Biohell (8 page)

‘‘Jasmine oil?”

“I bought some candles to float
in our stimulant-bath when we have one of our bubbly wobbly bath moments. Just
wanted a little something to spice up the water my cuddly little lovable teddy
bear.” She came through, wiping her hands on a synth-towel which made a little
hissing sound as it sucked water moisture from her skin. She gave him a big
cuddly wuddly hug.

“OK, will do, my sweet, my little
puff pastry pixie,” said Franco with a tight teeth smile, and climbed down the
sixty-nine flights of stairs muttering,
“Jasmine oil? Bloody jasmino oilo?
What the hell is a squaddie’s life coming to when he has to buy bath oil on his
way home from work? It’s because my life’s too great, right? Because my life
has become perfect!”

He needn’t have worried.

Things were about to get bad.

~ * ~

CHAPTER 2

DIRTY DANCING

London.
NewLon. TekCity: a wonder of the modern world, a pinnacle of human and machine
evolution, a climax of science and electronics and modified building genetics.
Constantly re-built, re-structured, re-moulded, it was a colossal empire of
steel and alloy and glass, skyscraper upon skyscraper upon skyscraper soaring
like a mammoth dark phoenix with raised and threatening wings—poised, static,
above the seemingly cowering landscape for a full two kilometres in height.
London. NewLon. TekCity: a
showcase
for what contemporary architects and
engineers could achieve with a little imagination and a bucketful of cash. A
template for progression. A blueprint for the most advanced in all technologies
and synthetic materials. London. NewLon. TekCity: Global Sales Centre of
NanoTek Corporation.

~ * ~

The
WTS—or World Technology Show—was held every year at Joker’s Hall in NewLon. The
world’s largest trade event for contemporary advanced technology, the guest
speaker on this humid afternoon which promised a violent storm was none other
than Dr Oz, the sole owner—and singular share-holder—of NanoTek Corporation.

As Dr Oz took the podium, walking
the length of lacquered bubble-stage to grasp the gleaming polished wings of
the platinum eagle, a low muttering swept the gathered sixteen thousand
tek-people who had congregated to witness this monumental event.

Dr Oz.

Dr Oz was legend; a near-mythical
figure who rarely ventured into the public domain and never— not since the
early days of NanoTek’s fledgling uprising decades earlier—gave public
appearances. He did not agree to TV, kube or media interviews, was never
photographed by the paparazzi, and most of the people who worked under the
banners of the NanoTek technological evolution and
revolution
didn’t
actually know what he
looked like.

Dr Oz was a small delicate man,
slim of stature and completely bald. His face was neat; an extremity of
paleness, oval in shape, well-proportioned, the nose just the right shape, the
eyebrows slim and waxed, the eyes brown, flecked with gold and just the right
distance apart. He was not particularly handsome, nor ugly—and combined with
his modest stature he was what some would call a
grey man.
He could
blend with ease into groups of people. Nothing big, nothing clever, a statement
of understatement. Dr Oz wore a simple black glass suit over a white shirt with
blue silk tie. His shoes were slightly pointed, and polished to a deep sheen
that would make any military man proud.

And then Oz smiled, and everyone
present witnessed that simple face turn from blandness into one shadowed
with—what? Just a hint of menace? Or simple vanity? Oz’s teeth were small and
pointed. Perfectly pointed—like those of a piranha. They gleamed red. They were
carved from rubies.

Dr Oz’s gaze swept the gathered
thousands and a total silence descended in a swift rippling wave—so that a clichéd
pin would have made a cacophony. Oz gesticulated at the people before him, and
his glass suit
tinkled.
“Welcome, O my brothers and sisters,” came a
rich, rolling voice—the voice of an operatic singer, or maybe a classical
Shakespearean actor. It was a voice that was a touch misplaced, almost out of
synch with the vision of the ordinary man at the platinum podium. And yet,
everybody present
knew
that one of the unique factors which set Dr Oz
apart was that he did not
do
biomods. He did not use his own vanity mods
on his own physical frame. He didn’t “dick with his own slime/ you don’t need
that grime”, as back-street slang-dreg children chorused.

“We find ourselves at a
cross-roads of a technological highway. We find ourselves at a junction: a
junction where one path leads down the road to salvation, to a bright future
for the human and alien races of this planet, to a new Eden! And yet, down the
second road lies a dark and dormant future, a junk-like representation of Toxic
Hell... where technology falters, atrophies, fails, and the human races and
alien species wither and regress to the primordial soup from which they first
crawled.

“Now, all of us, those gathered
here today, and those out on the streets, in the skyscrapers and cubeblocks—all
can see these two roads, and they can see them clearly. NanoTek leads the
silver-bright path to salvation, and the pirates drag us kicking and screaming
down into the Toxic Furnace. What confuses me, friends, is that we are
slipping; sliding slowly down the Dark Path... and we
allow
ourselves to
be dragged by using the pirated biomods which have so recently flooded the
streets, the markets, the Quad-Gal Net—in an uncontrollable tidal wave of abuse
and immoral deviation!”

Dr Oz paused to take a sip from a
glass of NanoTek SterileW™ self-purifying water. When the glass touched down on
the podium, there was a tiny
clink.

“Now, NanoTek have fashioned a
proposal for The City World Council, and I think you will agree it is a very
important proposal. At NanoTek we have been working hard on the VitaMod Triple
C additives which we propose be added to water supplies of this fine global
city. Like fluoride and calcium before it, this additive would enter a general
consumer system, a mass-absorbed agent base which would bring
en-masse
benefits
for the whole of organic kind! Think about it... Triple C—anti-cholesterol,
anti-cancer and anti-canker biomods which would become a regular systemic
additive. On a
global
scale! Free to all! Think about it... a world
where the majority are protected wholesale from diseases and conditions which
have afflicted mankind and alien species from the earliest of times. Think
about it... the right choice for all our mingled species! The right choice in order
to promote the longevity of so many citizens of this noble city!”

