Chapter 18: Magnum Thrax

Thrax strode to the abandoned, dust covered cannon and looked out the window at the square. The sleek weapon was undamaged. He wiped dust off the targeting array. Blank. Inactive. AI wiped or slumbering.

Behind him, Jez poked slumped figures with her rifle. One by one they deflated into shapeless bags of dust. She felt a rush each time.

“Snap, crackle, pop,” she snickered. “Like popping bubble wrap.”

The blue butterfly landed on her nose.

“Leave them alone,” Thrax ordered, annoyed. “These men were soldiers; they should be left to rest in peace.”

She ignored him.

Thrax sighed and turned back to the parking lot. Hefted his viewer plate and scanned the ruins. Half buried in ash were thousands of rusted metal lumps. Ground vehicles. The wrecks were scattered randomly towards the edges of the lot, but in orderly rows nearer the centre. A few were in perfect condition, gleaming in bright, candy colours, their chrome as shiny as the day they left the mega-manufacturing box. Testament to quality nanite maintenance systems running endless repair cycles.

Must be imports.

Thrax activated threat analysis. The plate throbbed gently. Crosshairs flickered. Dozens of possible minefields and energy signatures lit up. Too many to calculate or separate out into individual threat evaluations. Basically, the parking lot was bad news.

The far side was hemmed in by a wall of biobuildings, their broken and torn husks soaring almost a kilometer high. Windows gone. Millions of places to hide snipers and hunter killers. Place was a freakin’ deathtrap, just as the limo said.

Ghatz lowered his own scanner. He turned to Hercules: “I don’t like it.”

Hercules nodded. The butterfly had landed on his neck. A thin probe jabbed into his spine. Hercules blinked, then twitched. He raised up his pulse pistol and aimed it at Thrax.

At that moment, Jez jabbed the last mummified soldier in the groin. A bright light blinked behind the face mask.

It fell with a loud clunk on top of the table and emitted an odd, alarming noise. BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Booby-trap!” yelled Thrax. He threw himself out the front window just as Hercules fired. The bolt blew a hole in the wall.

Ghatz was mere seconds behind Thrax, leaping out the same window and landing awkwardly atop him.

Thrax shoved Ghatz off and lifted his head. Peered into the room.

The hulking android stood unsteadily in the middle of it. He seemed confused. Stunned. Jez ran past him with super human speed, respirovores pushed to the max.

She wasn’t fast enough.

BEEP BEP BIP BEEEEEEEEE

Thrax ducked.

A tremendous fireball burst outward, shattering the window frame, shredding the camouflage netting, and tossing Jez meters away, her black coat trailing flame. Balls of black smoke rolled into the sky, trailing thick, inky wisps.

Jez rolled rapidly, putting out the fire, and unfolded to a stop in a combat crouch. Smoke curled from her burnt jacket. Maintenance cycles in the high tech garment quickly repaired the damage. She got up and strode over to the two men as they clambered to their feet.

“Nice,” Thrax groused, dusting off his suit. “So much for the element of surprise.” Jez glared back. “You goaded me. Not my fault.” She grabbed a big charred ball at her feet and chucked it at Thrax.

He caught it on reflex and involuntarily shivered: it was Herc’s head.

“Give him a kiss,” snickered Jez, and she set off for the car. 

**** 

“What the hell?” exclaimed Kal, looking out at the smoke and flames. “Something’s gone wrong. Let’s pick them up.”

Kal leaned forward and shook Sang’s shoulder. “Sang! Hit it!”

Sang emerged from his meditative state and checked readings. “Still three life signs.” Sang checked the rear view mirror. “Whoa. Instant Urban Insurgency zombie horde, only one hundred yards away, everyone.”

“Don’t let them touch the car,” said Kal.

“Not a chance.” Sang flipped a panel up and hit an exposed switch. The turret mounted Bofors guns swiveled to life, locked on the horde and spat a thousand rounds of depleted uranium shells a minute at the nano-zombies, blasting then into dust. Coil mounted scoops stretched out from under the limo, latching on to metal debris, dissolving it and sucking up material for the onboard Drexlerbox to make replacement ammunition.

“Thrax!” Kal said into his mic. “You alright? Speak to me, choombata.”

“I’m good,” filtered back Thrax’s voice. “Tripped a booby-trap. Comin’ back.” “Hurry it up; we gotta roll.”

