Biohell (17 page)

All was a confusion of flames and
thrashing. The junks were attacking one another, trying to find Keenan, trying
to
kill
Keenan. Cam scanned, then moved to the bomb screen and floated
behind it. In the darkness, in their agony as they burned, the junks seemed
almost blind.

“Nice of you to show up,” snapped
Keenan. His face was streaked with black, and Cam could see the man was
struggling to breathe. Cam glanced down at the industrial flamethrower Keenan
carried in battered, sliced hands.

“Looks like you didn’t need me,”
said Cam.

“Be a good lad and put them out
of their misery. Even junk scum deserve a better end than burning in oblivion.”

“I’m not sure about that,” said
Cam, but emerged from behind the bomb screen and efficiently silenced the remaining
junks. Using manipulators, Cam piled the bodies in the corner and watched as
Keenan appeared and strode up the ramp, out into the fresh, free air.

He sat in the grass, coughing,
then lit a cigarette.

“A little foolish?” suggested
Cam.

“I just faced five of the
toughest killers I ever encountered. Even a bullet to the head doesn’t slow
them down. I deserve a little hedonism, my metal friend.”

Distantly, out to sea, a heavy
engine droned. Dark junk boats sped across the waves, heading for the city
docks. Keenan inhaled with shaking fingers, then glanced off through the trees.
The sea sparkled.

“You did well,” said Cam softly. “What
happened?”

“I was out on the bike. Three
attacked me, chased me into the quarry. I killed them, and took one of their
SinScripts. I read somewhere, years back, that it carries their instructions
and can be used to decode what the semi-sentient bastards are up to.”

“You still have it?”

“Yes.”

“You are right. It carries their
instructions. Like a drug, it injects their codes straight to the heart.”

“Insane,” said Keenan.

“It’s how they work,” said Cam. “They’re
like programmable machines. They were on a mission.” Cam lifted into the sky. “All
ten million of them are on a mission.”

Keenan tilted his head. An engine
noise out to sea was growing close, at speed. “Shit.” He climbed to his feet,
checked his Techrim. “You fit to fight after all these upgrades?”

“Aye!” said Cam, “I am a new and
improved model! I have been upgraded! I am
now
a GradeA+1 Security
Mechanism with advanced SynthAI and a Machine Intelligence Rating (MIR) of
3450. I have integral weapon inserts, a quad-core military database, and Put
Down™ War Technology. I’m a pretty damn hot cookie!”

“Well, you might just get the
chance to use all that.” Keenan’s voice was a low growl. He ground his
cigarette under his boot. “Look out there.”

Through the dense smash of trees
they could make out the bulk of a Styx Fast Attack Boat, or S-FAB. It could
carry a hundred soldiers, and Keenan and Cam heard the clash of ramp in water
as it ground up the shingle. Dark figures moved in the hold.

“Time to move,” said Keenan. “We
need to get off this planet. Warn Quad-Gal Military. Steinhauer will know what
to do.”

“Your old General? I thought you
hated him.”

“Oh yes. But I trust him. Listen,
check all local and global transmission stations; see if you can find anything
from before the junk lock-down.”

“OK boss.”

Keenan glanced behind; the Styx
was disgorging its payload. He sprinted for the KTM LC12 and climbed on, firing
the engine to thump viciously.

The junks came, flooding through
the woods, hundreds of lithe, pitted figures in black body armour carrying
short sub-machine guns and long Thump Rifles. The seething mass made Keenan
blink; like an army of insects they filled his vision and only when the first
opened fire, and a hail of automatic gunfire slammed across the clearing, was
Keenan kicked into action. He slammed the throttle open, front brake locked,
spun the KTM in a tight circle spitting gravel and shot up the track with Cam
buzzing close beside him, the tiny PopBot’s pacing immaculate. Bullets chased
them, and Keenan risked a glance back. The junks had formed a tight phalanx
beside his house, halted, and simply stood watching in stoic silence.

“Head left,” said Cam. “Away from
Dekkan Tell.”

Keenan slammed onto the road and
was nearly mown down by an armoured truck. Tyres squealing, he veered into a
ditch and, standing the bike, powered up a hill and halted. The road to Dekkan
Tell was filled with armoured vehicles—SlamTruks, infantry carriers, even some
K-16 tanks. All matt black. And all peopled by junks.

“Cam? When you said ten million
junks a few minutes ago, was that just an idle, random figure?”

“No. My sensors indicate this is
the scale of the invasion force.”

“I thought they were extinct,”
said Keenan, voice lost in awe.

“So did I.”

Keenan stared off, shading his
eyes. He saw the fires burning through the beautiful city of Dekkan Tell.
Distant gunfire echoed, a rolling scourge. Smoke blanketed the underside of the
sky like a parasite.

“Galhari has fallen, my friend.”

Keenan nodded, lips tight.

