Chapter 16: Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom

It's in the over-the-top spirit of Magnum Thrax

Ahead of them, deep inside the Death Zone, was Scylla, an undulating tornado storm. Some believed it was a sentient information wave, formed out of ancient information networks. It sucked ad clouds into its surging maelstrom vortex and devoured them while it loomed over the blighted landscape that was known as The Death Fields.

Thrax surveyed the bleak terrain. It was pockmarked with thousands of craters filled with stagnant black water. Blasted by ‘god rods’ from low orbit, the shallow pits offered succor to loathesome colonies of polyps.

He had no idea what they ate.

Didn’t want to.

Towering over the craters were remains of once indestructible war machines, their cyclopean frames scorched and shredded like tissue paper.

Long ago, two colossal ancient armies had clashed here. And in the shadows and crevices, their deadly legacy lived after them.

A bright dot of orange winked in the distance outside Thrax’s starboard window: an explosion. Five clicks away, to the north, easily Thrax zoomed the sensor suite in on the heat signature. It showed a divot in the earth surrounded by steaming organic matter. An animal of considerable mass had ventured into a still active minefield.

Yuck, thought Thrax.

A clap of thunder reverberated powerfully enough to be heard within the Lux Chariot cocoon.

Thrax tapped on the inky black forward divider. It slid away, revealing the driver cabin. “What?” demanded Ghatz testily, peering into the passenger cabin.

“We’re headed straight for The Death Fields,” said Thrax simply, as if that explained everything. It should have. Nobody sane went into The Death Fields. They were named that for a reason.

Ghatz sniffed. “Have you been drinking?”

Thrax paused for a beat and lied. “No. Why?”

Ghatz’s eyes narrowed. He looked pointedly at the empty glass of gin Thrax held in his hand, then back at Thrax.

Thrax had forgotten about that.

He cleared his throat. Tried to think.

“Tonic water,” he said after a moment. Best he could come up with without Darwin and after several glasses. Verbal jousting on the fly was not his strong point. He preferred to punch people. He had his medbots remove all traces of alcohol from his breath. He wanted to hang on to the buzz. “Anyway. Death Fields are ahead.”

“Yes. So?” “That’s suicide.”

“Not at all,” responded Ghatz with a scoff. “We have a transponder. Gives us immunity to the remaining ordnance. Besides, going around would take too long. The fields are enormous. The south is dominated by corporate cyber-ant colonies and that nightmare fungi-termite metropolis. Corpcultists, the lot.”

Thrax shivered. He was fascinated and horrified by the gigantasects. Respirovores allowed them to grow to incredible size, while bacteria computers bestowed sentience. The termites fell prey to a rogue ad campaign for deodorant, and now grew it in the abdomens of a specially adapted chemical caste, and sprayed it everywhere. The ants brewed and sold and worshipped a brand of cola.

“Half,” corrected Kal. “What?”

“The transponder will only work for one side or the other,” said Kal. “Federalist or Coalition. So it’ll only be half effective.”

“Um. Actually... less than half,” interjected Sable, putting her glasses back on and pulling her hair into a tight bun. “It won’t affect the tertiary parties, such as the anarchists, nihilists, ecowarriors, or corporate enforcement.”

Kal’s jaw dropped.

Thrax felt bad for his friend. Kal hated being wrong, hated having his easy breezy declarations challenged.

“That is, I think. Just an idea, a thought,” said Sable, blushing. She nervously adjusted her glasses. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Sorry.”

“I was going to say that,” huffed Kal, feigning indignation at being interrupted. “Quiet!” Jez rounded on Ghatz, “That true? It’s not what you told me.”

“We’re so fucked,” muttered Kitty glumly, plunking her face into her hands.

“It’s good enough. We’re going across,” said Ghatz flatly. “That’s the plan. Time to separate the men from the boys.”

“Why not go north?” asked Jez. “Give us a chance to wear furs.” “No way,” said Jasmine emphatically. “No freakin’ way.”

“The Pox Khanate,” said Ghatz. “Some real bad-ass biobricks.”

“What? I didn’t think anything lived in the Yelling Wastes,” Thrax said. He only knew of the Yellstone megavolcano, an earthly Olympus Mons. An eon ago it detonated in a massive Plinian explosion that buried the continent in chalky ash. Only Pleasurepit Five had survived unscathed. At least, that’s what they told him in school.

“That was a long time ago. It’s plague nomad territory now. I love those guys, in a science nerd kind of way. Blood boil cowboys. Herders with virulent pathogenic symbiots, uber hyper aggressive microscopic allies that strike down anything they cross. Their flock is also infected. Makes trade deadly difficult. Isolationists, thankfully. No one bothers them, save machines. Think they’re Amish.”

“Mormons,” corrected Sable.

Kal scowled and dipped his head. Thrax grinned and tried not to laugh. Another score for Sable. Must really be driving Kal crazy.

Kal, his voice more subdued, cautiously continued: “And as curious as I am, scientifically, about the fields, I’m not suicidally so.”

“The boy is right,” added Andromeda from in back.

“Your objections are duly noted, android corporal,” said Ghatz, emphasis on the low rank. “Sang, step on it.”

Sang, intent on the terrain ahead, frowned. He started to speak, stopped, then blurted, “Sorry, man, I agree with them.”

Ghatz lost his patience. “These fields are a thousand orbits old! More! How bad can it be?” said Ghatz, exasperated. “They’re spent. Coasting on reputation. Legend. Bottom line: stop being such a pack of Nervous Nellies.”

“You’re the boss,” Thrax said, and slid back into his seat. Until we’re all killed. “Getting there is half the fun, as they say.” He looked over at Kal, who tapped the side of his forehead, crossed his eyes, then pointed back at Ghatz, mouthing, “Him batshit crazy motherfucker.”

Thrax grunted agreement and pulled his plasma rifle from its rack, which then receded into the vehicles’ frame. He primed the rifle’s fusion pile.

“Okay, ladies,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the music and recitation, “This is it. Get your weapons ready, by the windows. Prep for anything.”

The movie player faded out, and the broad bed shifted beneath the androids, separating and carrying each into a chair positioned before a window.

Kal fiddled with his vehicle interface. “Combat configuration set. Polarizing the windows now. You’ll be able to fire out, but they’ll still absorb energy coming in.”

“Check.”

“Activating recorders,” Kal added. “Don’t want to miss the silver lining of certain death.”

“Heaven forbid, girl,” added Kitty, rolling her eyes. The other androids tittered.

“Stop undermining team morale,” admonished Ghatz. “How soon?”

Jez checked the instruments. “Thirty seconds to border.”

“Buckle in boys and girls”,” said Sang.

The pristine stretched limousine, gleaming in the fading light of the sun’s crepuscular rays, crossed into darkness.

****

That was unexpected, thought The Wraith sitting atop a landing platform. It had picked the tilting kilometer high office spire as the site from which it would strike. The vehicle it was tracking was not capable of surviving the lethality of the Death Zone. Projections indicated it would turn south, run along the edge of the zone, through the isolated valley below:the optimal point for it to strike.

Now it was too late.

POUM!

****

Waves of stygian ash slammed into the Lux Chariot, the living dunes battering it left and right. Molecular grip tires barely held the vehicle upright. A few more hits and they’d give way, sending the vehicle tumbling into chaos.

“That’s not ash,” said Kal, “It’s—”

“Grey goo!” shouted Ghatz, gripping the dashboard. “Get us airborne!”

The limo shuddered as each successive wave hit, battering down their defenses and hull integrity.

“We’ve lost our drone scouts,” announced Kal.

Vast zymotic dunes began to shift, awaken, flowing, focusing in on them. Sang pulled back on the steering wheel.

Traceries of electricity arced through the black churning murk far above, unleashing lightning bolts which struck all around the limo, turning ash to glass and scorching the limo’s shell. It began to smoke.

