scorched and
seared, and being slowly, inevitably, consumed.

Just like me, he’d thought.

And in his sleep dream nightmare
Pippa’s face began to change and warp, morphing agonisingly into the face of a
junk lying breathing gently in his arms and Keenan bit back a scream as he
gazed down into that pitted metal face. Pippa opened her eyes, blood-red eyes,
and she twisted, hauling him to the sand and pinning him violently down,
cackling coldly as she drooled liquid putrefaction into his open, screaming
maw...

“Shit.”

He awoke before dawn, shivering,
cold, his Techrim in his battered hand. He stood and stretched, spine
crackling, WORM-strips pulling tight, but there was no sign of Cam. He peered
from the ring of rocks, then sat and watched the sun rise, sparkling over hills
and mountains. Such a beautiful, sweeping, majestic land, he thought. And now
it had been taken by force.
Invaded.
He shook his head. I thought we’d
left the dark behind.

Cam appeared. “You OK?”

“I’ve felt better,” grunted
Keenan.

“I failed to decode the
SinScript. It is incredibly complex. But I found a manufacturer’s identity
mark.”

“Where was it made?”

“What other planet would deal
with immoral death-bringing toxic lifeforms? The City, Keenan, The City in all
its glorious, humble decadence.”

“Great. You found QGM or
Steinhauer?”

“No, we’ll have to break the
signal blockade first. The good news is I’ve located transport via a pirate
signal. We’re about seventy klicks from a billionaire’s extravagant PlayPad.
Seems he has his own private Y Shuttle; I’ve made contact with the machine
which calls itself the
Drunk and Loving It;
it won’t be hard to crack.”
Cam sounded confident.

“I assume the junks have stuff in
orbit?”

“They’ve some Cargo Hulker Class
Is, and a few Marine and Offence Frigates. Most of their force appears to have
invaded. From what I can scan.”

“I hope you’re right; if we leave
in a damn Y Shuttle and the junks have Interceptors or Hunters—well, we’re dog
meat. You realise that? And I bet you a pretty penny those bastards will be
watching. Like you said, there’s a bigger game being played. They won’t want
muppets jumping planet and running crying to QGM.”

“Well Keenan.” Cam watched him
carefully. “We’ll just have to see what kind of pilot you really are.”

Keenan barked a laugh, and
scratched his stubble. He lit a cigarette, smoke from the harsh Widow Maker
tobacco filling the clearing. The flare of an open flame gleamed against his
dark, narrowed eyes. “If those fuckers cross me again, I won’t be responsible
for my actions,” he snarled.

“Glad to have you back,” said
Cam, and buzzed a little tune.

~ * ~

CHAPTER 5

THE QUANTUM CARNIVAL

The
theft of the Y Shuttle went without hitch. They cruised up into the Big Blue,
which gradually eased into black. Thankfully, Cam’s orbital scans had been
correct; the junks were focusing on attack and their heavy-grade industrial
military transports were easily side-stepped.

Keenan wandered into the cockpit
of the Y Shuttle
Drunk and Loving It,
and slumped onto a pilot’s couch.
Cam was floating, immobile, with no case lights showing.

“You awake?”

“Of course I’m awake. I’m
piloting this craft.”

“You don’t look like you’re
piloting this craft.”

“Well, I am.”

Keenan pulled free a small flask
of Jataxa and wetted his lips; then, with a glance at Cam, took a long gulp. He
sighed, leant back, rested his head against the faux leather upholstery.

“Is that wise?”

“Are you my mom?”

“We’ve had this discussion
before, Keenan. A thousand times. You said you’d stop.”

Keenan laughed. “Yeah. Only to
shut you up, you nagging little bastard. OK. OK. Listen, I’ll try my best.” He
placed the flask on the cockpit controls. “See? There? I’ve put it aside. Won’t
touch another drop today. Scout’s honour.”

They slammed through the darkness
of space, through trails of dust and endless void.

Keenan slept, hunched in the
pilot’s chair, trusting the PopBot implicitly with piloting duties. A Y Shuttle
was basic, with no form of sentient control. For a PopBot, it was child’s play.

Keenan yawned, opening his eyes.

“I’ve found a QGM Mobile Incident
Unit. And General Steinhauer.”

“An MIU? Where?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Hit me.”

“The City.”

Keenan chewed his lip. “That’s...
coincidental.
Franco’s down there. What’s the little maggot been up to
this time?” He laughed, but his joke fell flat. It’d take more than Franco
Haggis to bring the might of a QGM Mobile Incident Unit into The City’s
post-orbit.

“I’m just scanning QGM beacons.”

Keenan nodded, and pulled out his
PAD. A PAD was a tiny mobile communication unit used by Combat K special
forces; it was superbly powerful and could be used for messages
Quad-Galaxy
wide.
A PAD also had an assortment of tiny weapon mods and intricate devices which
could be used in the many uncompromising situations a Combat K squaddie
encountered. It was the basis of all Combat K missions.