Dr Oz took a step back.

Applause and cheers thundered
around Joker’s Hall.

Dr Oz took a small bow. “Questions?”

“Sir,
Daily Fuzz.
Shouldn’t
we have a choice in this matter? A choice whether we consume NanoTek’s biomod
technology in our very water supply?”

“A choice? Whether you live or
die?” Oz laughed. A cold laugh. “What sensible choice is that, boy? Another
question?”

“Dr Oz,
The Weekly Vulva.
I’m
not being funny, but what’s in it for the aliens? Your biomod is aimed 80/20 at
the human and human derived species. There’s a lot of other flesh out there!
You seem to be pandering to the largest common denominator and practically
ignoring the alien minorities!”

Dr Oz smiled. “The Triple C
additives would be a simple pioneer of the technology. As you know, all biomods
are linked to the GreenSource Mainframe and can be subtly tweaked. We have
planned stages of tek evolution to integrate
all
species on The City
into our upgrade platform. Yes, for now the bio-mods are predominantly a
human
upgrade; but that is our base technology platform from which to
extend.
My
friends, NanoTek strives for the improvement of
all species.”

“Sir?
War Machine Inc.
You
mention all biomods being linked to the GreenSource Mainframe. Does that
framework include pirated biomods? Do you have tags on the mods which have been
cracked and smashed and pumped?”

There came an embarrassed silence
which swept Joker’s Hall like a tsunami. Dr Oz smiled, but his face was gargoyle
stone. A non-animate. “Not—as such,” he said, finally. “But we have people
working on it. Now, one final question.” He faced a sea of hands from the
gathered media peeps. He pointed.

“Mr Blue.
The Shag Town Times.
Is it true that NanoTek have secured contracts with Quad-Gal Sec5 Military?
And are developing new technology such as processor types, AI scripting and
molecular weapon enhancements which will eventually filter down to civilian
level?”

Dr Oz peered at the man in the
sea before him. He smiled. “That is a rumour circulated by
you journalists.
NanoTek
do not, and I repeat,
do not
have dealings with the military. We are a
simple and ethical organisation interested in the extension and technologically
enhanced longevity of the unified organic species of Quad-Galaxy. Now, I thank
you for your questions. I bid you good night.”

Another round of applause. A few
cheers. That was good.

Dr Oz turned to walk from the
stage. As he turned, a man entered from behind silver curtains and made his way
swiftly across the platform. The man’s walk turned into a run, another two men
appearing from opposite sides as knives appeared glinting in fists and the
three large men rushed the defenceless figure of Dr Oz who seemed—
suddenly—alone and out of reach of his security.

Dr Oz’s pace faltered. He glanced
right.

The first man to appear, a huge
and heavily muscled mercenary with a brutal scarred face and hooked nose,
lunged with his blade; Oz sidestepped with clinical precision, the knife
slashing past his heart as he slammed out, hand snapping down to break the
assassin’s arm at the elbow. The attacker screamed, his limb flopping and
dangling useless as Oz whirled, fast, to meet the other assassins. With cries
they leapt and Oz ducked a blow, ramming outstretched fingers into one attacker’s
eyeball which flicked free of an anger-skewered face to dangle, jerking useless
and spasmodically against his cheek like a slug on a string. Oz flicked himself
left, rolling, scooping up the long slender dagger from the first assassin and
slamming it into the third man’s heart. Blood fountained, soaking the man’s
long curly dark hair, and as he fell, ten security men charged the stage and
grabbed all three assassins, dragging their bleeding, screaming and, ultimately
(after several silenced bullets)
limp
figures from the stage.

Dr Oz turned, mechanically, then
moved back to the podium. He wiped his blood stained hands on a cloth,
straightened his tie, lifted his head and swept the hushed audience once more
with a gold-flecked gaze. He smiled, a slow easy smile. “I do apologise for
this intrusion. As you must acknowledge, when you are in a position such as I,
threats from extremist minority groups can sometimes embarrass a situation. I
hope this has not ruined what is to be a superb World Technology Show, and beg
that you enjoy yourselves in what has traditionally become known as the opening
event leading to The Quantum Carnival.” As if on cue, a billion fireworks
detonated outside. Through the liquid-glass ceiling, the sky fizzled with
colours and explosions. “Thank you. Goodnight.”

Oz bowed once more, and travelled
the long lacquered stage on a palanquin of cheers, screams and tumultuous
applause. Not only was he the most powerful and wealthy sole owner of the
Quad-Gal’s most prestigious and technologically advanced technology company,
but he could
kick ass
as well.

~ * ~

Slick
Guinness was tall, powerful and
fit.
His broad shoulders tapered to a
narrow waist. He was the epitome of the natural athlete. He wore his gold-blond
hair to his shoulders, a delicate fan of subtle hues, an olfactory treat of
hinted-at perfumery. Slick’s face was oval, strong-jawed, perfectly symmetrical
and unblemished in tone. His nose was straight, a natural addendum to the
precision of Slick’s masculine, yet rugged beauty. When he smiled he lit up
like a pinball machine on a $10,000 payout.

Slick was a beautiful man. A
heroic
man. It could be imagined they would carve statues of him in the future.
Here was a man who oozed pheromones and had crowds of women flocking to catch a
hint of that deep musical voice, to share a moment of
connection
with
those profoundly philosophical turquoise eyes, to share an intimate moment of
humour from his deeply witty repertoire. And to ride him senseless.