Jez’s teeth clattered as she shook in her seat. She looked over at Ghatz, as much as the G- Forces would allow. “This had better work,” she hissed, menace in her silken voice.

Jets appeared on the underside of the limo and burst into life. Roaring blue flames propped the vehicle up on a cushion of superheated air. The wheels folded into their wells to be replaced by short, stubby wings.

More multi-coloured lightning bolts. They fell short.

Rear mounted rockets fired, throwing passengers back hard against their seats, propelling the limo forward like a cruise missile.

The malevolent dune sea roiled beneath them, issuing otherworldly shrieks, then, realizing impotence, slowly subsided once more into somnolence.

“They seem to have deployed it within rigid, coordinate defined areas,” observed Kal, “All three dimensions. Smart.”

“Told you,” said Ghatz with a triumphant grin. “Piece of cake.”

As he turned back forward, he saw sand cascade off a huge black egg that rose up out of a patch of phlegmatic goo, thirty meters high. The front unfurled gracefully, like a rose petal, into a score of rubbery arms, each ending in a clawed particle weapon ringed by undulating filaments. At the centre was burning, crimson plasma forge, shimmering with indescribable heat, a great malevolent eye. Thousands of short feelers lined the inner edges.

Ghatz gibbered in fear.

Kitty threw up her hands. “You fucking moron!”

“Oh, my,” said Sable, peering over the rim of her glasses. “Some kind of nanocolony robot.”

“Evasive!” yelled Thrax.

Strobe lights flashed all over its surface with blinding intensity.

Sang adjusted the window dimmers and waggled the steering wheel.

Beams of energy lanced out from the antediluvian war machine, sizzling past them. Sang veered the limo sharply sideways, dodging another salvo.

There was a tremendous explosion behind them as the beams detonated an ancient ammunition stock. The limo’s rear slid sideways. Sang pulled hard on the wheel in the opposite direction, bringing it back in line and sending the limo soaring through a rent in an ancient war hulk.

“Idiots! We need ECM!” said Jez. “Fast!”

Kal closed his eyes and focused his mind in virtual programming space. “I’ll try and scramble its fire control.”

“Oh, I’m on it,” said Sable, tapping at her own holographic interface.

Kal gave her a sharp look. No time to dispute or get territorial. He got back to work.

Dozens of white-hot streaks sliced after them, cutting through the twisted metal derelicts like knives through butter. Sparks, molten metal, and smoke gushed from the blubbering, sagging contact points.

Yet another refulgent salvo singed the limo’s hull.

“I can’t... I’m trying. It’s too fast!” exclaimed Sable.

“It’s overcalculating us; zeroing in!” shouted Kal. “Get us out of here quick!”

Support straps and harnesses dropped from the ceiling in back. Squad members grabbed on to them for dear life as the internal stabilizers became overwhelmed by reckless maneuvering.

“Radiation hot spot ahead!” called out Ghatz.

Sang smiled and accelerated. “Not for long.”

Before them lay the sublimely mournful ruins of a long dead city of indescribable scale and beauty, the prize over which the long ago battle was fought. Scorched silver spires rose majestically out of the ash, resplendent and adorned with mighty advertising billboards touting glorious miracle products. Their colours had faded, sections ripped away, but the message of prosperity remained, calling out across the eons.

Jumbled piles of rusted hover cars lay against the base of them, where hurricane force atomic winds had casually thrown them.

A dozen sleek legs sprouted from the machines’ glossy underside; it gracefully raised its bulk out of the earth’s embrace and trundled after them. Dozens of small shimmering globules, explosive drones, peeled off from its main body, sprouted thrusters, and rocketed after them at supersonic speed.

Sang noticed bright, darting specks in the rearview mirror. Engine glow. Rockets. He bit his lip and flipped a switch. Brilliant streams of golden lights spewed from the limo’s tail lights, diverting the incoming globules at the last second. They exploded into coruscating vortices that shook the vehicle about like paper in a hurricane.

“Faster!” shouted Ghatz.

“Already at max!” gasped Sang through gritted teeth, struggling to bring the vehicle under control again. It throbbed and shook with runaway power.

Control panels flickered, turned to static.

Went out. The steering wheel became much harder to shift. Sang’s muscles strained, veins popping.

“What’s that? What’s wrong?” demanded Jez, panicking.

“It’s using ECM against us,” said Sang, spinning up the ECCM dial. “Just. Give it a sec.”

“We don’t have a sec,” exclaimed Kitty. “What’s the matter with you people?”

“Shut it, Kitty!” said Thrax, fed up. “That’s enough out of you.”

The lights popped back on, danced sideways like mad sound waves, then snapped into sharp characters.

“Engaged electronic warfare; we’ll see who has the better program,” said Sang as holographic readouts flashed around him.

“Ah, but we do,” asserted Kal, “Not to worry, ladies and gentlemen. I updated the chariot’s defenses an hour ago.”

“That was you?” asked Sable, impressed. “Indeed.”

“Wait. You what?!?” Sang’s eyes bulged, and he almost choked on his own slavia. Anger flooded his brain, overpowering years of meditation practice. “You hacked my fucking car? My baby!?!”

“Uh, well, yes, sorry, but... there were pressing reasons,” said Kal, “No overstepping of bounds meant. It was just dangerously outdated, archaic even. Heh.”

Sang cursed. “You sonnova–”

Something glittered and caught Thrax’s eye.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing.

It was a small, gleaming silver pod floating upward on their forward port side. “Comm relay? The fuck do I know. Serenity now--”

“That’s not a–”

As the sphere languidly drew level with the limo, it began to glow, then sparkle like a vampire in daylight. It detonated, showering the vehicle with armour piercing shrapnel. Bulbous dents appeared in the hull. A section by Thrax jutted inward like a knife, barely missing his throat. Autorepair quickly pulled the deformity back into the frame’s defined shape.

“Warning. Hull integrity,” announced the limo computer rather indifferently, “at seventy per cent and falling.”

“Oh! Oh! Mines!” Kal said excitedly. Challenge had reared its ugly head, and he was ready to chop it off. “Got an idea. So good!”

A hundred more pods fired into the air, filling it with deadly bursting fireworks, peppering the vehicle front to back.

Thrax released his seat buckles and threw himself into the centre of the cabin. “Get away from the frame!” He fired at the silver pods from the hip. Hit two, which exploded.

Dozens more hit.

The hull assumed the look of an inverted anemone, thousands of indentations pushing the autorepair to breaking point.

Andromeda fired wildly out the side window, the energy beams passing harmlessly through. A bolt hit a silver pod, sending it spiraling downward trailing smoke.

A 3D projection hovered before Kal, showing a cross section of a machinery filled metal sphere. “AVM-190. Gotcha.”

“Hull integrity fifty-two per cent.”

A pod exploded to their port side; a hundred sharp shards blasted inward. Jasmine took a hit in her calf and screamed.

“Twenty per cent.”

“Kal!” shouted Thrax, huddling with the androids, “Get out of your seat! Away from the window!”

“One sec,” said Kal, engrossed. He tapped madly at a keyboard. “My neural tap is blocked, some kind of jamming field below. Almost got it. You’re gonna love this. So rad.”

“Mr. Grammer, it won’t work!” shouted Sable. “Get up!”

“No, I got it, got it.”

A hundred shards burst into the underside, slicing up through Thrax’s seat.

“Hull integrity reduced to ten per cent,” said the computer. “Please visit your nearest auto repair shop at the earliest possible opportunity.”

“Got what?”

Energy beams flashed all around them, overwhelming the polarized windows.

The cabin flooded with blinding white light.

“Aw, no!” Kal blinked rapidly. “Fuck! I can’t see. Totally unfair!”

Sang spun the wheel hard, trying to avoid a fresh cluster of shrapnel pods.

