by Andy Remic
Dex slid the SMKK to his back and, with Makarov to cheek, peered out into the corridor. Theme Planet designers had gone all-out for a medieval experience here, and proper live fire brands burned at regular intervals, giving off an acrid stench. Dex crept down the corridor, wary, gun poised and ready for combat. Down the steps he trotted, worn into grooves by thousands of years of use (although Dex knew this place had only existed for a couple of decades; such attention to detail!) and down more corridors until he came to a large room with a vaulted ceiling. High above, rich paintings filled the arches, showing plump, naked ladies at play, and cherubic angels strumming lyres and harps. Around the large chamber were all manner of glass cabinets, and Dex peered inside. There were a hundred different machines, all black and gleaming with oil. They were intricate, and like no machines Dex had ever seen in his life; they twisted and turned like puzzle boxes. A plaque on one glass cabinet explained these were some of the first ride engines, or “ride drives” as TP so snappily put it, employed in rides when Theme Planet first opened.
Dex moved around the cases, keeping a wary eye on the doorways, to witness yet more machines. Here, there was a prototype for brake systems; there, a controller for piston firing, and over there a controller unit used for timing ride drops and the release of passengers from safety collars.
It was all extremely dull.
Dex left the chamber, padded down more corridors, and emerged into yet more interlinked chambers. Again, they were full of glass display cabinets, and Dex glided past various wax statues of provax in outfits depicting different “Ages” of Theme Planet’s progression towards the entertainment behemoth it had become today.
“Wonderful,” he muttered, stopping by what must have been the hundredth wax statue. “By God, they’ve had a lot of uniform changes over the years. Even more than your average football club!”
His words echoed back, cold and metallic, as if the life had been sucked from his words by the thick stone walls.
Where to go?
He eyed a staircase.
Upwards, of course. That was where power-hungry megalomaniacs tended to reside, be they scum-pushing drug peddlers, idea-pushing scummy politicians, or scum-sucking miliporn warmongerers, everybody with any idea of power seemed to gravitate upwards, as if labouring under the mistaken belief that only the cream rose to the top. Well that’s all bullshit, and we both know it. Shit floats just as well as cream.
Dex made for the stone steps. He knew, if there were answers, they were on the top floor.
Insanity always was...
~ * ~
Dex stopped. He rubbed weary eyes and frowned. There was a huge room before him, adorned with rich tapestries, thick, heavily-patterned carpets, and alabaster stands bearing sculptures and golden effigies. The place was awash with different artefacts, not just from a thousand different time periods, but from hundreds of different species and races. It was as if Monolith Corporation had decided that by simply dumping as much historical wealth as possible in one place, they would inspire awe, inspire jaw-dropping respect; instead, to Dex, it just looked tacky. Like having ten different types of dinner service. Like having all four walls decorated in different gaudy patterns. Lots didn’t always automatically mean best. The whole arena had been styled by somebody without style. As if created by a machine. It was fake style. False cool. It rankled Dex deeply...
He moved forward, silent footsteps on plush carpets. He glided past a hundred marble pedestals, a thousand gaudy statues in brass and bronze and other, glinting, highly-polished alloys. He moved past tapestries depicting ancient battles from a thousand different cultures and alien races. And then...
He heard voices.
Dex glanced about for cameras, and he was pretty sure the place would be bugged to high heaven, but could see no evidence. Ach, fuck it. What can I do? he realised. All he could do was blunder on and hope for the best. Hope for a lucky break. Hope to find his wife and children...
He continued forward, body tense now, hyper-sensitive to everything around him, every sight and sound and touch. He could smell some kind of burning incense, and hear a gentle swish of curtains, as if caressed by a mountain breeze.
Up ahead, Dex saw a man seated on the thick carpets. He was naked from the waist up, and he was muscular and deeply tanned. His legs were covered in corded trousers of many bright colours. He had his back to Dex, and his head was bald, shining by the glow of many burning brands.
“Welcome, Dexter,” came a rich, vibrant voice.
Dex checked behind himself, then crept a little closer. There was something in front of the man, lying on the thick carpets. With a start, Dex realised it was a woman, lying perfectly still, her eyes closed, breathing gently and completely naked. Her arms were by her sides, and her ankles placed neatly together. She looked serene in sleep, and there was nothing to set her apart from other humans; she was neither ugly nor beautiful, she was neither fat nor thin, flabby nor muscular. Nothing.
Dex transferred his gaze back to the man, and realised he had not heard voices, just one voice. This man. Talking to the sleeping woman. Dex frowned, and made sure the safety was off on the Makarov.
“How did you know I was here?”
“That’s my job,” said the man, and turned, and grinned at Dexter. He had crimson eyes and sharp pointed teeth. He looked quite feral, almost tribal in appearance. All he needed was a bone necklace and a spear and he could have come from three million years ago.
