The Medida War Read online

  "Graaa-urrrk!" said Mek-Quake as the bullet found its mark. The sign on his chest switched to Default.

  "Mek-Quake model six. Serial number 6/583-#546. Ford Industries. All systems operational. Standing by and ready for programme loading, sir."

  "He's back to his primary mode," said Hammerstein. "When he's been rebooted, he'll be fine."

  "He needs a lot of rebooting," said Joe.

  Blackblood, who was also unaffected, had courageously run forward and leapt on Morrigun. He was desperately holding her down to prevent her from attacking the rest of the team or self-harming. Or at least that's what he told his colleagues when they advanced on him and asked for an explanation.

  "I think I should hold her down until the madness has passed," he said.

  "I think it's passing very quickly," she said, looking up at him.

  "Are you sure? I could stay like this for longer, if you like?"

  "That won't be necessary. Thank you, Blackblood," she said coldly, pushing his hands away and adjusting herself.

  "My pleasure, my dear," he said.

  The Warriors looked around, scanning the horizon, but there was no sign of Mass Destruction.

  "Let's go after him in the killdozer," said Hammerstein.

  "Just one moment, Hammerstein."

  The bone chilling voice came from above them. It was Deadlock descending from a nearby, sand-blown peak. In his right claws he held the cloaked figure of Hoodwink.

  "This is Seraph Rosesand. I found him hiding in the hills."

  The old man cowered in the presence of the strange robots and he hid his foul features with his face veil.

  "Please be at ease, Mr Rosesand, you are amongst friends now."

  "You saved me. Her warbots almost had me and you saved me," Hoodwink exalted in a quavering voice as he raised his hands to the sky. "Praise Gaia you arrived when you did. You have delivered me from the jaws of the enemy."

  "Do you know who sent these troopers?" Hammerstein was curious.

  "Yes, I do, Hammerstein. We heard of your return and we came to warn you of her."

  "Her?"

  "Listen! Listen to the wind! Can you hear her mad song?" The Warriors concentrated and heard the distant lament:

  Across the bridge, there's no more sorrow,

  Across the bridge, there's no more pain,

  The sun will shine across the river,

  And we will never be unhappy again.

  "It's the same song we heard on Lo-Braseel, echoing across space!" exclaimed Hammerstein. "It's the reason we came back."

  Deadlock nodded. "Her song, her lament was planet-wide and constant. It permeated the atmosphere of Mars and bled into space. It drifted into the range of our sensors, sensors that are heightened by the power of Khaos," he said in tombstone tones.

  "We figured the colonists must need us again," added Hammerstein.

  "Well, that's what you figured," said Morrigun. "The rest of us weren't so sure."

  "It would be true to say that we had no choice," said Blackblood. "We were originally programmed to help Mars, and had no choice but to obey our programming."

  "But you don't understand," cried Hoodwink. "Medusa, the spirit of the planet, is the enemy. Those troopers were her lackeys! Her robot army!"

  "Including Mass Destruction? How did it know everything about us?"

  "Because Medusa draws on the human collective subconscious for her creations. You've been drawn into a game, my friends. A deadly game with death traps and slaughter in every corner." Hoodwink's voice rose with stuttering and disjointed excitement. "She has reduced this once great planet to war-torn strife and misery. She has even managed to profane our dead, and raise them as zombies to roam wildly and spread terror and horror across our lands. Can you imagine what it is like to see your dear departed return to you as a rotting, shambling, animated cadaver haunting you into madness?"

  "Yes, I'd rather like to see that," commented Blackblood. "It must be very... tragic."

  "The ABC Warriors have returned in triumph to free the oppressed of Mars! We have waited so long for your return. We were beginning to believe that you were just legend and myth."

  "What proof have you of this?" asked Hammerstein.

  "You want proof?" The old man removed his dust veil. "Look! Look what she did to me!"

  Hardened though the Warriors were, even they were repelled by the foul sight of Hoodwink's face... apart from Blackblood who rather liked it. Deadlock eyed the distorted features carefully, but made no comment.

  "One of her creatures did this to me."