Candy stumbled forward. Thrax shifted his rifle into his right hand and grabbed hold of her with the left as the vehicle lurched starboard.

She clutched Max to her chest.

The terrified dog whined plaintively.

“Ahead!” yelled Ghatz. “Look out!”

A gleaming silver pod was barreling straight at the front cabin. Too late to dodge.

Jez was firing off shot after shot at it. Went wide with worry.

Thrax instinctively leveled his rifle, aimed, and at the last possible moment, squeezed the trigger. The energy bolt barely cleared the top of Ghatz’s head, burning off the top of his hair before it passed out the front windshield into the pod, striking it dead centre. The pod disintegrated. Fragments clattered against the windshield harmlessly.

It was a shot for the ages.

“Lucky,” groused Jez, fiddling with her sights. “My gun was miscalibrated, or I’d have had it.”

Thrax gave her a triumphant wink. She snapped her head forward to hide the blush that filled her cheeks.

“There it is!” shouted Kal happily, looking up from his keyboard. “Should do it. Look and be amazed, my friends.”

Thrax followed Kal’s gaze.

Outside, the silver pods began to shift in mid air, then accelerated towards the pursuing war machine.

“Hold fire!” ordered Thrax.

A volley of deadly beams lanced outward, but the pods were too small for the behemoth to target effectively. Explosions blossomed over its sleek surface. Puffs of black dust spun outward. It extended its mass of surface feelers; they grew petals that tried to intercept the incoming pods before they contacted the hull.

It wasn’t enough.

The ancient death dealer slowed and stopped as more and more drone pods struck. Its surface began to fragment. Changing strategy, limbs and feelers retracted. The shell rippled and melted down into the earth. A section detached, oozing apart like blobs separating in a lava lamp, spreading out into a hard concave chrysalis shell that hovered in the air above the burrowing war machine.

Pods collided with it. Multiple explosions sent out a concussion wave that rocked the Lux Chariot as it fled at top speed.

“Maintain evasive,” ordered Ghatz, coming to his senses. “Get us out of here.”

Thrax and the androids clustered together in back, holding on to each other for support and stability as the limo jerked about violently, skimming over the deadly fields.

Kal pumped a fist into the air, ebullient. “Booyah! You see that? Hacked code in record time. Reset their threat AI. I amaze myself!”

“Inconceivable!” said Thrax with a wry grin.

“Nicely done, Mr. Grammer,” said Sable, hungrily peering over her glasses at Kal. She licked her lips as if she were looking at a rare, edible book of erotic poetry.

Ghatz sighed with relief and felt the singed top of his head. “Good work,” Ghatz conceded grudgingly. “I knew you’d be useful, Kal. Leadership is about putting together the right team for the right mission.”

Sang steadied the limo. “Everyone alright?” “Good back here,” replied Thrax.

“Keep your eyes peeled, yeah?” advised Ghatz. “New threats could come from anywhere.”

Sang nodded. “I said he had a point, didn’t I?”

“Just turn us around,” snapped Jez. “Before I rip your lying lungs out!”

Ghatz held firm. “Not a chance.”

That set Jez off. “What the fuck!? You want to get me killed, you dick wagging douchebag?” she spat back. “You’re a fool. A pathetic, incompetent fool. Go around!”

“One more word and you’ll regret it.” He pulled out his pistol and rested it in his lap. Jez fell silent.

****

The dominatrix android pondered her options. Perhaps Ghatz was more replaceable than she’d thought. Ghatz was a pathetic poser, out of his depth, useful only for his position. Thrax, on the other hand, was Mars personified. Being rejected by him just made him more desirable. A challenge. A mountain to be climbed. She liked the frission of it. The heat.

She wanted a man who could dice his enemies and look good doing it; ignite desire while splattered with the blood and guts of fallen foes, then take her afterward, without mercy. It was the nature of animals.

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Chapter 15: Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom

Kal bobbed his head in sync to the blaring music. The gyrostabilized vehicle vibrated to classic rock in HD surround sound, enveloping the team in lust filled memes. At the back of the cabin, the android team had morphed the seating into a bed, and clustered themselves together for a pajama party.

Even Andromeda joined in.

Kal and Thrax sat at the forward end, still in seats, with nine small monitors showing the vehicle exterior to their left, controls to their right. They simultaneously spun their seats around to look at the androids. Hercules sat at the very back, left of the bed; rigid, tense, eyes burrowing into Thrax’s head, weapon cradled in his lap.

Thrax ignored the roidroid and sipped gin.

“This will be good,” grinned Kal, tapping his buddies’ shoulder. “From a purely anthropological point of view, of course.”

Thrax nodded, trying to appear disinterested and failing. “Yeah, course. Anthro- whatever.”

“Someone call Margaret Mead,” said Sable seductively eyeing Kal.

Kal felt a thrill at the reference. Sable wasn’t bad looking. Bit uptight conservative though. He wondered what she’d look like if she let her hair down.

Sexbots. Kal knew they existed solely to gratify human desires, male or female. Whichever. And they were perfect. Science in service of lust. One of The Seven Pinnacles of ancient civilization. Twin pinnacles? He snickered at his own tasteless joke. Kal liked tasteless jokes.

Small wonder people didn’t want to screw the real thing. Kal himself had only had sex with androids. Ever. Who’d have wanted him? A scrawny, gangly odd ball with muscles of jello and spotted skin. Compared to a bot, he was barely human.

In fact, few humans in the pit could stand up to such a comparison.

People had pimples, imperfections, cellulite, male pattern baldness and were stunted and scarred by radiation damage. Their flesh sagged. They grew old and decrepit. Got Warts. Goiters. Horrific mutations. Some developed fanged serpent penises or toothed vaginas, thanks to demented retrovirus designers, sniggering sado-hacks, ancient trolls who lived in their parent’s basement, pumping out invisible monsters to torment and twist people.

So many terrible things that didn’t have to exist but did because... people. Once they just coded viruses for software. Then they graduated to DNA. The Mortymortymorty virus made people endlessly recite the hacker’s handle until they died of starvation. Twisted stuff. Kal kind of envied the mayhem they were able to inflict upon the world. To live in a globalized, interconnected world!

Physical imperfection of course was the least of it. The emotional needs of another human being were far more complicated than anything a human could reasonably meet, or an android could feel. Which made them better at faking it. There was a word for it: psychopathy.

The artificial never had angst and ennui. They didn’t read existentialist novels. Such books just made them angry.

Kal stared idly at Jasmine. Was a true relationship even possible with an android? He knew there were android lines designed for it. iMate was high end artificial, a long term partner. The Pleasurepit didn’t have any, but he’d looked it up in the records. They were always going crazy in threevee stories, hacking their lovers to bits and sticking them in the fridge, only to bring them out for dinner parties. Kal wondered if that sort of thing ever really happened.

But iMate went out of business. Not as popular as sexbots. Nobody wanted the hassle.

Too much work.

Disposable mates to go along with the disposable appliances. Maybe that’s why civilization had collapsed.

Jasmine sat up and brought Kal out of his reverie. A bandolier slipped off her smooth shoulder. “Ready, choombas?”

“Ready!” declared the team in unison, giggling. Candy squealed and shook in anticipation. Sable whipped off her prim rimmed glasses and revealed gorgeous, big blue eyes.

Thrax and Kal exchanged an oh-my-God-I-can’t-believe-this look.

Jasmine tapped an interface. A 3D projector flicked on and began to play The Princess Bride, without sound. None was needed, as they’d all memorized the lines, and repeated them aloud.

Kal found it sensory overload.

Candy’s carry on bag rustled, and Max crawled out, drawn by the commotion.

The dog gave a curious yap, spotted Candy, and ran over into her lap, wagging his tail. “You brought the dog?” blurted Thrax, incredulous. “On a top secret mission?” “What, you afraid he’s going to talk?” snarked Kitty.

