Theme Planet (19 page)

Jim nodded, and dropped the bike
towards the pleasure-liner. It honked, a long, low tone which Dex took to be a
warning. They dropped further, banking right, and headed straight over the
first massive funnel - and Dex glanced down, could see the glow of engines, or
whatever method the ship used for propulsion. A heat blast hit them, shaking
the bike as if it were a live thing, an uncontrollable bucking bull. The engine
screamed -and then they were past, over the funnel, over the glow, and the cop
in close pursuit realised his peril a split-second too late...

Close enough to nearly touch,
there came a sudden
glow
of ignition from the rear of his bike. Fire
raced up the trail of leaking fuel and Dex, watching, saw the realisation twist
the cop’s face as his bike -

Detonated.

A ball of fire expanded fast,
uncurling, glowing bright. The bike and rider were gone instantly, either
vaporised, or...

“Shit - faster!” screamed Dex as
he realised what had happened.

The burning bike had risen,
burning, then what remained dropped down into the pleasure liner’s engines...

The whole river shook as if
experiencing some massive underground quake. And then the huge cruiser seemed
to glow from within, a bright, bright orange, brighter than a provax’s eyes,
and there was a stream of quick-fire detonations and Dex fancied he heard
screams, and the ship seemed to fold up into a V as a terrible explosion tore
the core of the ship apart. Fireballs and shrapnel screamed out, and Dex clung
onto the bike, which was buffeted violently as it fled, shrapnel whizzing past
it.

The pleasure-liner screamed, a
dying behemoth, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Fire raged
along the decks, eating the tourists. The arms of the V grew tighter as the
ship folded itself further in half, accompanied by a terrifying rending and
tearing of steel. Then the whole thing seemed to jump a little, out of the
water, as more deep detonations rocked it, and then it slid slowly down into
the river, waters surging and gurgling as more wailing tourists leapt from the
tilting bow and stern...

They flew off up the river, bike
whining. It had been damaged sometime during the chase.

“We lost them,” shouted back Jim.

Dex nodded.

They cruised, and were soon out
of the city and away from the tourist districts.

A cool breeze caressed Dex.

And he shivered, deep down to his
core.

Jim touched down by the side of
the river. Orange trees wavered overhead and Dex shuddered in the breeze. What
had happened to his life? What happened to his world?

“Why did you help me?”

Jim dismounted from the hover
bike and stretched. His eyes were dark, face hooded. “You should never have
come here. They should have told you.”

“Told me what?”

“You’re PUF, right? Police Urban
Force?”

“Yeah? So?”

“You shouldn’t have come here,”
said Jim. “Shit. You slipped through the net. “

“I don’t understand!” snapped
Dex, spittle on his lips.

“That doesn’t matter. Here - take
the bike. Go back to the hotel, pack your bags and get the fuck off Theme
Planet. Then, and only then, might there be a chance your wife and children
will live.” He shivered. “They might send them back to you. If you’re lucky.”

“They’ll be waiting for me. At
the hotel.”

“No. Trust me.”

“I can’t go back like a fucking
puppy with its tail between its legs. I have to find Kat! I have to find Molly
and Toffee!”

Jim stared hard at Dex. “Listen.
That’s your bravado, your ego, your damn machismo speaking. This is not about
you. It’s about them. Now, you mustn’t go down that path,” he said, gently. “You
shouldn’t be here. To save them, you must leave.”

“What did I do wrong?” said Dex,
feeling small, feeling like a pawn in a very big game. He turned towards the
bike. He could hear Jim breathing, slow and cool.

He opened his mouth again, to
speak, but something struck the back of his skull and the lights went out.

~ * ~

CHAPTER FIVE

BROKEN

Amba lay still.
Gradually,
she shut down her systems. One, by one, by one, by one.

Clever,
said Zi.

Do they understand?

No,
said Zi.
Some people never
understand.

~ * ~

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure. Get her over here,
on the bench. Gods, she’s heavier than she looks. Solid.”

“Stop fucking yammering. Check
her pulse.”

“Shit! She’s dead!”

“Impossible, we gave her a blast,
yes, but...”

“Remember the man? With the beard?
Dodgy heart?”

“Call the medics! Quick!
Medics!”

~ * ~

“I
can’t believe
it. Somebody’s
going to get a kicking over this one.”

“Have you checked her documents?”

“Yeah. They check out. I have an
idea.”

“And idea which doesn’t involve
us all getting locked up?”

“Yes. Only the three of us know,
right?”

“Mm
-hmm.”

“We can junk her. Nobody will
find her down there.”

“What about her family...?”