Thrax, Ghatz, and Jez raced around the corner and charged towards the car.

Kal slide back the sun roof and stuck his head out. “Run, you Death Zone celebrities!” The Bofors guns fell silent.

Kal glanced behind the limo. The zombies were obscured by clouds of smoke. He looked up and could see the red lights in the recesses of the buildings. Faint, shimmering red lines lead down from them and then snapped onto... the limo’s roof.

Kal felt his stomach tighten: the roof glowed red with laser targeting dots. A dozen split off and zipped towards Thrax, attracted by the combination of body heat and movement.

All at once the mystery gunners opened fire and the air crackled. Kal ducked back in and and locked the sun roof.

Depeleted uranium bullets peppered the ground, the car, everything. Ash and shrapnel spat into the air.

Kal cringed. It sounded like a hailstorm was hitting the roof. Fortunately, their aim was substandard. Most of the shots were going wide.

Sang popped the side doors. Bullets pulverized the faux fabric interior linings.

As Thrax dived the back of the limo, a bullet smacked into the back of his calf, splashing it with blood.

Ghatz leapt head first into the front seat and was shoved into Sang by a frantic Jez; she quickly reached out, snagged the door handle, and slammed it shut as a nanozombie rushed up and raked the window with knife sharp claws. Seconds later stray bullets from above cut it to pieces.

“Go! Go! Go!” screamed Jez, seized by panic.

The deluge of lead made the roof bubble inward, yet the hull defenses held. It was one well built car, thought Kal, impressed.

“Oh, my poor baby,” said Sang, rubbing the dash. “Hold on! Hold on!”

Zombies closed in regardlesss, totally focused on the vehicle and its juicy living occupants. They got shot to bits by the hundred.

“Hit it!” screamed Jez, grabbing Sang by the throat. “Hit it now!!! Squad, suppression fire! Fire, you stupid cows!”

A steady barrage of lasers blasts shot out in all directions from the cabin, through the windows, which let the energy pass out of the car without interference, but still blocked incoming ordnance.

Sang put the pedal to the metal. The car bolted forward, a tail of roiling ash clouds following. It swerved between corroding vehicles, cutting corners too tightly, sending wrecks spinning and burning and throwing glowing sparks. Warning lights flashed as Sang drew too close to an identified mine. He angled away and accelerated just as several mines went off. Huge chunks of metal and diamacrete were blown skyward but the car was unscathed.

From distant towers high above, energy beams lanced out, slicing holes in the top of the limo. Beams sliced through the androids, leaving several with flesh wounds. One long burst hit Jasmine in the leg, neatly slicing it off. She let out a horrific scream of agony and clutched the stump. The ceiling holes bubbled shut. The surface adapted to the beams, rendering them ineffective.

Candy quickly grabbed the severed limb, pulled out a Healit nanonutrient gelpac and slapped it over the bloody stump. She angled the severed limb and lined it up with what remained attached to Jasmine, then pressed the two together. As nanite swarms began to knit the limbs, Jasmine writhed in agony.

“Turn off your pain receptors!” Candy shouted. Jasmine wasn’t listening. Candy dipped into her bag and pulled out an injection tube, then slammed it into Jasmine’s good leg.

Jasmine slipped into a blissful, protective, five-minute mini-coma.

“Activate the rocket jets!” ordered Kal.

“I can’t dodge at that speed,” protested Sang.

“Why the fuck are you driving then?” demanded Jez. “Let me drive!”

“Do it, Sang! I’ll help course correct!” said Kal, bringing up a slew of holographic interfaces.

Sang lit the engines and the car accelerated to an almost unmanageable speed.

A thought bomb burst below, but its targeting algorithms had not anticipated the target’s increased velocity. The limo was almost out of range of it when it detonated. Their minds filled momentarily with panic: ‘WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!’ Then it faded and was replaced by perfectly normal, natural panic.

Out of the wreckage below insectile hunter bots rose up, antimatter lances sparking on contact with air. Segmented, gleaming metal millipedes unfurled out of their nests and locked on the source of the commotion.

“Incoming!” yelled Kal, detecting them. “Unknown bots, floaters, crawlies, closing in. High speed.”

Thrax rolled about on the floor beside him, grasping at his shattered calf. Black lines began to spread from the wound.