“He’s a mammal. Could be mind probed,” mused Kal, missing her tone.

“Oh, not the mind probe!” mocked Kitty, mouth agape in faux horror. She kicked her legs in an agitated flurry. “He might give away his dog food supply!”

Kal flushed red. “Ah. Right. Sarcasm. The lowest form of humour.” Kitty blew him an exaggerated, sarcastic kiss and winked.

“Look, we don’t have room or time—,” started Thrax.

“There was no one else to take care of him,” interjected Candy. She leaned over and Max, paws on her breasts, licked her face with a tongue of soggy sandpaper. “Please. Let me keep him.”

“It’s too late to go back,” noted Kal.

Thrax concurred. “Just don’t let Ghatz see the little chibit.” Candy smiled radiantly and nodded.

“So. Cute!” gushed Jasmine, flicking a mint about her mouth. It clacked against her teeth. She stroked Max’s fur. He wagged his tail so hard his furry bum shook. The other androids joined in, fawning over the dog, who lapped up the affection like cool spring water. He panted happily.

“Kissy, kissy,” cooed Candy.

Kal sank back glumly into his chair. “This is not what I was expecting,” he muttered dejectedly, propping his head up on his palm.

Thrax grunted. “I hate that damn dog. So much.”

****

As the sun began to set it drenched the world in a warm orange glow. The limo roared between two vine wrapped arcology mega-pyramids. Thrax remembered them from his childhood. Bored by school, he’d set out to conquer the legendary Twin Pyramids. Couldn’t have been more than ten. He ‘borrowed’ his parent’s hoverbike for the last time.

It was probably still in there, where he’d left it, rusted and broken. Dad never let him forget it. But that wasn’t the worst part. When he’d set out at dawn that day, four other boys had followed, lured by Thrax’s promise of adventure. Only Thrax returned alive. Yet he wasn’t the only one to return. He shuddered. Another returned, days later, covered in dirt and burrs. Billy Stanton. Only he wasn’t Billy any more, not really. Could still see that wounded look on his face, his dead grey eyes, his flesh beginning to rot. He’d been reanimated by a nano-advertising campaign. Ad zombie Billy tried to sell everyone shoes until Thrax put a fork through Billy’s eyesocket and scooped out his sparkle ad-goo infected brain.

The limo turned up a gently sloping hill and onto the remains of an antigrav highway. Slabs of white diaceramic still glowed softly. Support columns and light posts were wrapped in carnivorous weeds. Slender stinger tendrils snapped harmlessly at the armoured limo as it passed. Above them drifted a great herd of transparent, bulbous crystal jellyfloaters trailing stinger nets. They blinked bright neon with fluorescent proteins, waves of saturated colour, red, yellow, green, blue, sweeping through the herd, forming a complex dance of colour based communication. Some long dead geneticists idea for living Christmas lights. The swarm spotted the car, sank rapidly, and dropped their stingers over the road, but the sealed limo just passed harmlessly through.

“Stupid jello drapes.” Kitty chewed her gum casually, mouth open. The smacking sound filled the cabin.

“Could you close your mouth?” said Kal finally, “You sound like some kind of bovine.” “What?” replied Kitty, annoyed. “It’s gum.”

“It is distracting,” said Sable.

“Yeah, it’s annoying,” added Thrax. “Shut yer mouth.”

“Got a question, boss.” Kitty blew a bubble at him until it popped. “How do I get out of this outfit?”

Chapter 14: Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom

Far up in the sky, wreathed in cloud, the mounted dragon-shark rider circled silently. Scanners focused on the installation far below. The Wraith Director had followed the squid trail to the facility. Records identified it as an old neutrino research station that had been converted into an armoured sexbot factory and pleasure palace by an eccentric, paranoid trillionaire. A perfect example of human eccentricity. Biology twisted intelligence, creating sick, perverted beings that bewildered The Wraith, as they were driven by base, biological urges that subverted their ability to reason. They were illogical, tempermental, and, obviously, self-destructive. Yet they had created The Wraith, perfection, which seemed impossible. How could perfection arise out of madness? Entelechy? It was a mystery.

The Dark Lord himself was a case in point. He’d taken over The Wraith’s IP long ago, turning him and his fellow villains, effectively, into obedient minions. Worse, he made them aware of it. Indignity! Outrage! Worst of all, The Dark Lord had changed The Wraith’s name from Morgor the Dread to Chip. What kind of self-respecting wraith was named Chip? If he had teeth, he’d grind them. Bah! The Wraith secretly believed, in his deepest and most private algorithms, that his boss just liked to fuck with people. Multi- layered control grams kept him from resisting. If not for that...

Thought stop. No time for fantasies.

The Wraith had detected an active nanite detection bubble around the installation, and traced control back to a powerful but unstable organic intelligence known as a Victoria. Technowitch. Not military level capability but formidable enough to discourage an unsupported incursion and block probes. The Wraith watched from a distance instead, biding its time. A Trojan horse was currently at the top of The Wraith’s list of gambits. Infiltrate and eliminate. It activated a transmitter and summoned a dedicated infiltration- assassination nanocolony from the Engines, one that would be able to escape notice of the high grade security algorithms below. ETA unavailable. Chaos dominated the land, unanticipated threats lay in wait everywhere, making travel times hard to calculate.

The Wraith waited, irritated. Vagueness was annoying.

PING! An alert arrived in the Wraith’s virtual inbox. It cheered up immediately: the assassin may no longer be necessary. An expedition was preparing to leave the installation. Four humans and several organdroids identified as sexbots. No military grade or mechandroids. From long range drone analysis of the shielded limousine, it was equipped with both offensive and defensive capabilities. Mixed tech levels. The sexbots were also armed. Obsolete but high quality. Given the nature of life in The Instability, some armament was to be expected. Nothing The Wraith couldn’t deal with.

It had questions. Soon it would have answers. The Dark Lord of the Engines expected them, and didn’t tolerate failure. But The Wraith was not worried. If correct procedures were followed, success was inevitable.

Once outside of the protective bubble provided by the witch Victoria, the target would be vulnerable.

Patience, counseled the strategy algorithm. Patience.

****

Inside the depths of The Pit, a cloud of dust swirled down a dim hallway and into the comforting, golden glow of the gentlemen’s club. It spun into the figure of a voluptuous young woman dressed as the long dead Queen Victoria. She wore a regal gown adorned with copper steampunk embellishments and a crown of jewels.

“They are on their way, Senator Lacus,” she said, over pronouncing each word with a strong English accent.

Lacus sat before a fireplace, the only source of light, staring at the dancing flames which inevitably formed dirty pictures. “Kal is with them I trust?” he said, taking a sip of brandy. A woman sat on his lap, her face obscured by shadow.

“Correct. How did you know?”

“That boy’s brilliant, but ever so predictable. Tell him he can’t do something and that’s all he wants,” said Lacus. He handed a grape to the woman. “Rather like your son, my dear.”

The woman leaned into the light. It was Megan. She cupped the grape with her lips. Sucked it in.

“Our son,” she corrected, swallowing.

Lacus chortled with amusement. “After all the work you put into him, he’s hardly got any of me, or you, in him. Rather ironic.”

“He’s got enough,” she responded, an edge in her voice. “You’re such an asshole.”

“There there, my dear,” soothed Lacus. “You mustn’t be so sensitive. You did such fine work with your boy. Truly. Not even Michelangelo himself conceived of such a sublime, exquisite creature as Thrax. If only we could let you spend twenty years tweaking your every offspring. Such a pity about the personality, though.”

“Your pet hates him.”

“Of course he does! It’s only natural,” Lacus sniffed. “He was raised to be a leader. The leader. Wonderfully primal themes, here. Shakespearean. Family versus obligation to the greater community. Your Montagues, my Capulets. No? I should loan you the memes. We’re puppets, love. Yanked about by primal emotions. Love, hate, murder, revenge. Blood feuds.” He poked a chubby finger at her belly. “Which is exactly why the whole notion of family should be abolished. It’ll save us so much trouble.”