Bullets whined overhead. A squad
of junks were sprinting up the rocky slope towards Keenan and the burbling
bike; again, he revved the vehicle and hammered free, heading down narrow
trails into the hills. Behind, more bullets whined, along with the slow and
heavy
thwack
of Thump Rifles. Keenan shook his head in disbelief. The
bastards. Galhari was a quiet and peaceful planet; it was no threat to
anybody,
and had remained neutral during the Helix War. Galhari sported a tiny,
local army, and had no natural wealth or resources of any real worth.
Tactically, it spun on the fringes of Quad-Gal and was a technically useless
staging post. To all intents and purposes, it really wasn’t worth the trouble
to invade. So why invade?

“The bastards,” he muttered, eyes
dark. He was overcome with a need to blast into the city, to kill as many of
the invaders as possible. As he sat there, he knew people were dying, screaming
with hot metal in their brains and hearts.

“No,” said Cam, reading the man. “No.”

Keenan nodded, and said nothing.
His bitterness was tangible. He rode for an hour, away from Galhari
civilisation; out into the bush. Occasionally, Cam picked up resonance from a
flyer; but after a while even they vanished. The junks were concentrating on
urban areas and military outposts.

Galhari, as a planet, was mostly
uninhabited; a barren rolling expanse of mountains and hills, forests and
lakes. It was deserted when compared to a heaving metropolis like The City.
Quiet. Peaceful. That’s why Keenan had chosen it to hide.

Finally, Keenan halted at the
foot of a looming mountain, and hid the bike in a circle of rocks, camming it
up with branches knife-cut from Splay Ferns. He considered building a fire, but
shook his head in the negative. They might have to move again—fast. There was
no point drawing attention to themselves.

Cam zipped off to check the local
perimeter, and returned after twenty minutes, satisfied, to find Keenan sat on
a rock, back straight, Techrim in his fist, face filled with thunder-storm.

“The Galhari government has
fallen,” said Cam, quietly. “They have issued a statement that all rogue army
units should give themselves up. The junks are too formidable. President Taeoto
has called for an end to violence. He said there has been enough killing for
one day. All Galhari military must surrender arms.”

“What, and be slaughtered? These
bastards follow no codes of justice or honour.” Keenan sighed. “Once the Peace
Unification Army get a wind of this, Quad-Gal will rain down hell. You can’t
invade planets and expect no consequence. What the hell do they want? I thought
we lived in a civilised age.”

“Civilised?” Cam paused. His
lights flickered in what Keenan knew was a smile. “There is no such thing, my
friend. Civilisation is a Utopia dreamed up by your warped species.”

Keenan grunted.

“Anyway, this game is bigger than
Galhari, Keenan.”

“What do you think they want?”

“I truly have no idea.” Cam
buzzed into silence, his lights black. He spun closer to Keenan, who rubbed at
his weary, blackened face and yawned, exhaustion finally kicking him in the
spine.

“Get some sleep,” said Cam. “I’ll
keep scanning, see what I can discover. I’ll try to locate and contact Steinhauer.
The sooner QGM know about this debacle the better.”

“Can you decode the junk’s
SinScript?”

“I will apply my considerable
talent.”

“Wake me if there’s trouble.”

“You won’t need me for that,”
said Cam.

~ * ~

Night
fell. Keenan slept fitfully between the rocks.

He dreamt of his dead wife.

He dreamt of his dead girls.

And he dreamt of... Pippa. Combat
K. Soldier. Killer. His ex-lover... And he spiralled down to Molkrush Fed.
After the crash. Abandoned by the military... and it was real, in his mind, in
his hands, in his soul... and he was there, on the beach, on a different world,
in a different age, prostrate before flickering flames...

Red firelight danced over his
face, glowing.

Wood crackled, warped, blackened,
twisted, and the twisted limbs reached out for him. He’d shivered, then,
wondering if he would ever see his little girls; wondering if he would die
there on that empty planet with only Pippa for company...

“Hey, lover.” She moved to him,
snuggled beside him, pressed up tight to him with tiny wriggling movements.
Keenan laughed, stroking her hair with affection.

“Now you’re blocking the fire.”

“I’m cold. I was out fishing.”

“And now you’re wet! Eurgh!
And
you brought back the stink of fish! Is that supposed to impress me? Am I
supposed to fall head-over-heels in love with you?”

“Maybe,” she growled, nuzzling
under his chin.

“Did you catch anything? Or do we
have to starve?”

“Yeah. I caught plenty. Enough
for four days.”

“That’s excellent!”

Pippa pulled away a little. “Why’s
that?” She raised her eyebrows, frowning.

“It means I don’t have to get out
of bed.”

“Why, you lazy son-of-a-bitch!”
She smacked his iron bicep.

“Hey, less of the abuse. I’m a
gentle soul, y’know.”

“Could have fooled me.”

They lay, cuddled, in comfortable
silence. For long minutes Keenan thought Pippa was asleep. But she spoke, eyes
closed, lips pressed against his throat so the words tickled him. “I was
thinking... about later, when, and if, we get home.”

“Yeah?”

“About me. And you.”

“Hmm?”

“Your kids. Your girls. Rachel.
Ally. Do you think they’d...?”

Keenan pulled back, looked down
into Pippa’s face. Still, her eyes remained closed. He gritted his teeth,
wondering where this was leading and feeling suddenly like a stranded toddler
atop the middle of a cracked and frozen lake. Helpless.