by Andy Remic
But hell, it was a fucking BIG sapphire.
Down he swam, following Keenan now with Snake close behind, and the swim, the experience as a whole seemed to go on and on, for hours, for days, for weeks and time no longer had any meaning and Franco remembered thinking that this journey might never end but then, that was a good thing, because the world within the Star Lake was perfect.
A perfect place to live.
And a perfect place to die.
Franco blinked, and heard a splash, and then he was falling through a complete and total darkness. He fell rather a long way, and hit the ground very hard. Consciousness left him, and he had a short vicious dream about big worms with lots of vicious bastard teeth.
When he awoke, he could smell chloroform.
Keenan sat up in total darkness. He coughed, and seemed to vomit a long, long stream of viscous fluid which burned him on rapid exit. Crawling onto his hands and knees, all pleasant memories of being inside the Star Lake vanished, to be replaced by a reality of pain, and burning, and a feeling that his body, his every atom, had been raped by some alien force he did not comprehend.
"Kee?"
"Pippa."
A light came on, fixed to the barrel of Pippa's D5. Slowly, the others came round, all vomiting thick brown streams to the damp black stone floor. As the group pulled itself together, Pippa's light played around the place and they found themselves in a wide, ancient corridor. Old pipes, rusted and green, ran at ceiling height, although there was no ceiling, just a vast and cool openness. Somewhere, up there, was the Star Lake. They had passed through with their lives, but only just; each and every member recognised the danger of what they had just survived. It had been a reawakening of their insecurities; their private lusts. And it scared them all to the core.
"It was a mind trick," said Franco, at last, spitting on the ground and hawking up another ball of phlegm. "Designed to keep us from reaching... here. Wherever the hell here is."
"This is Vela," said Keenan, eyes dark.
"Yes," said a voice, although it wasn't a voice that transcribed through air, it was an essence, a being, it was something created inside each person's head and imprinted like hot brands of fire on the front of their brains.
"And you are VOLOS." Keenan's voice was halfway between snarl and spit.
"Perceptive, Mr. Keenan." They got the impression of a smile. Of humour. And humour denoted life, or at least, life as far as Combat-K could understand it.
VOLOS seemed to sigh. The world seemed to hold its breath.
"Welcome to Vela," said VOLOS. "Welcome to my Underworld.'
There was a long pause, an eternity, so it seemed. Long enough for stars to be born, and for stars to die.
"What happens next?" whispered Franco.
"He watches us," said Keenan, gently. "He's been watching us all the time, haven't you VOLOS, you fucker?"
There was no answer.
Light swept into the corridor, as if painted sideways by a brush. The slow-motion action imbued disconcertion.
Combat K gazed around and Snake stepped forward, rubbing wearily at his eye-patch as if satisfying an itch beneath. "Well," he said, "this sure is a shit-hole. I kind of expected the lair of the great VOLOS to be something better, something far more magnificent."
Keenan looked across at Snake then, and frowned. "You sound like you expect a certain... standard." An intuition took Keenan in its fist and squeezed his guts. "You're here, aren't you? Here for VOLOS?"
"Yes."
"And I thought you were a cheap mercenary."
"Just tagging a ride, Keenan. Just using you and Combat-K as a donkey; you have no idea what you've stumbled into, my friend. You have no idea how big the Game is, no concept of the complexity of the Puzzle."
"It can't be bigger than your ego," said Keenan, gently.
He turned then, to the left, and watched a figure approaching down the decrepit corridor. His eyes tracked left and right, surveying debris, the entropy, the rusted pipes hissing steam, the dangling cables sparking with discharges of electricity. Everything had a damp, ancient feel, like a long abandoned warehouse. Yeah, he thought with a grim internal smile; a million year abandonment.
The figure was small, slim, and clothed in a simple grey robe. It was impossible to determine sex, but his, or her, skin was a pale and flawless white, milky to the stage of translucency. However, what made Keenan breathe deep and brought a rattle of weapons from the rest of the group was the face, for the hairless head and face were featureless, a blank oval, like a pale and milky peeled egg.
The figure stopped.
"Let me take it," whispered Franco, quad-barrel Kekra by his cheek.