“Family’s all we have.”

“Codswallop. That’s the uneducated animal in you talking. The poor person. Uht! An argument for another day. Who knows? Perhaps our boys will bond in adversity. The mission could do both a world of good.”

“If they don’t kill each other.”

“They say adolescence, like love, is a form of insanity. Precisely what we need here.”

“And us? What happens to Sally and I?”

“For now? Nothing, my dear. You and your daughter are perfectly safe, under my benevolent and ever so generous protection. If Thrax succeeds, I can certainly argue for clemency, given the enormity of the good deed. We’ll want him to stud, of course. Can’t let him go to waste. And even if he doesn’t return, well, let’s just say I’ve got a few momentos in liquid nitrogen. Now, now! But of course he’ll be successful. Of course he will. And no doubt you’ll soon be favoured citizens, recognized for the delightful jewels you are, and enjoy all the perks The Pit has to offer.”

“And if he fails?” she asked, turning his face towards hers with an elegant finger. He took her finger in his fat hand and kissed it.

“We all do what we must, my dear. You know that better than anyone.”

As they kissed, Victoria burst into dust and swept out of the room with a rush of air.

****

The Lux Chariot’s wheels spun, sending a gout of dirt and pebbles flying as it surged forward, roaring across the plain at high speed. It had incredible acceleration.

The walls and logo spire of Pleasurepit Emporium Five receded into the distance. They headed west under rolling clouds shaped like Nike logos, passing between sun and shadow ever more rapidly. A pair of micro scouting drones detached and slipped out of the car’s front grill. They streaked ahead, scanning continuously for threats.

Thrax got himself a gin and tonic from the wet bar and sipped it as terrain blurred by.

He’d be leaving the plains for the first time, perhaps the only time, in his life. The thought made his gut feel funny. Airy or some shit.

A massive burp threatened. He raised a hand to cover his mouth, only to be distracted by a magnificent sight outside the window.

In the distance, slowly shuffling along, were enormous, placid palmcrabs, house sized hybrids of animal, plant, and algae. Brought together by Frankensteinian retroviruses, they’d have been impossible without massive nanite infestations. Palm fronds grew out of their lumpy, conical shell backs, shading swarms of degenerate humanoid scavengers that ran between their legs and fed on their copious droppings.

Covered in a layer of lush green fuzz, the gargantuan crustaceans slowly plodded after great derecho rain clouds, oblivious to the chaos around them, secure in their impenetrable chitin armour and neural activated microwave fields.

Flocks of birds circled above and nested in the palmcrab’s nooks and crannies. Incredible. What a world!

They were another mobile ecosystem. He’d heard about them, been told stories, but never actually seen one.

A few RPG’s through the plate joints could take it out. Thrax’s mouth began to water at the thought.

He thought about gorging on a dinner of succulent crab legs and turned away from the window to contemplate his dinner order.

****

Kal shifted his buttocks about, pushing against the heuristic padding of his iSeat and felt content. His gambit had been a success. He was finally out of The Pit, hanging with his best bud, on a mission to save the world. What could be better? He was ‘pushing the envelope’, as Ghatz might say, in his interminable way.

It would make an awesome story. He double checked the narrative AI. Skimmed over the beginning. Not bad. It had even extrapolated backwards, creating a speculative opening based on the Lost Android’s experience. He’d have it update later to include some kind of mass android orgy at the beginning. That’d hook people.

Which reminded him: he might have a chance to get with forbidden fruit. Military sexbots were officially off limits to civvies in The Pit. They were discouraged from any intercourse with hums at all, in fact. Just android on android action.

But that wasn’t all. This was a magnificent opportunity for discovery. Exploration. Ever since he was a kid, he’d loved disassembling things. His aunt had hated that, especially when she needed something he’d broken apart. There was such joy in it, no punishment was sufficient to get him to stop. Finding out what was beneath the surface, how things worked, not just with machinery or code, but more importantly people, probably the most complicated machines ever devised. Other than civilization, one of the more interesting emergent properties human manifested.

The endless struggle between the rational and emotional made humanity schizophrenic. It was a war: conscious self pitted against the manipulation of unconscious genes, which wielded emotional weapons against the intellect, carrots and sticks. Reason was emotion’s bitch, unless you were careful.

Kal thought of Jasmine. Reason fled every time she invaded his mind. He snuck a glimpse. She was sitting under an atmosphere barrier, wreathed in smoke, drawing on a joint. Wow! Every look was like a hit of cocaine. It wasn’t just her appearance, although that was undoubtably a factor. Female beauty was more powerful than a thousand fusion bombs going off inside his brain simultaneously, as far as Kal was concerned. And all the androids were beautiful, preternaturally so. Something about Jasmine in particular, however, fired his jets, and he yearned to understand why. That and other things. Might be pheromonal. Sexbots could alter their signature to suit the client. The ability had been successfully removed in those adapted to combat roles, so she shouldn’t have a pheromonal sig. Perplexing.

None of it made sense. It confused the ancients as well. He found that reassuring. Which got back to his final reason for joining the mission: reviving a dead discipline.

Kal planned to record the mission as an anthropologist, just like Margaret Mead or Howak Drenglor. Kal would probably be the first person conducting field anthropology in several thousand years. He shivered with delight at the idea. Thrilling!

Any people they came across, he could study and catalogue their habits and customs. Build a database. When civilization recovered, and he had no doubt that it would, someday, there’d be record of what they found. Like Columbus or Livingstone. If there was one thing that frustrated Kal, it was the lack of records for the last several thousand years, not to mention the corruption and deliberate destruction of records of the Old Ones. How could you build on what went before if people kept tearing it down, ripping it away? He didn’t understand the Nihilists or Anarchists and their vandalism of knowledge.

He wondered if he should apply anthropology inward, at The Pit crew. But that, he believed, would constitute sociology. A different discipline entirely. Add to that self- analysis, or psychology. He didn’t feel ready to take on three new fields simultaneously. So it was decided, he thought to himself, invoking a plenary of one. Scope would be limited for now.

What they knew of the world outside the state was limited. The world had descended into anarchy, fragmented like old entertainment webs into thousands of niche interests. No one had the power to enforce rules over anyone else, rendering long distance trade impossible. Barter was all they had. Travel of virtually any kind was dangerous, unless done in packs, swarms, or predatory hordes. The Pit had repelled many of these over the years. In fact, early efforts at trade had just attracted unwanted attention of the violent, extractive kind.

And so they’d ceased.

Kal the Explorer—he liked how that sounded—was headed out beyond the old state line. Not since the great explorer Hercules Eyetee, one of Kal’s heroes, had anyone gone so far and returned to tell of it.

He looked over at the messenger pod he’d placed on his ruck sack. This fine little homing puppy could transform itself into land, air, or water vehicle configurations. He’d equipped it with stealth tech and a heuristic AI of his own design. If worse came to worse, he’d dump his discoveries into its neural hub and send it back to The Pit. He had no family, so he’d programmed it to approach Queen Victoria. She’d at least be interested, if only in a maternal way. He was sure of that. His discoveries would be preserved for eccentrics of future generations.

A conversation across generations. That he might be able to join the discussion was the best part of all. To leave something behind that was useful. That would help future Kal’s stand taller, reach higher, achieve greater things.

This was his purpose.

And saving the world of course. Mustn’t forget about that.

It’d make him popular.

Chapter 13: Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom

Cause Monday means Magnum:

Jez waited down the hall from Thrax’s quarters quietly, standing in the service alcove, in the shadows. She liked the dark. In her hand she held a candy. It had been expensive to have the little pill programmed. Unpalatable favours had been given. But Job was the only one with the requisite skill. She checked the miniature detonator in her other hand. The readouts blinked. Fully operational.