  "Perhaps Medusa is trying to protect her world from what she sees as a threat?"

  "A threat?" exclaimed Rosesand, coughing unpleasantly. "A threat? I'll show you what she is capable of. One hundred and fifty kilometres west of here, I'll show you what good, wholesome, honest folk have to endure and experience from this monster."

  Hammerstein looked around at the others and then nodded. "Okay. Let's check it out. We can make our repairs on the way."

  They went over to Mek-Quake's killdozer and climbed aboard. "Follow the biol pipeline," ordered Seraph, indicating a massive metal tube that ran a short distance above the ground stretching away to the horizon.

  They drove off across the desert, leaving behind them heaps of smashed and broken warbots, black smoke rising from their innards.

  As Mek-Quake thundered away towards the uneven skyline and the cold crimson and dry vistas of sand that stretched interminably before them, MD came out from his hiding place in a pool of quicksand. The red liquid poured off his body, making him look like something out of a gore movie. The robot was concerned about his boss, even though he knew Hoodwink was ever resourceful and could lie his way out of most situations.

  He gazed after the receding tank; then locked in a satellite link to check its coordinates and direction. Then he began to follow.

  THREE

  The most constant and pervasive evidence of biol was the ponderous sand-scarred pipes that ran from the refineries across the desert to the main cities and towns. It was one of these pipelines the ABC Warriors were following.

  The most popular food for the human settlers on Mars was biol; a liquid food that could be pumped into people's homes. It poured out of the biol tap onto the plate, where it solidified into a nourishing meal and therefore could justifiably be called food on tap. Humans, especially in the cities, preferred it to fresh Martian meat and vegetables. Partly this was because they were afraid that if they ate trinary marshrooms and animals, they might end up growing an extra leg or eye. There were rumoured to be cases of this happening, although they were usually dismissed as urban myths. The real reason was that biol was addictive.

  What it was made of was a secret; all anyone knew was that it was "biological". But the flavouring, composition and ingredients of biol were the biggest corporate secret on Mars. Secret analysis of biol by envious competitors had uncovered some worrying facts. But attempts to pass this information on had met with ruthless clandestine action. There had been numerous executions of industrialists, scientists and reporters in recent times.

  After fifty kilometres, the biol pipe the ABC Warriors were following headed off in the direction of Marineris City. But Seraph indicated that they should turn west for another hundred kilometres - towards the marshroom farms and the outlying human settlements that accompanied them.

  The farmhouse looked like something out of the Wild West back on Terra. It was a simple, three-storey wooden building with a chimney that scribbled smoke into the sky. It was deliberately designed in a frontier style - a nostalgic nod to the planet the settlers had come from. Even before you met them, you knew they would be cud-chewing, hill-billies as red-necked as Mars was red.

  There were, however, several significant anomalies. The strange fields of giant marshrooms and crystal cabbages around the building, the iron bay kennels with the six-legged, three-eyed Martian steeds that pulled the ploughs, the trimorph skull over the doorway and the machine-gu
n poking out of the attic window.

  The farm owner was one Jack Seedsower, who lived there with his young sons, Rusty and Sandy. He sat at one end of a long dining table, his cigar-stained finger stroking his coarse, greying moustache. He was lost in thought, remembering his wife, Fruitful. She had vanished one day while on the land, harvesting the marshrooms. It was exactly a year to the day since she had gone.

  Over the past few years, a number of neighbouring farmers had reported similar "vanishings" of members of their families. It was mainly the women folk that went missing: Fertility Crater, Lush Deimos and Abundance Mountain. They had gone out to the fields and never returned. Some believed that they had tired of the hard way of life. Others saw the hand of a dark and powerful force bent on running the settlers off the land.

  Medusa.

  Jack didn't know what to think. But nothing was going to frighten him off his land. The land was his life and he would rather be here in the wilderness than join those fool moderners in Marineris and Viking City with their biol on tap, screenless TVs, trivias and toasters that talked to you.