Keenan waved Franco away and moved forward; only after a few footsteps did he realise Snake was right behind him, at his heel, like a faithful hound. Keenan masked his irritation and stopped, staring at the flat blank platter of skin.
"You are VOLOS?"
"Yes." The blank face seemed to swim, as if formed from viscous liquid, and a mouth opened at the centre of the face to utter the single word; then rolled back into position, languidly, like a ripple of molten wax.
"He's lying," hissed Snake in Keenan's ear.
Keenan turned a little. "Will you fuck off."
The figure lifted a hand, and Keenan felt a blast of pressure slam past his cheek. Snake was picked up and tossed a hundred feet down the corridor, wailing, arms flapping in a vicious acceleration that slammed and battered him from pipes and abandoned furniture like a toy ragdoll; he hit the ground, rolling over and over and over. He lay still.
"Did he really think he could come here and fool me?" said the blank-faced creature. Then the mouth formed a smile. "He is a Spinner. He can take a room and spin it through time. Quad-Gal Military's greatest weapon, I fear." The figure laughed, a soft melodious sound. "He is here to kill me, or so he believes, and yet he does not truly understand VOLOS." There came a deep sigh. "VOLOS is open and honest. Snake is... a snake. He believes what he believes. VOLOS is misrepresented in all of this game. This charade. This battle. This war."
Keenan turned, and stared at Pippa and Franco. "A Spinner?" he mouthed, and they both shrugged. Keenan could not help but notice fingers tight on triggers. Snake's acceleration had nearly taken their heads clean off.
Keenan turned back, and his eyes narrowed. "I don't think you're being quite straight with me," he said. He watched the face, but could discern no reaction, no emotion, for there were no features to read. "I don't think you are VOLOS. I think you are a servant. A messenger, of sorts."
"Very astute." The face seemed to flicker a smile. "I am the avatar of VOLOS, but I contain his mind, contain his blood, what you would know of his soul. I am an extension, if you like; in a way you would extend your hand, and your fingers are still your own flesh, your own organic matter. Thus, I am a limb of VOLOS."
"OK." Keenan nodded, watching the avatar. "Why haven't you killed us?"
"You must travel through the Hospital. VOLOS wishes to commune with you directly."
"Why?"
"Only VOLOS can tell you this."
"And there's a catch?"
"As I said. Astute. Yes, Mr. Keenan. The Hospital is a dangerous place. More dangerous than you could ever believe. It is a place of birth, of life, and ultimately, of death."
"And yet you've just walked through unharmed?"
"There was an element of matter projection."
Keenan nodded. He glanced back. "What would you have us do with Snake?"
"Leave him. I will take care of him."
"You'll kill him?"
"No. He will be held until you accomplish your mission. Or die in the process."
"I didn't realise we were on a mission," said Keenan, with a wry smile. "Not for you, for VOLOS, at any rate."
"All life is a mission, a striving towards goals," said the avatar. It turned, and pointed with a long, elegant arm and thin tapered fingers. "That way, Keenan. That is where you must go. You must work your way down th
rough the three levels of the Hospital. It is up to you whether your colleagues accompany you; only you can decide whether they will aid, or hinder, your progress."
The avatar turned, and began to walk away, swaying hips gently in a hypnotic movement reminiscent of the feminine.
"Wait," said Keenan.
The avatar stopped, turned, and the blank face surveyed Keenan in a way that made him shiver. "Yes, Mr. Keenan?"
"I don't understand," he said.
"You will," said the avatar. "Believe me, you will."
They watched the avatar of VOLOS depart. Pushing through double doors, the figure seemed to gradually dissolve and disseminate amidst the entropy of the wide, abandoned corridor.
Keenan gestured to Pippa. "Check Snake."
"Yeah boss."
Keenan dropped his pack, and started rummaging through, discarding certain items and affixing others, mainly weaponry, to his belt.
"Franco. Check out your pad. See if there's any sign, anything at all from Cam, QGM, Fortune, or any of our dodgy off-world contacts. We need information on what we're going to face down here."
Franco toyed with the PAD, but shook his head. "Keenan, it's limper than a junkie's todger. Sorry mate, we're still on our own."