“And your job is?”
“I am the Head of Monolith Secret Police. My name is Terry ‘Smoothface’ Napper. You can call me ‘Sir.’”
“Aah,” said Dex, who considered putting a bullet in that nice, big, bald head. It made a good target. Dex was sure he wouldn’t miss. Suddenly, a pain wrenched through his hands and the Makarov was torn from his grip and thrown a hundred metres down the room. Dex yelped and rubbed his wrists, where strips of skin had been peeled free.
“I suggest you toss down the SMKK as well,” said the man, grinning again, crimson eyes boring through Dex. “If the accelerator gets it, it might well rip you in half. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
Dex struggled out of the strap and dropped the gun like it was on fire. He’d seen accelerators work in the past, on small military targets, like tanks and warships. A military-grade accelerator, which could tear a battleship in half, would sure make a mess of a human body. Whoever controlled the machine had a damn good eye; Dex had only lost a bit of skin on his hand, rather than several fingers, or indeed, his whole arm - which could have been quite easily ripped off and tossed a hundred metres down the room along with the Makarov.
The SMKK clattered when it hit the ground.
“Good boy,” said Napper, and that grin was still on his face, and the grin bothered Dex, because it wasn’t a grin associated with humour, but the grin of a shark, or an alligator, just before its twists a limb into oblivion mush. “Move over there, where I can see your hands. And just remember, the accelerator can rip out your heart from a million paces.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Dex, “I’ve seen them in operation.”
“Well you’ll know not to fuck with me then,” said Napper.
Dex glanced around, but couldn’t immediately locate the controller. But then, that didn’t mean much. The controller could be on a whole different planet. What mattered was his precision. And what mattered was that Dex was being a good boy. Despite obvious appearances, he was caught worse than any rat in a trap. He was caught with his pants round his ankles, no mistake, and he’d walked into the pile of shit like a good boy scout. Shit. Could he get any more amateurish?
Dex shifted warily around a bronze statue, away from his SMKK, so that he stood beside the prostrate woman, staring at Napper’s face. The man returned his gaze to the woman.
“You’re here now, my sweet, and there’s nothing left for you to worry about.” Her eyelids twitched, as if she could hear what Napper was saying, but unable to respond. “You’ve been a
bad lady, haven’t you? Following your mission objective rather than following your heart. Well, you’re here, and you walked into the trap, just like Mr Dexter Colls.” He glanced up. “You were both fools to think you could come here and interfere with our plans. Monolith is out of your league, little people. Monolith, and Theme Planet, are leviathans you cannot fuck with.”
“I didn’t come here to fuck with Monolith Corporation. “ Dex’s voice was soft. “Although Monolith decided it was going to fuck with me. Don’t you people understand? You took my wife and children, Napper. You stole them away from me, and you wonder why I go on a rampage with an SMKK? What the hell did you expect me to do?”
“You were invited to leave; if you had, your wife and children would have been returned to you. Unharmed.”
“No.” Dex shook his head. “Shit doesn’t happen like that. Things never work out like that. It’s never as easy as that. You’d get me off the planet then blam, take them out when I wasn’t looking.”
“You are incorrect.” Napper stared hard at Dex, then stood, smoothly, his body powerful and lithe; a killing machine honed to perfection. He rolled his neck, joints cracking.
Dex frowned. “Incorrect? About what?”
“Monolith just wanted you off the planet. Because of what you are.”
“What I am? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“You’re an android, Dexter.”
“What?” Dexter realised he was grinning, and shaking his head. He lifted his hands, palms outward, his face open with absolute confusion. “You...” he chuckled with genuine humour, “you think I’m a fucking android? Gods, is that what all this shit has been about? You took my wife and children in order to persuade me to leave Theme Planet?”
“Yes.”
“That’s crazy, Napper. Can you hear yourself? It’s fucking insane! I’m not an android.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“I’m a policeman, you idiot. I work PUF in London! I have done for fucking years. I’ve been married for years. I have two little girls, my own flesh and blood, and androids can’t have children. You know it, and I know it, so what the hell is this really about?”
“Three androids have been sent to Theme Planet to kill... various targets.”
“Including you?”
“Oh, yes,” said Napper, meeting Dexter’s eyes. He continued. “Our intel told us there were three, sent by Earth’s Oblivion Government, to take out the top brass on various sections of Theme Planet... presumably as an initial strike before the full scale invasion begins.”
“Full scale... invasion? Invasion of what?”
“Invasion of Theme Planet,” said Napper, eyes glinting. “By Earth.”
“Whoa,” Dex held up his hands, shaking his head. “What you’re talking about is crazy business. Truly insane stuff. Have you even heard yourself?”