Keenan tapped the blue screen,
then MESSAGES. He stared at the text; it had been sent by Franco only a few
days previous, and Keenan had been waiting for Cam’s return in order to make
the necessary travel arrangements.

Hey buddy, you’ll never believe
it! I’m getting married! As you know, you’re my best mate, my only mate in
fact, ‘cos I’m mad, but I want you to be my Best Man! The chick’s called Mel,
she’s utterly gorgeous, and even more mad than me! Has to be, or we wouldn’t be
getting wed. So, when you’ve got a free minute, get your arse over to The City
and look me up. We’ve got a lot to discuss.

Keenan grinned. The text was
Franco all over, ever the optimist, ever the wild man. But now he was... what?
Trapped down on the city whilst God-only knew what sort of military shit was
going on?

“OK. Got it. I’ve been granted
download permissions.” Cam’s voice became suddenly bleak. “It would seem The
City is under martial law.”

“Why?”

“There’s been an outbreak.”

“What kind of outbreak?”

“We’ll find out when we get
there. You still want to see Steinhauer?”

“Yes. Have you sent them a report
on the junks?”

“Doing it... now.”

Keenan nodded, silent and grim,
and thought about Franco.

~ * ~

Pushing
the Y Shuttle’s engines to the point of death, it took Keenan and Cam eight
days of insane and merciless acceleration to reach the outskirts of The City.
However, the journey left half the Shuttle’s engine pistons strewn across Sinax
Cluster.

During that time, they received
reports from Steinhauer on scouts sent to Galhari concerning the sudden
invasion of junks. Other than that, communications silence was enforced.

The City had no laws, no immigration,
no customs and excise. It also had no, official, police force—only a disparate
group of privately owned agencies and armies, used for personal, political or
financial gain on this, the Quad-Gal’s biggest steaming piss-pot of decadence,
debauchery and anarchy. As such, there was no single company to police
immigration—or to stop unwanted landings, despite the “outbreak” emergency
currently unfolding on the streets and alleys below. The City and its
inhabitants expounded the moral stance of
freedom,
a totality of no
restraint. The City and its inhabitants had a core philosophy of
what will
be, will be.
A shame, because what could happen, had happened.

Keenan whistled as they drew
closer to The City, slamming past a Mammoth Class II cargo ship, in this case
being used to run missions for Quad-Gal Military. They cruised under kilometres
of dull grey steel. Ion Gunships and Fast Attack Hornets zipped and whizzed
around the exterior, like a million insects around a huge hive. A thousand
times they were challenged, and a thousand times Cam secured them passage.

“What’s going on, Cam?”

“We’ve just passed the EVH
cordon.”

“What’s an EVH cordon?”

“An Event Horizon Cordon. Now,
there’s no going back.”

“That’s just... just great.”

“You know Keenan, I’ve got a
funny feeling in the pit of my... atomic furnace, that you’re going to end up
going down to The City.”

“Ha! Yeah. So do I. Are QGM down
on the city streets in force? Sorting out whatever problem’s dragged the
military kicking and screaming across ten billion klicks?”

“No. QGM have imposed a circle of
restraint. But they’re keeping their distance. Whatever’s kicked off on The
City, well Keenan, it’s big time, my friend.”

Keenan rubbed his stubble. “How
much hardware?”

“Ten Mammoth Class IIs, and fifty
Titan Class Ills.”

“Fifty?
Fifty?
Cam, that’s
enough flotilla to conquer a galaxy.”

“Still scanning, Keenan. Give me
a minute. I’m trying to discover what’s going down.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about
this.”

“Shut—up—data—streams—painful.”

Keenan clamped his teeth, pulled
out his Techrim 11mm, slammed it on the console in temper, then rolled himself
a Widow Maker cigarette. He lit the weed, annoyed even when the internal fans
clicked on to extract pollutant. “Shit,” he muttered, grabbing his Jataxa
spirit and taking a huge swallow. “We leave one war zone just to enter another.
The Gods truly are
insane.
And laughing and pointing at me.”

There came a
buzz
from the
small security Pop-Bot. It rotated, red lights flickering at Keenan. “OK. We’re
going to merge with Steinhauer; he’ll be able to answer your questions. He
seems... very keen to meet you.”

“Yeah?” Suspicious.

“Yes, Keenan. QGM have a problem.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing fifty damn
Titans couldn’t sort out,” he muttered.

The Y Shuttle slammed past a
Titan Class III, and Cam gyrated madly as they were caught in a Boomerang. A
Boomerang was a capture net of force-fields which locked onto a ship and
brought it around in a gentle arc to dock... decelerating it in the process.

“Steinhauer’s in there?”