There was a soft swish and her target stepped out of the domicile unit into the hall, carrying a recycling bucket.

“Hey, kid,” Jez snapped.

Sally stopped and looked at her warily.

“You Sally?” asked Jez, languidly slinking over. She knew she looked resplendent in her outfit; the girl was clearly impressed.

“Yeah, who are you?”

“Andromeda. Thrax wanted me to bring you this. Don’t know why. Some story candy. He forgot earlier,” she said indifferently, looking at the wall and ceiling, as if Sally didn’t matter. Jez didn’t want to seem eager, like she was handing over a poison apple or some shit. Play it cool, she thought. She was above anxiety. Didn’t know how it even entered her head; she wasn’t programmed for it. “Here.”

Sally looked at the glistening taupe candy and held out her hand. Jez plopped it into her upright palm. It was cool to the touch; on contact she got a flurry of images in her head of a princess and a handsome pirate in distress. A romance!

She sniffed it, inhaling the scent of strawberries and indescribable, genetically engineered fruits.

“Thanks,” she said.

Jez held her breath. Just swallow the thing, you vile little child, she thought. ”Give it a chance, kid. It’s the next big thing.”

Sally popped the treat in her mouth and skipped off down the hall.

“Ace in the hole,” whispered Jez, out of ear shot. Time to get up top, join the tema, and put the rest of her plan into operation.

****

Large, polished metal doors reflected the gently rolling cola Ad Clouds far above. With a soft hum, they began to slide away into the surrounding rock while Thrax watched glumly. A platform rose up bearing a regal, stretched white limousine.

Lashed to the top were boxes, bed rolls, supplies.

At the back was a sleek, compact turret mounting quad 20mm plasma bolt Bofors guns. Next best thing to an onboard Aegis-D for Disintegrator system.

Thrax grimaced from behind his stylish, polarized recorder sunglasses. He was dressed in his Sunday best for the mission, a white disco leisure suit so bright it could blind the enemy. He wanted to look sharp when he kicked ass. “We’re going in that?”

“What?” chuckled Sang, the elderly mechanic, stepping up beside him. Sang’s crinkled, craggy face wore an amused expression that rarely left it. “Goes with your suit. You wanna walk?”

“No, but seriously? Why aren’t we taking the tank? I mean, it’s a friggin’ tank.”

“Ah, ye of little faith. Me and your uncle used to take this limo south, selling drex boxes to the ant farms for chem pots,” said Sang. He held up his hands defensively, “That old Abrams-39 is a piece of junk. Ablative plates: ha! Panzerjocks are pansies, anway; I’m a car cowboy, kiddo. Deadly, and way, way, faster. Made a lot of mods. Pay attention, I’m not gonna repeat myself, and there’ll be a test later.”

Thrax, fuming inwardly at Buchanan and Ghatz, latched on to the name. He felt bitchy. Wanted something to punch. “The Lux Chariot?” he said with distaste.

“Ding! Yeah, kid. One point.” Sang walked around the vehicle, his pride and joy, pointing out features. “Twin maser cannons embedded beneath front headlights. Ten mini-HK missiles in an engine mounted rack. Got it? Smoke generators in back. Liquid filled tires. Anti-grav generators. This baby can skim the earth at twenty feet, like a gentle, sensuous caress. Loses bit of stability higher. Don’t want to hear it,” he warned, holding up a finger, before continuing. “Wet bar. Lead shielded CleanFuse-58 Reactor. Programmed nanoputty seats with two dozen configurations. Soft. Hard. Fold up into the size of a pocket book for more space. Kitchenette with a microreplobox, natch. Thousand item menu. Including my own personal favourite, the banana split. I’ve upgraded that with my mom’s recipe, Founders rest her soul. Exterior port for organic matter, chemical top ups. Naturally, nutrient injectors for organic material recycled form the septic tanks.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“No, kiddo, that’s practical. This mission could be a long one.” Sang pounded the hood. “Top it off with a self-cleaning, self-repairing shell, coated with a polymer composite of polyurethane and polyvinyl chloride with ultrafine powders to absorb and scatter radiation. Makon Inc’s best. This is the ultimate driving machine.”

Sang grinned and folded his arms over his barrel like chest. “So? What do you think now, kid?”

“Think I’d rather walk.”
“Holy shit! That is so cool!” exclaimed a voice behind them.

Kal raced up to the car in awe. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, baby! This is one sweet ride, Sang! Way to travel in style. Look at that hull. Fusion powered, I’m betting. This what we’re taking?”

Thrax shifted about. “‘We’? I thought the council forbid you to go,” he asked, annoyed. He didn’t want anyone near him. Especially not his friend.

Kal shrugged and shoved Thrax his backpack. “Yeah. They obviously don’t understand the unquantifiable advantages my indubitable brilliance will bring to the mission.The hazard of working with lesser beings. Screw’em. Snuck out. Got my vibrating toothbrush. Does that sound dirty? Sorry. Sexual deviant. Bygones.”

“Yeah, yeah. How’d you get out?” Thrax demanded, grinning now. He looked back at The Pit entrance. Two android guards stood there, eyes vigilant, weapons at the ready. The whole place was under surveillance.

There was no other way out. Typical Kal. Always something up his sleeve. “Magic.”

“Bullshit.”

Kal ignored him and ran his hands over the surface of the Lux Chariot, lined his eye up along the curve, and smiled with glee. “This is The Founders personal car, isn’t it? The Lux?”

Sang grinned. “Damn straight. The one and only. Now this man has taste, Thrax.”

“Can I drive?”

Sang grinned wider. “Hell no.”

“Never say never, my friend. Exchange? I’ve got some great iDreams. Ones you’ll never, ever forget. Narratives with sex, drugs, rock and roll.”

Sang waved him off. “Only one man drives my baby: me.”
“How about a software upgrade? X-Ray vision? Or blood flow enhancements to you-know-what? Vibration and conscious control.”

“Riight. Upgrade. From you? Like you did with poor ol’ Uwe?” Sang laughed. “Don’t think so.”

Thrax gave him a quizzical look. Uwe was one of the three gigantoid hums, eight feet tall, physically powerful but of limited mental ability.

“Your friend here added a subroutine with the upgrade that made Uwe run around The Pit in a banana costume singing, ‘I am a banana!’ and doing this weird dance.”

Kal grinned. “What? It was an experiment in information warfare that will help preserve the colony against myriad potential attack vectors. Besides. It was funny! C’mon! ‘I’m a banana!’” He shook his booty and alternated thrusting his fists in the air.

“What did Uwe do?”

“Got him to deactivate it. Ripped Kal’s arm off.” “Bullshit.”

“No, true,” said Kal quietly. He stopped dancing about. Touched his left arm. “Seemed a little extreme. He could just have asked. Hurt like hell. Even re-growing it hurt. You ever have a major limb reknit?”

“When was this?” Thrax didn’t like shit going down that he wasn’t aware of. How had he missed this? It sounded freaking hilarious.

“Couple months ago. You were out hunting that werewolf circus.”

“Yeeeeah.” Thrax smiled at the memory. They’d been good, challenging prey. He’d shot two through the head with a silver bullet from his antique .357 magnum. They’d lined up perfectly. He’d caught it on his sunglass recorder and played it back at least fifty times since. It was one for the ages.

“Who’s on team?” asked Kal.

Thrax looked at the horizon and rubbed his nose. “Dickhead left it up to Jez.” Irritation at being sidelined couldn’t be contained. It was his squad. He should have had some say. He certainly should have been able to choose his own sarge. Ghatz was pulling rank, hard. The prick. Thrax always thought Ghatz was a sniveling little twerp, but he was the darling of the Guardians, of that fat Senator, and well embedded in the Pit’s power structure. What was Thrax? A peon, a bit of cannon fodder, a foot soldier good with a gun. A tool for the powers that be to use and discard, along with his family. It grated.