  Jack Seedsower began to pray to the Terran Goddess Gaia. All three arched their fingers, bringing their fingertips together and Jack intoned solemnly, "I pray to Gaia for guidance. I pray that your Momma will come home to us soon. I pray that this filthy planet will one day accept the will of Gaia. That Medusa realises it is our destiny to rule her. That it is our home now. We thank Gaia for the gift she gave us so that we have the power of intelligence to build ships to carry us across space and bring life to this horrible dirt bowl. Amen."

  "Amen," said Rusty and Sandy.

  "I'd just like to add another prayer," said Rusty. "Ma, we miss your smiling face. We miss your love. And we miss your mighty fine cooking. We still don't know what happened to you out there in the marshroom field. Whether you got sick, or ran off with some city dweller, or that evil Medusa took you..." Sandy began to sob and sniff as Rusty continued, "We hope you can find your way back to us. Amen."

  They ate in silence which was broken only by the steel clash of cutlery on plates. Afterwards, Jack played his electric guitar, twanging hooked and fat notes. He sang The Lament of the Soya Bean Cowboy with reedy, drawling notes. It had been Momma's favourite song.

  While Sandy stoked the fire in the main, open-plan lounge Rusty wrapped himself in a thick trimorph coat and went out to do the final evening check on the animals. The family didn't wear hot pants like the city dwellers, but the female trimorph's pelt kept the cold out fine. Pa had killed it and skinned it himself.

  The night had already washed its black waves across the sky and the meagre lamps winked off and on as the poles and electric cabling they hung from rattled violently in the wind.

  Then, above the shearing bluster of the cold wind, Rusty heard a hideous sound. It was a piercing howl, a scream that was neither human nor animal.

  The weird cry sounded again, a kind of hollow resonant mewling that rose above the wind and then wound down with a dying moan.

  "Oh, gee!" whispered the red-haired lad. Visibility was low, but he could make out a figure moving with a rickety yet slithering gait toward him from the crop field. Who would be coming unannounced to their remote farm after dark?

  "Who's there?"

  There was no reply.

  "Who are you?"

  The shadowy creature did not reply but continued to lurch towards him. Rusty took to his heels and ran.

  "Pa!" called Rusty. "Pa! There's something out here! Come and see!"

  Jack came out with his laser gun. He'd heard the cries, too, and was ready for trouble. "Stay in the house with Sandy. Lock yourself in," he ordered.

  Rusty ran back to the house. He slid the iron bolt free with some effort and drew it across. He and his younger brother went to the window, but there was nothing visible in the inky blackness. "Is Pa going to be all right?" whispered Sandy.

  "Course he is. Pa ain't afraid of nothin'. Remember the way he killed that male trimorph with just his knife an' his bare hands? That morph was covered in the biggest spikes you ever did see. An' he was real angry with Pa for shooting its mate."

  They held their breath to hear what was going on outside.

  "Who's out there? Declare yourself right now or I will shoot," said Jack.

  There was no reply. Just uneven footsteps sounding like dry leaves being swept up on stone.

  "Gaia damn you! This is your final warning!" called Jack sternly.

  Still no response. Just a slithery rustling sound.

  Rusty heard the Zing! Zing! of the laser rifle.

  Silence.

  And then, a piercing shriek from his father. Sounds of a struggle. A curse. Something wet being ripped. The dull, dry sound of breaking bone. A groan of pain.

  "Leave him alone! Leave my pa alone!" yelled Sandy.

  There was more ripping. Curses. More bones being broken. Another cry of pain. Whimpering. Gurgling.

  And silence.

  Sandy started crying beside Rusty.

  Rusty's breath came in rasping gasps as the fear within him swelled. An ugly, oily thing inflated in the pit of his stomach. His freckled face twisted apprehensively.

  Outside in the stable, their Martian horses stamped their six hooves and began to snort and whinny.

  The boys heard the rustling slither, crackle and crunch towards the house.

  Terror scuttled through them. Their hearts hammered against their chests.

  The soft rustling became louder and louder. The footfalls, like dry branches being dragged through the dirt, reached the door.

  They could see one claw-like hand at the window. It was dripping blood. The creature, whatever it was, knocked on the door.