“Well, she was travelling alone.
Here, now, as far as the Port Authorities are concerned, she disembarked, was
accepted through immigration, headed out into Theme Planet and simply...
disappeared. A missing person. We do get them occasionally, you know. Despite
all the failsafes. Despite all the drones and the skycams.”

“Good. Burns, go and sort out the
immigration docs. Make sure you tweak the times. You good for that?”

“Consider it done.”

“And remember - all of you. We
never fucking heard of Amba Miskalov. Right? Not just your jobs, but your
lives
depend on it. Monolith won’t allow fuck-ups like this in its organisation.”

~ * ~

Movement.
Or,
the
sense of movement.
She was on a stretcher, although it was hard to ascertain because so many
bodily functions were shut down. She still had natural internal gyroscopes,
though, and she knew they were heading...
down.

Down, under the rides, under the
islands, under the machines.

Beneath Theme Planet.

She could hear voices, muffled,
as if heard from the bottom of a metal well. They continued to move, and she
had only a vague sense of time. She had activated her coma call. Play dead.
Fool the enemy. Rise like a phoenix from the ashes and execute every
motherfucker in her path. It was - almost - a last resort tactic. They’d used
some new tech on her; the coldness at the back of her neck remained. What the
hell had that been? More importantly, did they realise she was
android?
And even more importantly, did they realise she was an Anarchy Model? Bad shit.
Hardcore shit. Military shit.

Doubt nagged her. They’d taken
her out easy. Way too easy. It was as if they’d known. Were primed. Waiting for
her?

That’s a possibility,
said Zi.

I’m well aware of it. Hang
around, babe, I think I might need a FRIEND soon...

And she meant it. Because, when
Amba reversed her fake death, when she restarted her android body and the heart
started to pump and brain started to fly, for a while she would be groggy, and
slow, and weak, and it would hurt - hurt like a motherfucker. Hurt like falling
into a star. She would need Zi then. Need the expertise of her FRIEND...

They’d stopped. It took her a
while to realise.

More voices drifted through, now.
There were many voices. All male. They echoed around her and she shivered, in
her cocoon of unreality; in her death sleep. She felt hands on her, and she
knew what she felt were delayed experiences, like echoes of the real thing. She
felt something wet slide across her cold dead lips and she grimaced internally.
She had an idea what was going on. Had an idea what those bastards could be
doing...

Where had they taken her?

Downwards, into basements or
sewers, or into the machine workings under Theme Planet. The bowels of the
rides. The city under the city, the country under the country, where all the
provax - the real provax - lived. In the dark. The shade. The shadows. The
cool.

Under the shell.

Under the crust.

Under the fake topside tourist
shithole.

Amba
smiled, deep
inside
her
mind.

A world within a world, a globe
within a shell.

She felt hands over her body.
They removed her clothes. They probed her. Touched her. She felt a deep throb
of
anger
within.

Do it,
said Zi.

Yes,
Amba said. And there was a
click.
And it was done. Her heart gave a spasm, fluttered, and
restarted.
Sluggishly,
blood started to pump through her veins. Her eyes fluttered, but the men
standing around her, where she lay on a wheeled trolley stretcher, were more
interested in her naked flesh, her firm body, than in the fluttering of her
eyelashes.

Slowly, life returned. Her cheeks
flushed red. Her heart set up a steady beat. And the metallic voices grew
louder, gained clarity, and Amba remained motionless, listening, sucking in
breath, allowing her android body to fully awake, to recharge, before she leapt
into action...

“I bet she was a good fuck when
she was alive,” came one voice.

“Yeah, look at her breasts.
Fabulous. Not too large, not too small...”

“Too small for me. I like a good
handful, mate.”

“Ha, you
are
a good
handful, mate!”

Laughter.

“Come on, Janko, we haven’t got
all night. What you kissing her for, anyway? She’s fucking
dead!”

“Hey, I like to get into the
groove, baby. Get the full experience. And stop saying she’s dead, you’re
putting me off.”

“If it’s putting you off, you
shouldn’t be here, dumb fuck.”

Amba became suddenly aware of the
tongue in her mouth, and the fingers inside her vagina, working at her, working
her hard. The cold throb of anger became a lead ball of fury, but she
controlled herself with infinite effort, controlled herself as the slick worm
of a tongue roved around inside her face. The FRIEND. Damn! Where was the
FRIEND?

“Did you figure it out yet?”

“Naw. It’s some alien piece of
shit. Look.” There came a
click,
but no detonation. Amba smiled again,
at that. There’d be a fucking detonation all right, real soon, right here in
this dark damp stinking room on the fetid underbelly of the con that was Theme
Planet.