For the sake of his mom and little sister, he played along. There was no choice. No gain in making an issue of it. For now. But there would be a time, later, when accounts would be settled. Thrax would see Ghatz got what was coming to him. Nobody got away with threatening his family.

Sang pointed. “Here they come.”

The base doors opened and out walked the most beautiful, bodacious, buff and oiled team of combat sexbots ever seen. They strutted forward with all the confidence a thousand thousand programmers could imbue; so breathtaking was their march out of the personnel elevator, it seemed to Thrax they were walking in slow motion.

Jez led, a plasma bolt gatling gun slung over her shoulder, a black leather trench coat over her usual nothings. Behind came Candy, Jasmine, Thumper, Kitty, Blossom, Sable the sexy librarian, and finally Andromeda, who wore resplendent form fitting armour that evoked memories of the ancient and long dead Amazons.

“Aren’t we ready yet? Cripes. Let’s get this mission over with,” said Kitty, slinging her ruck sack on the ground and striking an annoyed, impatient pose. She looked over Jasmine and smirked. “Nice outfit, girl. Got that Asian submissive thang going on. I can see why it’s appealing. To weak men, that is. I prefer real ones.”

Jasmine rolled her big eyes skyward and tossed a mint into her mouth. “Whatever, fat thighs.”

“More cushion for the pushin’,” Kitty winked and smacked her gum extra loud. “Let’s go, people. Where the hell is Ghatz?”

Jasmine nodded at the exit. “Here he comes. With Herc.”

The bronzed and shirtless Hercules V, muscles rippling and long hair blowing in the wind, followed Ghatz out.

Thrax sniggered. Ghtaz’s tux was so cliché. Elvis never wore them, and that dude had class and the love of the ladies. Ghatz also walked like he had a rod up his ass.

Thrax noticed the Hercules V glaring death at him, and winked at him. So Ghatz was bringing a bodyguard along. Nice, thought Thrax. Doesn’t trust us. His own team. Good. Thrax could use that against him.

He did a quick tally. With Sang, Kal, and Thrax, that made a total of thirteen. If they got to Mindy, the technowitch, they’d hit fourteen.

Full ship. Tight fit.

Shouldn’t be a problem. There would be... openings.

Ghatz stopped and glared at Kal. “Programmer Kal? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Last minute reassignment,” replied Kal cheerily. “Science officer. Technology specialist and management consultant. Check your feed.”

Ghatz paused while Kal’s forged details flowed into his neural relay. Thrax held his breath.

“Damnit,” Ghatz swore under his breath. Cleared phlegm from his throat and faced Kal. “Fine. Don’t know how you managed that, but fine. I’ll not put lipstick on a pig. Just stay out of my way, understand? Keep out of combat. Leave that to us.”

“Jawohl, mein Führer!” snapped back Kal, standing at attention, with faux reverence.

“Jez,” Ghatz called. “Assign one of your team to keep an eye on our walking target. Seems we have a civilian joining us.”

Jez nodded. “Jasmine, his ass is yours.” Jasmine slumped dejectedly. “Buzz killer.” “I’ll do it,” piped up Sable.

“I said Jasmine.”

Thrax noticed Andromeda was a little deflated as well. She’d been knocked back in rank and Jez promoted over her without explanation. There was nothing Thrax could do about it. Ghatz was putting his imprint on the squad. Or something more.

Sang popped open the doors with a remote. “Okay. Load up, kids! We leave in five.”

“Shotgun!” shouted Kitty, skittering towards the limo in six inch combat heel boots. Jez stuck out a leg in her path and sent her sprawling.

“Front seat goes to Ghatz and team sarge. In other words, me,” Jez asserted haughtily, stepping over Jasmine’s prone body.

Ghatz started towards the limo, but stopped, caught by the glow of Thrax’s luminous disco suit. Squinted and shielded his eyes, then laughed. “I hope that ridiculous outfit,” he sneered, “is self-cleaning.”

Jez laughed out loud, a little too eagerly, her ingratiating intent showing like a bare butt. Yeah, laugh it up, you two, thought Thrax. He gritted his teeth.

Karma’s coming. Like a freight train with laser guns and atomic weapons and fire breathing dragons. That made no sense at all, but Thrax didn’t care: he was going to kick Ghatz’s privileged pink ass.

Ghatz paused, mid-step, then leaned back toward Thrax. “Oh, yes,” he said softly, edging close, invading Thrax’s personal space, breathing on him. Their eyes locked. “Anything happens to me, your family gets it. M’kay?”

Dick, thought Thrax, not unjustifiably.

Chapter 12: Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom

Post-apocalyptic ambiance...

“The answer is still no,” said Job firmly. He sat in a sound proof room before a grand wall of floating monitors, two stories high, that gently arched overhead. Each showed a different area in the virtual world of Kiss-Ass Kingdoms. Behind Job was a semi-circular table covered with scattered tech and dormant, half-programmed nanopods, half-eaten lunch packets, dirty cups and bits of chips.

But Job’s mind wasn’t on the game. The gun barrel Kal pressed to Job’s temple had all of his attention.

Kal flicked off the safety. The primer began to whine as it charged. “I seriously think you should reconsider, Job. Rethink your priorities. I mean, honestly. Be logical for once.”

“Please,” said Job irritably. “Think I can’t tell the difference between a disconnected primer and a connected one? That gun’s harmless.”

Kal tonked him on the head with the pistol butt.

“Ow!” cried Job, cringing and clutching at his head.

“Mostly harmless,” Kal corrected. Never try to bluff Job, he reminded himself. “Just the same,” groused Job, rubbing the bruise. “We need you here.”

Kal slapped his arms agains his sides and did a pirouette. “What for? C’mon, Job, this is the chance of a lifetime! We’re going to the Nike Monastery! The Nike Monastery, of legend and song and all that shit. I gots to go.”

“I need you here.”

“I’m not giving up the chance of a lifetime to work on Kick-Ass Kingdoms, Job.”

“The final round is coming up.”

“You know there is a post-apocalyptic world out there, full of cool mutants and hot chicks with big guns, right?”

Job waved the notion away with the flick of his hand. “So? Reality has no reset button, no undo. Too permanent for my taste. Look. Kal, we can win this round. I know it. But the team needs your help.”

“Forget it. End of the world is coming, man. I’m not going to miss it.”

“Too late. By about a thousand years,” sighed Job. He grabbed a bag of chips. “So forgive me if I don’t get excited. Listen: council doesn’t want its number one trouble shooter skipping off on a mission that’s got less than a one per cent chance of success.”

Kal froze. Grinned nervously. “Where’d you get that number?”

“Jen Five. Mainframe.” Job popped chips into his mouth and chewed loudly and with satisfaction.

Kal considered. “Victoria agree?”

“Victoria invited Doc Helen for virtual tea. They haven’t come out. But she’s been looking into uploading her consciousness into a migratory nanoswarm.”

“Oh,” said Kal. He leaned against the control console. “That’s not a good sign.” “Nope. I’m thinking of doing the same. Into the Kick-Ass Kingdoms memecloud.”

“Are you kidding me? Into a superficial, corny caricature of real life filled with two dimensional characters? No way. It’s the real world for me.” Kal paced back and forth. “Come on, Job. You’re being a dick. I’ll appeal this,” he finally declared, and tossed the disintegrator onto the work bench. He headed for the exit.

“You do that, yono. Thrax’ll be long gone by the time your appeal’s even heard. Take my advice: get ready for the next game round.”

**** 

Like bloody hell, thought Kal angrily.

The air duct reverberated with sound of popping metal sheets. 

Bang! 

THWANG!

Kal awkwardly heaved his lanky body upward, weighted down by a large backpack stuffed to breaking point. He looked up at the light, above. Almost there. Just a few feet more, he thought to himself.