“It’s a burrower bullet!” said Kal, alarmed, “Candy! Get it out fast!”

Candy slid over, grabbed and unsheathed Thrax’s knife, dug it into his leg, and opened up the wound. With her other hand she reached inside and yanked out a squriming black shell that had sprouted branching tendrils. They writhed in her hand, then wrapped around her wrist and began to dig into the flesh.

“Hold on.” Andromeda closed her fist and touched the wriggling shell with her EMP cereal prize ring. It sparked and the writhing tentacles fell lifeless.

“Get a pack on that,” said Andromeda, pointing at Thrax’s leg. “It will need material to rebuild.”

Thrax collapsed against the floor and was thrown back against Candy’s magnificently curvaceous legs as the car angled sharply upward. “Fix the damn dampeners!”

“Halfway there!” Sang shouted, hope rising. Sang could see a ring of red dots closing around the vehicle on the threat map. “Deploying wings. Firing afterburners!”

The limo flew off the ground and heaved awkwardly into the sky as gleaming legged tentacles crashed into each other below, metal and synthetics buckling.

“We’ll skim over the mall domes, use’em for cover. Buckle up!”

The team shook in their seats as the limo throbbed with power.

“Hang on!”

Lasers and electromagnetic railgun shells, propelled at supersonic speed, cut through the air. Explosions burst around them.

“I’m too beautiful for this shit!” exclaimed Kitty through chattering teeth, her features scrunched by g-forces.

Sable frowned. “I don’t see what that–” Her voice vibrated in unison with the shuddering vehicle frame.

The limo was tossed upward by an explosion’s expanding bubble of superheated air. Unsecured items and passengers were tossed aloft, momentarily freed from gravity. The vehicle snapped down again as it angled downward to evade an oncoming wave of air grenades.

The wreckage below was engulfed in flames.

Kal directed ECCM at incoming missiles, detonating dozens prematurely. “Counter fire! Take’em out! Give it all you got!”

“You heard the man; light’em up!” Thrax growled, priming his rifle. The androids faced outward, hefted their weapons and let loose with a barrage of defensive fire.

As the limo climbed up the battered side of the foremost dome, a missile missed by Kal closed in from behind.

Thumper tried to get a bead on it with her rifle, through the rear window. She let off several shots. They went wide. Aimed again. Missed.

The missile’s nose cone split apart, launching a dozen micromissiles. “Little help here!” yelled Thumper.

Andromeda dropped against the back seat, leveled her rifle and snapped off three expert shots, each hitting home. Three missiles gone.

Four!

“Brace!” Andromeda yelled, ducking down and covering her head.

Eight hit, sending cascading ripples of blue electrical energy flickering over the vehicle.

All systems went dead.

Sang’s heart sank. Despite all his meditation training, his voice rose in volume, “Lost control!”

“Do something!” screamed Jez.

“Systems down,” confirmed Kal. “Electromagnetic pulse.”

“We’re going down,” said Sang. “Everything is out.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” replied Kitty from in back. She racked her rifle, closed her eyes, and assumed crash position. The others followed suit.

“Useless idiots!” growled Jez. “I could have ruled the world!”

Sang tried to angle the limo to skim the dome, and it almost worked. The car hit the grime encrusted surface and bounced, leaving a dent. Hit again, then burst through, plummeting with spinning fragments of reinforced synglass into the darkness of Liberty Megamall.

Gigantic, grinning faces of happy children and moms carved in the finest marble rushed up out of the darkness and vanished again. Girders passed by. Signage. Tattered banners. Cables. Christmas decorations. Mirrored partitions.

“This is it!” THOOM!

The limo hit a concrete wall, plowed through it into racks of expensive, preserved clothing and animatronic mannequins. Sparks arced as the limo skidded across a dusty marble floor and slammed into a huge fountain’s forlorn, ash filled pool.

Waves of dust and debris fell from the ceiling, caking the limo in what looked like freshly fallen snow.

Silence fell.

That's it for this week. If you like, please share. Get out the word of Thrax.

Chapter 17: Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom

In the passenger cabin, Thrax and the androids swarmed Kal with congratulatory hugs and high fives.

“This is what it’s all about,” Kal gushed as Jasmine stuck her tongue in his flap like ear. She liked ears. “Oh yes! Adrenaline and blood rush. Oh, my lovely loins! Drinks on me!”