  When they didn't answer, it started breaking it down.

  "Upstairs!" ordered Rusty and the boys ran up the stairs.

  The door snapped open from its hinges, with a loud splintering report and it hurtled through the length of the interior before crashing into the back wall. Something lurched into the room. Its footfalls swept around the floor, smashing furniture and glass.

  Sandy let out a sharp, choking cry of fear. Rusty did the same. He didn't want to die. He knew whatever was down there had killed his pa. He knew it would kill him and Sandy, too, when it found them. They were going to die and he didn't even know why. His mind raced to think what he could do. Where could they hide?

  The machine gun! The machine gun in the attic! It was set up to fire outwards, but he should be able to haul it out and deal with that bootleg downstairs.

  "Come on, Sandy! Let's get the gun!"

  "I'm too scared! I'm too scared! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

  "Okay, okay. Calm down. It's going to be all right. Hide in the big cupboard. I'll go get the gun!"

  Rusty raced up the attic stairs and seized hold of the machine gun. It wouldn't budge. The tripod it rested on was nailed down to the floor. "Biol! Biol! Biol!" cursed Rusty. He took a deep breath and started to dismantle the gun, removing it from its mounting. Finally he lifted the heavy barrel free, wrapping the belts of ammunition around him.

  Then he paused in horror as he heard the sound of the cupboard door opening below. Whatever the creature was, it knew Sandy was hiding there.

  "Sandy, it's your Momma. Come and give her a hug and a big kiss." It was a hollow, dead, rasping voice. Not a human voice. Not Momma's voice.

  Sandy's scream was mercifully short. Rusty refused to listen to the sound of his brother's bones snapping as he lurched down the stairs with the massive machine gun, sobbing and screaming, "Bootleg! Bootleg! Bootleg!"

  His brother's body lay in a crumpled broken heap on the ground. The assailant was nowhere to be seen. "Where are you? Where are you, damn it?"

  But there was only silence.

  He moved towards his parents' room, the silence screaming at him. A voice cut coldly through the night air. "Rusty, I'm waiting for you. It's your Momma. Why won't you come to me?"

  Framed in the doorway st
ood a monstrous blacked-out shape of something slithering and plant-like. As it approached him, Rusty could just make out that the thing was shaped like a human, but it had snake-like tubers curling beneath it, allowing it to skitter forwards. They were like spider legs, and they gave it that rustling, slithering sound.

  "I took care of your Pa and Sandy. Now I'm going to take care of you, son. Take care of you good."

  He could see a human face embedded in the flesh of a swollen marshroom. It was his mother's face. But it was a dribbling, muck-encrusted mockery of her humanity. A sick joke sent by an ancient mind with murderous intent.

  Rusty's heart galloped with fright. He shuddered and trembled, grasping tightly onto the machine gun as he opened fire with it.

  Budabudabudabudabuda!

  The machine gun bullets ripped satisfyingly into the creature, which spewed out red goo.

  "Bootleg! Bootleg! Bootleg!"

  It was good. But it wasn't enough. Not for what it had done to Pa. To Sandy. And to Momma too.

  Budabudabudabudabuda!

  The kickback on the gun was so great it hurled the boy to the ground, tangling him in the machine gun's belt.

  When he got up, it had gone.

  Suddenly a roaring blast of an engine filled the night outside. Maybe it was help. Maybe a Biohazard patrol. Or one of the neighbouring farmers coming to see what was going on. His heart swelled with hope, replacing the ugly fear in his stomach.

  He rose, unsteadily. He was shaking. His clothes were soaked with the red liquid from the marshroom creature. The cold wind snaked across his wet trousers making them damp and uncomfortable. Still clutching the hot machine-gun barrel, he went to the bedroom window and looked below.

  "Gee! What in Gaia's name is that?"

  He had never seen a machine like it before. It was a bit like a tank, but this one had a long serpentine neck and an evil tiny head. The head leered up at him and Rusty sensed its malevolence. Several smaller machines were climbing out of it. They looked like demons. Rusty pulled away from the window, panting for breath.