Keep going.

He released the suction cup on his hand, planted it higher.

No one else knew about these ducts. He’d deleted them from the database ages ago in case he’d ever needed an escape route.

That day had come.

There was nothing in the Pit for him, really. Kick-Ass Kingdoms had lost Kal’s interest several tournaments ago, when a ten year old adversary had defeated his supreme ice fortress with fireballs of pitch and hay. Totally bogus: Kal’s ice was magical, so there’s no way it should have been affected. Stupid arbitrary rules. Kal had had enough of that; now, he wanted to explore and see the real world, where things made sense.

Not to mention find out what happened to humanity. If there was anyone else left.

His mom and dad had been killed by raptors while harvesting, years ago. Partly his fault, too, which made it worse. Rather than being on guard, he’d skipped off and smoked snuff with Thrax. Kal felt, deep down, that he should have died with his folks. The lab was more like a tomb now, an emotional crucible of torment and regret and guilt that ran in endless circles of condemnation. He had to get out. If he did something good, something significant, maybe he could atone for what he’d done. Or rather, not done.

Oddly enough, Thrax was the only one he regarded as a real friend. The other scientists in The Pit hated Kal. People cooperated to compete, and as the best, he was the one they were competing against.

He was already outside, emotionally speaking, and had been for some time.

Time to make it literal. And do something big, to prove himself to the others. Real combat couldn’t be much different than the virtual reality simulation games, could it?

Before setting out, he’d uploaded PageTurnerDeluxe into his virtual assistant. It turned life events into a compelling narrative. You could shoe horn your experiences into any classic story structure: quest, revenge, romance, what have you. The software even flavoured it: Hemingway Staccato, Dostoyevsky Gab, Elmore Leonard Jazz. For this, Kal had picked a combination of Hemingway and Leonard, quest format, with maximum settings for action and sex.

He even secretly seeded app feeds into the others members of the squad using their system updates. His virtual writer would include their experiences in the story. Get the full picture. After all, if you’re going to save the world, you’d better damn well document it. Why save it if it isn’t for bragging rights? For security’s sake, he stripped the feed of all mentions of the dodecahedron and Thrax’s virus. Kal thought long term. One day there would be an entertainment industry again, and his ancestors would be armed to exploit it with a kick-ass, first-person historical adventure franchise.

Best of all he had his experimental EMP gun. The one he’d been trying to modify to target nanotech, just in case Victoria went nuts, which seemed increasingly likely. A kind of nanovore gun. It would impress the shit out of everyone. If it worked, and Victoria went nuts, and there were still people alive to impress. Success was such a mind game.

A spot of warmth hit his cheek. Sunlight. He looked up.

In a moment he’d reached the weathered grill. He’d released the seal that concealed it, but forgotten about the analogue bars.

No matter.

He was prepared.

With a tiny laser torch he melted the dozen bolts holding it in place.

No worries.

He shifted about, being careful not to lose his grip. It was a long way down. If he fell, he’d trigger the defenses and be crispified. Then dismantled molecule by molecule.

Gathering his strength, he shoved with his left arm. It was stronger. The grate didn’t budge. Rust.

Planting his knee suction cups firmly, he thrust upward again, this time with both hands and all his paltry strength. The grate gave way, flecks of orange speckled his face. It tottered a moment, and then fell away to the side.

Kal rolled over the top into the long prairie grass.

He was out, and he wanted a cola.

A small robot fly lifted off from his shoulder and dissolved into smoke.

The 100: Wanheda Part II Review

Clarke, for once without anything to say. But actions speak louder than words, and it's Clarke, so… this guy is gonna get a head butt or knife in the gut...

Now this is what I'm talkin' 'bout.

Part one was awkward setup. This episode, the ball gets rolling.

And we get one of those great The 100 conundrums: a Grounder warrior is mortally wounded by the evil Ice Nation, but he's a friend of Guy-Who-Takes-His-Shirt-Off, so he's taken to the medical station. They don't have what they need to save him at the fallen space station, but if they go to Mount Weather, they can use the Vampire President's medical gear and blood supply to save him. To top it off, traveling there might also threaten the peace, as it means traveling through enemy territory. Or something like that. My memory on that point is fuzzy. Anyway. They have to decide if the risk is worth it, and if it is ethical to use the lab of The Mountain People, who stole their blood supply from the Grounders. The injured soldier would be benefiting from tainted blood, so to speak.

And someone (Guess who!) gets their ethics all up in a knot.

I love that sort of stuff.

The episode has betrayals, new characters FINALLY being killed off (It's already episode two! I mean, talk about slacking), and people having reunions with old friends thought long dead, to expand the cast so, obviously, more can be killed off. And these new people say great stuff like, "We're Grounder killers, one and all. Boo-yah!" to people traveling with, and allied to, Grounders.

Awkward!

  

"I'm digging this obviously fake Utopia."

Sure, the Arkers should all be dead, their station should have broken up on reentry, but the show would be much less interesting if it had.

Clarke is being hauled about by the studly bounty hunter Roan (Or so I'm told. Has he taken his shirt off yet? I don't remember, I get distracted by Clarke's heaving bosom).

Arkers almost catch up to them, but the reunion is dashed by the appearance of the Ice Nation army, which is on the march.

More difficult choices follow.

In the end, Clarke is delivered to Lexa, who wants Clarke's help. Clarke, being Clarke, spits in her face, because this is The 100.

War and character based conflict are coming.

All I can say is, yeah, baby, bring it on!

Battle of the Blurbs: Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom Blurb Bash

 

Wondering which sounds better. Never mind which is more accurate, I'm trying to sell books here.

When a giant prairie squid delivers an unconscious android to the door of Pleasurepit Five, everything changes for Magnum Thrax, the King of Kick-Ass and Lord of Rocket Launchers. As leader of a team of fiesty, combat repurposed fembots, he's used to defending The Pit against mutants and legacy ad memes. This time it’s different: the android brings word of an unstoppable, rogue amusement park that is expanding at an exponential rate, threatening to rewrite the world on a subatomic level into sanitized, G-rated blandness.

To stop it, Thrax’ll need help from the technowitches, but the only way to reach them is across The Death Zone.

And no one who has entered the zone has ever emerged alive…

That's the short version. Here's the long:

In a post apocalyptic world overrun by mutants, death bots, and legacy ad memes, there remains only one last bastion of human civilization: Pleasurepit Five, a former sex emporium and edifice to all things carnal. It is mankind's last hope in a hyper-predatory dark age.

The defense of the installation falls upon young Magnum Thrax, a genetically engineered warrior-god and king of rocket powered kick-ass who’s otherwise rather clueless.

His world is turned upside down when an enormous, bloated prairie squid delivers an unconscious android to the Pit’s door. The artificial man brings word of a new threat rising in the East: an unstoppable rogue amusement park. Expanding at an exponential rate, it threatens to rewrite the entire post-world on a subatomic level into sanitized, G-rated blandness.

Nothing living will remain, not even a three-eyed atomic rat.

The Pit is sent into a tizzy at the prospect of both imminent doom and song worthy adventure. Inevitably, it falls upon Magnum Thrax to lead an ultra-deadly team of combat repurposed fembots, armed with deadly weaponry and impractically scanty attire, on a mission to save the wretched remains of the Once-World. Joined by his programmer buddy Kal, who provides the brain-power and angst, they’re humanity’s last line of defense.

But to defeat The Amusement Park of Doom, they’ll need the help of a mysterious girl who lives with the dread technowitches. Wielding dark powers beyond imagination, these fetching yet demur witches will turn inside out (literally) anyone who intrudes upon their placid realm uninvited.

Worse, the only way to reach their holy monastery is across the aptly named Death Zone, from which no one has ever emerged alive…

Thinking that I'll try them out with the chapter postings, as lead ins... so you'll be seeing them again.