A sudden shift. They tilted back as one, stomachs in free fall, their feet leaving the floor before the invisible utility fog caught them and compensated.

Everyone scattered for their seats.

Kal leaned back and fought the urge to vomit.

Sang sent the limo skimming down a canyon lined by petrified buildings, slipping past wreckage and piled detritus of war. Heavy duty assault mechs with full weapon load outs, were half-embedded in petrified nano-goo. Their upper hulls were swiss cheese, peppered by hundreds of ragged holes. Rusted scout mechs lay ahead, lying sprawled in the ash, wrapped in the shadow of kilometer high buildings that blocked out the sun.

Sang hit the halogen headlights.

In the dim light Kal could make out macabre symbols to mad alien gods painted on the facades, many marred by rifts carved by black, terrorist goo. Rags hung from exposed wires, clusters of barrels and chairs lined the edges of the gaping interiors. Strange feelings washed over them as they flew down the street. Desire for shoes, electronics, exotic foods, knick knacks, and the latest model of vehicle. Every now and then a flash of anger and outrage, shrieks demanding mankind be destroyed, demands for social mobility, powerful urges to stay indoors.

A series of slogans and images flit through their heads:

“NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE WITH iGOD: YOUR PERSONAL APOTHEOSIS.”

“NARCISSUS TELOMERE TREATMENTS: STAY YOUNG. BE YOUNG. FOREVER.”

“YOUR WILL SHALL TRIUMPH WITH INDOMITABLETM SPORTS GEAR.” “FIND LIFE SOLUTIONS WITH TRANSHUMANITY UPGRADES.”

“MADONNA XXX, THE VIRGIN WHORE, IN CONCERT! ONLY THIS WEDNESDAY.

Kal grabbed his head, tried to push the blaring thoughts out of his head. He found he could shut them out if he just... pushed ‘down’ a part of his brain. That was the only way to describe it. Like you were going to the bathroom. “The city seems to have fallen into anarchy even before the large scale fighting began,” observed Kal. No one knew exactly how the collapse had happened. Mostly people thought it was because technology had simply run out of control.

“Must have been one hell of a doublefisted megacull,” muttered Thrax softly. “Someone living here?” pondered Ghatz.

Kal shook his head. “Not likely. Those are probably hundreds, even thousands of years old. Just preserved by autorepair cycles.” He gazed out at the ruins and a powerful sense of loss flooded over him. “Think of it. All those buildings were once teeming with people, all filled with hopes, dreams, loves. Millions of them. More than we’ve ever seen in our lives, more names than we could remember. All wiped away. Nothing but an empty shell left. Bones of diamond concrete.”

“Dick and Jane are dead, biatch,” said Kitty. “Get over it. They ain’t ever comin’ back.”

“I’m not so sure, choombata. Man your window,” ordered Thrax. “I have a bad feeling about the place. You’re smart Kal, but smarts aren’t wisdom. Ready your weapons. Watch the building floors, gaps, alley ways. Anywhere snipers could set up.”

“Agreed. Do it,” interjected Ghatz.

“You heard Our Glorious Leader,” said Jez, sulkily. “Watch ground level. Spots with limited fields of fire.”

“Smarts can be wisdom,” muttered Kal under his breath.

The team slipped into their combat positions; the interior filled with the sharp whine of fusion piles priming for action.

Pin searchlights on the limo’s flanks cast circles of light onto the diamacrete bones of the buildings as they blasted past.

Sections had been melted, warped, by rogue goo, then frozen in place as police-injected kill switches activated. Military grade, khaki nanoblobs were frozen in deadly embrace with black terror mounds composed of converted civilians and machinery.

Sang glanced at shimmering, floating readouts. “Hull integrity back up to eighty per cent. Material tanks down thirty per cent.”

“Watch the map,” said Ghatz. “Take Main Street going west.” He spun the hologram around, analyzing from multiple angles and distances.

“We should stay off the main streets,” replied Sang. With a snap of the wrists, he veered the limo down a barren side street.

“I told...” Ghatz stopped. “Fine. Agreed.”

Kal had nothing to add. They sat in silence, awed by the scarred and battered ruins around them. The tension built up and up. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Rather quiet in here,” whispered Kal. “Perhaps... too quiet.”

“It’s like a church,” said Thrax.