“Our first job was to locate the three androids, the three Anarchy Androids, sent to Theme Planet to eliminate various high-ranking targets. Here is one.” Napper stared down, almost lovingly, at Amba. “See how perfectly made she is. Look at the craftsmanship. Our engineers, despite their skill with theme rides, are quite envious. We never did master androids... certainly not to the level of the Anarchy Model.”
“Stop, stop, stop,” said Dex, shaking his head. “Honestly mate, you have me completely wrong. I’ve been caught up in this mad shit and it’s exactly that; mad. Mad as a fucking mad rabbit.”
“How did you find your way to me?”
“What?”
“You heard the question just fine, Mr Colls.”
“Well... a series of random events. I was directed here. By Jim, the policeman, I was looking for my wife...”
“Your priority was not to leave Theme Planet, Dexter, it was to find me. To take me out. Look at you, in here, tooled up, armed with a Makarov and SMKK, with grenades in your pockets. You had a chance, a true chance to save your wife and children; you could have left, and allowed Monolith authorities to return them to Earth to be with you. But no. You chose the more difficult path. You did what an Anarchy Model would have done.”
“No, this is ridiculous!” snapped Dex, frowning, mind a snowglobe of confusion. “And your logic is fucking twisted. I did what any strong man, any military man, any police man would have done; I failed to trust the untrusting words of yet another huge lying corporation; I trusted in my own instincts and tried to find my family. This had nothing to do with assassination. Nothing to do with being a bloody android! All I want is my family back.”
“And if I give them to you?”
“Then I go home,” growled Dex, through gritted teeth.
“Then I will give them to you. And we will see.”
Dex paused, then, licking his lips. He blinked rapidly, three times. “What?” he said, at last.
“I will give you back your wife and children. They are here. Safe. Secure. An insurance policy, you might say. In fact, the insurance policy we had, and that we offered you, before you shot up the police and a whole load of military grade Justice and Battle SIMs, and caused a merry riot across the face of the Theme Planet.”
“You’re telling the truth? They’re here?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go to them!” yelled Dex. “Come on, I’ll show you, I’ll prove it to you! I’m not some deranged fucking android machine. I’ll show you, all I want is my family back. All I want is my Katrina, and my little girls!”
“Follow me,” said Napper, stepping to one side. “And remember, the accelerator is aimed at your back. It’ll rip you in half in the blink of an eye! So don’t try anything foolish. Don’t try anything... an android might try.” He smiled, and it was a grim smile indeed.
Napper strode down the huge chamber, and Dex followed, then stopped. He glanced back at the woman. “What about her?”
“What about her?”
“Who is she?”
“You do not need to know.”
“Are you going to kill her?”
“Yes. She is an Anarchy Android. Of that, we are certain without doubt.”
“She looks so... human.”
“They all do. That’s the way they were made.”
“I find it hard to believe.”
“Do you want to see your family?” said Napper, crimson eyes blazing, and as they’d been talking Dex had unconsciously edged towards the man, a matter of inches, but far enough for... Dex’s fist lashed out, a straight punch, hammering through Napper’s teeth and embedding in the core of his brain. Napper died instantly. Dex lifted his arm, and the whole of Napper’s body flipped over, around, as the accelerator blast tore through it, ripping it asunder and shredding Napper’s limbs and fingers and organs in a hundred different directions. Blood fell like rain. Hung in the air like a fine mist. Body parts pattered on the thick rug. But now... now Dex had seen the accelerator blast, witnessed its location, and dived for the SMKK, grabbing the weapon, rolling as another blast tore a marble pillar into powder, exploding around Dexter Colls, and the SMKK slammed around, its barrel a black eye which went blam. A bullet spun across the chamber and through the mouth of a painting depicting an angel. Behind the painting, a woman was hit between the eyes and slammed back against her chair, fingers slack on the accelerator’s glowing controls.
Dex stood there, and looked down at the SMKK. Then he looked left, at Napper’s shredded leg, and right, to a half-portion of Napper’s head. The jaw was missing, and the head looked strangely shrunken; as if tampered with by witch doctors.
Dex swallowed, slowly, and breathed deep.
What happened? What hit me? What went... click?
How did I do that? How did I kill him? How did I kill him, and the controller?
Dex swallowed again, and his pulse was racing, and his heart was drumming like rainfall in a storm. There could only be one answer. Normal people, normal policemen didn’t punch an enemy through the mouth and f
lip his body up and over to use as a shield against a military accelerator weapon. Normal people didn’t do those things. Androids did those things.
No.
Bullshit.
He was trained, trained hard and fast in rules of combat; he’d fought in the Helix War, and patrolled the mean streets of London for decades. Dex was a tough fucker; as tough as they got.
Dex walked back to the woman lying on the rug. She was coming round, moaning softly, eyelids fluttering. Dex knelt by her side, touched her gently on the arm as flickering thoughts rioted like an exploding volcano through his mind -