"Then, I'm going in alone," said Keenan.
"Oh no," said Franco, staring hard at his friend. "We're brothers in this, bruv, you're not going anywhere without your faithful companions in sleaze. We could be some serious help to you when the shit hits the fanny fan!" He glanced around, at Betezh's scars, at Olga's rolls of flab, at Pippa's cold grey eyes narrowed in his direction. "Well," he said, "I could be, anyway." He grinned the grin of a maniac.
Pippa returned. "He's out cold. In some kind of coma, but he's alive. What the hell is a Spinner?"
"Never heard of it."
"That sounds like a Ganger Agency thing. I'm sure I heard that somewhere."
"Maybe. We've got bigger problems at the moment; I don't like the sound of this Hospital place, but I'm damned if I can work out how it'd be more dangerous than the collective shit we've just been through."
"Lunatrick warned us about down here," said Pippa, voice soft. "That's why we're all coming with you."
"I work better alone."
"No. We work better as a team."
"I don't want to get you all killed!" snapped Keenan.
"What, you don't think we're big enough boys and girls to make our own decisions? We're part of a squad, Keenan, part of a team. We work together, play together, and we damn well die together. So stop your whining and let's get tooled up and on the move. I, for one, am curious as to why VOLOS hasn't just blasted us from afar."
"I think," said Franco, voice cool, eyes strangely intelligent from behind their mask of insanity, "he's lost control."
"What?" snapped Pippa.
"This VOLOS. The Big Guy. The Bloke in Charge. I think he was a Big Dude round here once over, and helped create, or formulate, all these medical deviations. But I think something happened, maybe he lost his powers or something, but he's trapped down here now, just like the rest of the freaks. He needs us for something, guys, he wants our help. That's why we have to fight our way through his defences... he no longer controls them."
Keenan looked sideways at Franco, as he reordered his pack, down on one knee. "You know Franco, for a madman you sometimes have an alarming sense of clarity."
"Hey!" he grinned, "they don't call me Franco 'Global Brainbox of the Globe' Haggis for nothing, you know. I'm a damn genie, a geena... a mastermind, so I am."
Pippa snorted, but conversation died as they readied themselves. Weapons were checked, primed, locked and loaded. Betezh and Olga had serious looks on serious faces, and the five remaining members of the Combat-K infiltration team stood in formation and faced the swing-doors leading deeper into VOLOS' Hospital.
They moved forward, and Keenan placed a gloved hand against the double doors.
"Geronimo," said Franco.
"What?" snapped Pippa.
"It's a saying. Y'know? When you're about to dive in. I usually reserve it for acts of candle-lit cunnilingus, but hell, this situation felt just damn right, somehow."
"You're a sexual deviant, Franco Haggis."
"Amen to that, my sweet little pudding."
Keenan pushed open the doors, and cool air wafted over them. They stepped forward, and the light seemed to dissolve and rearrange as the corridor shifted from entropy to clinical perfection.
The doors swung shut, clicked, and locked behind them.
Finally.
The core members of Combat-K were in the Hospital.
Combat K stood in the cool sterility of the Hospital. A short corridor led to a long ward, so long it went on further than the eye could see. Beds were neatly made. Lights were low, dimmed. The smell of disinfectant wafted in the air like a sweet disease, like leprosy.
"I don't like this," said Franco, easing forward.
"You don't like anything, Big Man."
"This is too nice. I preferred the last corridor, with all the shit."
"Let's move out," said Keenan, and they walked forward, slowly, in battle formation, eyes constantly scanning and guns weaving, covering arcs of fire.
Distant, they heard the sound, a sound so alien to the environment that for a long moment they all frowned. Then Pippa's face softened, but Keenan gave a savage shake of his head, scowling at her.
"But it's a baby," said Pippa. "A baby, crying."
The sound died; dissipated.
"Do you really think, in a place like this, there'll be a baby?"
"Even deviants are born," said Pippa, and Keenan could see by Pippa's enlarged eyes that she was being maternal. He sighed, and glanced over at Olga for support. However, the huge psychopathic tattoo-knuckled fat squaddie also had a dreamy look about her small, pig-like eyes.