“Oh, please. What do you know of church, little man?” chided Jez.

“More than you.”

“Don’t be pathetic. My naughty nun outfit has a tungsten database chip. Whole sordid history of the church, Cadaver Synod, the lot. Should have worn that.”

“Bullshit.”

“Guys! I think I saw something,” called out Blossom. She adjusted her goggles.

“What?” asked Thrax.

“Lights. Like, red lights. Random patterns and stuff.”

“Nasties,” added Thumper.

“Yeah! I’m so sure!”

“Um. Could be targeting lasers?” mused Sable.

“I’ve seen them too,” added Kitty, placing her hands against the window, resting on her knees and shifting her buttocks into the air.

“Dreamer. Have not,” retorted Jasmine. “Or I would have.”

“Have so.”

Thrax waved them to be silent. “Okay. Keep an eye out, bots. At ready.” Kal checked the scan feed. There was a lot of interference.

“Widens up ahead,” observed Sang.

A column of sky lay ahead, the glorious colours of sunset slashed down through the black wall of tenebrous buildings.

“Slow down.” Ghatz checked the map. “It’s a parking lot. The Liberty Megamall of America is beyond. Last of its kind.”

“Oh. My. Gawd. I don’t believe it. Are you kidding me?!? Liberty Megamall is like the ultimate in on-site luxury shopping. Custom onsite manufacturing, radical immersive experience, and the most innovative, wicked hot product design anywhere in the world, or like, the entire freaking universe!” gushed Blossom. She was on the verge of completely freaking out. “I mean come on!”

“Way. Out.” said Jasmine, barely able to remain deadpan. She popped a memory mint and sucked on it contemplatively.

Even Sable smiled and nodded eagerly. “From what our archives say, they uploaded the consciousness of a thousand Italian fashion designers into their custom clothing AI. NeoBauhaus, Frontean, even Cinema-Aesthete theorists.”

Thumper wasn’t impressed. “Lame,” she sighed, and slipped on a pair of earphones.

“Their catalogue has one million different kinds of shoe designs,” added Candy, eyes aglow. “You guys, I bet samples are still in there.”

“That’s what they were fighting for, girl,” said Kitty. “Shoes?” replied Candy, confused.

“No, the nano-manufacturing capacity,” snarled Jez. “Stupid.” “Sssh.”

Ghatz pondered. “Wide open space. We’ll be a sitting duck.”

Thrax put a comforting hand on Sang’s shoulder. “Take us down to ground level. We can drive across the lot, use wreckage for cover.”

Ghatz slowly turned and glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m in charge here, yeah?”

“Oh. Sorry. Not.”

“Sit down. Sang, take us to ground level. Drive us across. Whisper mode.” Sang nodded. Grinned wryly but said nothing.

Thrax grumbled and buckled back into his seat. Kal gave him a wink, then looked out the window.

The limo slowly settled down onto the street, sending gusts of gritty ash blowing outward. The wheels deployed and the frame gave a slight bounce as it settled.

“Macroenhancers,” ordered Ghatz. The front windshield became a virtual display that zoomed in on the terrain before them. “Threat analysis.”

“No threats detected,” replied the onboard AI.

“Uh,” said Kal, tapping the back of the front seat, “I wouldn’t rely on that too much.” “Quiet,” snapped Ghatz. “Power signatures?”

“Six thousand three hundred and forty-seven, plus eight thousand nine hundred indeterminate readings I cannot get a fix on. Sophisticated masking technology seems to be in use. Military grade.”

“What I said,” breathed Kal. He made a face at Ghatz. The jerk was going to get everyone killed.

Thunder boomed and the maelstrom above them swirled with menace.

Sang turned, putting his arm over the seat, and looked at Kal. “Any advice?”

Finally! Someone showing some sense, thought Kal. He thought furiously. Nothing. “Drive fast.” Kal wasn’t always good under pressure.

Sang nodded and rubbed his hands together. “That’s what I like to hear. Give me a minute to warm up for it. A little meditation.”

“Oh Christ. Pathetic nonsense,” swore Jez contemptuously. “Om,” said Sang serenely.

“Actually,” interjected Sable, “Meditation has been found to have, um, profound impact on the human nervous system, not to mention happiness. Studies–”

“Stay here,” Thrax scooped up his viewer plate, a couple packets of nanocide, and stepped out, slamming the door behind him. The air was crisp. Sharp. Odorless. There were no sounds other than the wind and creaking of settling buildings.

**** 

Thrax tromped over to the store front on the right. Ash dunes had blown in through gaps that had once been windows. Shelves held rusted lumps of unidentifiable product. Not nanite protected, thought Thrax, disappointed. Probably too cheap to spring for it. Discount store. He walked forward, around jumbled desks, and into the next section, just before the parking lot. His boots left perfect imprints in the soft ash.

Ghatz, Hercules, and Jez followed him in, sweeping the room with their weapons. “Relax,” said Thrax. “Nothing dangerous here.”
Jez smirked. “Famous last words. Won’t stake my life on it.”

Furniture had been piled up around street level windows, reinforced with sandbags. Humanoid combat robots lay slumped behind, built in weaponry hanging limp. Thrax dusted off one’s blank, jawless skull like face, flipped back the loose helmet dome, and peaked in. A blob of fused metal and brittle, dried and shredded gel. The bot’s neural net had been dissolved by airborne corrosive.

A section of the southern wall had been blown out and then blocked with garbage bins, concealing a sinister, insectile pulse cannon, covered in snowy dust. Camouflage nets hung in front.

Set on a heavy metal desk in the vast display room’s centre was a communication array, surrounded by seated, mummified figures in armoured biowarfare suits. Other bodies lay crumpled by the windows. Cans, rusted together, lay in stacks, piled with crates of ammunition. A portable fusion generator was attached by cables to the cannon.

They all paused at the sight of that. Thrax scanned it for radiation.

“S’okay, it’s inert,” he said, giving them the all clear. He activated his HappyTime filter just for a lark; the world morphed into a fairy tale castle, the corpses into vine wrapped statues having tea. Birds chirped and sparkling sunlight flooded the chamber. He sniffed fresh lilacs. He breathed deep.

Jez shot him a suspicious look. “You on something?”

“Good feelings,” smiled Thrax. He shut down the filter and grey gloom enveloped his senses once more. It was too dangerous to indulge in filters, too immature. And he had no stims, anyway. With a start he noticed a single, shimmering, turquoise butterfly that refused to vanish with the rest of the reality overlay, and stubbornly flit, carefree, about the room.

“A pity. We could have used one of these, yeah?” said Ghatz. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and stepped up to the figures. Then he paused. “Wait. No holes in their suits.

Don’t recognize their ranks or insignia. Rebels?”

Plastic playing cards on the table.

White gleaming shapes behind dusty faceplates.

“Dunno.” Thrax walked over and reached out. Wiped a faceplate clean. The suit gently crumpled into a pile at his touch. The bones inside had turned to dust.

They could make jello out of that, he thought idly.

Creepy.

**** 

In the limo’s back seat, Kitty got bored playing with her retro-PDA, and stuffed it in her black ammo bag, then started to drum her fingers on the armrest. She popped a bubble at Sable, who kept going on about ancient pre-post-modern fashion designers.

Dullsville. Who the hell would want a sexbot like that, Kitty wondered. So boring.

Kitty climbed over Thumper and Blossom to the rear seat row and peered out the tinted window. Red dots were multiplying in number deep within the buildings. They began to grow larger, approaching the windows and ledges.

“Uh, yo,” said Kitty, “I think we have a problem here. In case anyone cares.” “Sush,” said Kal testily. “I’m trying to map a path forward.”

“Well, excuse me, nerd boy.” Kitty tapped the window. “I think we have more immediate concerns than your PHD thesis.”

“Give Mr. Grammer a break, Kitty,” said Sable, folding her arms across her prodigious chest, which was packed within a prim shirt and tight vest. “He’s trying to keep us from getting killed going across.”

“Girl, we’re not going to live long enough to go across. Look!”

Red dots began to dance on the surface of the limo. Far behind them, down the main thoroughfare, undead ancients in tattered garments appeared, preserved by microscopic machine infections, they began to race towards the chariot at Olympic runner speeds, their teeth gnashing, eager to spread the nihilist synvirus that churned inside their skull cavity. Their eyes were shiny black orbs, and glistening, gritty black goo overflowed from their hungry, foul mouths.

Until next week. 

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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.

If, by chance, you enjoyed the chapter, please share with the internet. Be much appreciated!

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.