"Must be a woman thing," muttered Keenan. "Come on."
Again they moved, between the perfect beds, until they came to a central office area. They stopped, and Keenan and Franco cleared the room. It had neat desks with stacks of papers, several IN and OUT trays, and a kettle and a toaster. Hardly the threatening items of deepest dark nightmares. Outside, there came a buzz and the lights flickered.
"Keenan," said Pippa. He emerged, and she pointed to a sign on the office's external wall. It was small, and neatly engraved. It read: MATERNITY WARD.
"So this is where the freaks, the deviants, the greebos and mutations come to give birth?" snorted Keenan. Then he looked at Franco, Pippa, and Betezh, and scowled. "Shit," he said. "Let's get moving; let's get out of this place, it's giving me the creeps."
As they progressed through the Maternity Ward environment, so the lights gradually dimmed, and dimmed, fingers of grey creeping over the world. The hospital ward had windows, but they were hung with heavy drapes. Keenan crossed between two beds and pulled back the dangling drapes; the glass was grey and blank, like the lifeless eyes of a long-dead corpse.
"Great."
At that moment, distantly, a babe started crying. Keenan held out a hand, stopping Pippa from rushing forward, and he took the lead again, moving slowly down the ward. Here, the beds were interspersed with baby cribs and incubation chambers. Everywhere lay evidence of babies: blankets embroidered with teddy bears, tables strewn with rattles and baby baths, baby creams and shampoos, even cards in pink and blue denoting messages of congratulation.
"It's giving me the bloody heebie jeebies," said Franco.
"I don't know why," said Pippa from the corner of her mouth. "You've fathered enough kids in your time."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it says on the tin."
"So you mean to tell me," he considered, "you think I'm a dad?"
"You've had sex, haven't you?"
"Lots of times! I am," he puffed out his chest, "a sexual athlete."
"So, the law of averages state you must have fathered some kids."
Franco considered this. "Oh," he s
aid, finally, and seemed unable to grasp the concept. Eventually, he shook his head. "Nah, not me, I'm Franco 'Lucky Sperm' Haggis! I'm Franco 'Zero Ovulation' Haggis! Babies are little tykes that happen to other people. I take precautions, I do."
"Yeah, right," smiled Pippa. She pushed forward to Keenan. "Come on, I want to see this squawking child."
Keenan shrugged, MPK tracking towards the baby wailing as they gradually approached. The annoying guttural sound seemed to become even more abrasive as they neared, and Pippa and Olga pushed past Keenan to reach the edges of the incubator in which lay the tiny pink thing, wrapped in blankets, wailing.
"Aww," said Pippa, leaning close.
"Cutchy cutchy coo," cooed Olga, leaning close from the other side.
"Wahhh wahhh wahhh," squawked the baby.
"It's so small and helpless," said Pippa.
"Just look at that little fella's hair!" beamed Olga.
Both women leant over the incubation crib, pulling aside soft white blankets, cooing and aahing and oohing with brains as runny as their eyes.
"Be careful," growled Keenan, looking up and down the ward. This could be a come-on, a prick-tease, a decoy. He'd seen it before, a thousand times; just never using a newborn. But it'd work. It'd work damn well.
"Wahh!" said the baby, and opened a beady black eye. It stared at the two women, caught in rubber-faced poses of soothing ululation. The baby's crying stopped. Immediately.
"See?" said Olga, turning and winking at Franco. "I have ze mother's touch!" She turned back just as the baby leapt into the air, both tiny pink feet slamming Olga's face with the force of a sledgehammer. Olga staggered back, blood pouring from her nose as the tiny pink babe bounced, once, and head-butted Pippa on the chin, sending her sprawling backwards across a bed, D5 shotgun blasting an ND into the ceiling. The baby sailed through the air, Keenan's MPK tracking it but... he could not pull the trigger.
The baby slammed through ceiling tiles in a crumble of plaster.
Everything was silent.
"Wah wah bloody wahhh!" said Franco, scowling as Pippa and Olga rubbed their damaged faces. "Some damn and squawking bloody baby that was! It was a human hammer! A toxic newborn!"
