Biohell (72 page)

“It was a function of the biomods
to change these people
on purpose?”

It is an integral function of the
NanoTek biomod, yes. It can be instructed to rearrange a genetic organism
into... thousands of different compositions. What we have done in The City is
create a sandbox, an experiment, from which we can choose and select, and
identify the stronger definitions of deviation template and evolve the warhost
from that baseline. You felt the pulse, knew of the signals emitted by each
deviated organism, each biomod infested zombie. Cam, your PopBot, instructed
you on this. This regular pulse
—
well
Zak, it is data. Feedback. We call it product registration. It has allowed me
to monitor the mutations and decide which is strongest, fastest, and ultimately
the most competent for my... purpose.

“So the entire population are
guinea pigs? There must have been a more humane way?”

Certainly more humane. But no way
this fast, nor efficient. Out there, Keenan, on those corrupt streets there are
billions of unwilling specimens, organic templates which I can deviate and
mutate and play with... by doing this, on such a mass scale, I can accelerate
military production from ten years to ten days. It was a sacrifice I was
willing to make. All I had to do was appeal to vanity. And ego. And greed. And
lust. The rest was simplicity personified.

Keenan’s recurring headache, a
dull and aching throb, again expanded to fill his skull. He gasped, and
realised too late something was wrong with him, an organic element deep inside,
something deeply truly
bad...

It went
click
inside his
head.

A
chord
changed in his
soul.

And the skull pain vanished.

Keenan realised he could see
behind the lies of the GreenSource Mainframe. In his heart, the Dark Flame
blossomed, eating away at the lies, burning away the poison. And for long
moments Zak Keenan stared out from his weak and pitiful organic shell. He could
see—

Everything.

Like a machine, cold and
clinical, he surveyed the GreenSource Mainframe and recognised its inherent
evil. Keenan blinked. Felt the SinScript within his WarSuit and he delved
through its shell and harnessed the power of the GreenSource to decode a
trillion trillion combinations and he smiled, for within that fleeting moment
he understood. The GreenSource could decode the SinScript
because
the
GreenSource had created the SinScript.

NanoTek had programmed the junks.

NanoTek was a servant of
Leviathan. And it was using Quad-Gal Military against itself...

This biomod deviation is for the
greater good,
lied
the GreenSource Mainframe, failing to recognise this subtle shift in Keenan’s
physiology, failing to understand that he was a machine detached.
Leviathan
comes. Before him spread the scourge of his ancient army, the junks, seeding
planets with disease and toxins, turning worlds into jungles of biological
hazard fit only for his next beautifully corrupt generation...

Keenan calmed his breathing. He
understood with clarity. It slammed his brain like an axe-blade. Punched his
heart like an electric storm. The
truth
and the
shift
and the
Dark
Flame burning
came from Emerald, the Kahirrim, the
alien.
A gift.
From the time she entered Keenan, down on the planet of Ket; the time she
flowed with him, merged with his blood and fluids, there, she had recognised
the seed in him, the seed of the Dark Flame, the seed so desperately sought by
Seed Hunters and from that time that merging that joining he had suffered with
a dull, deep ache in his skull...

Kiss me,
Emerald had said,
and I will
know you, understand you, I will delve your deepest desires and fears and
needs, I will flow with your saliva and blood and semen, I will be a part of
you and you of me, fluid, joined, together for an eternity...

Keenan pictured her, locked deep
within her vault by the Ket-i warrior clans; her beautiful black skin contained
emerald green veins; dark ringlets tumbled over her finely honed imitation
body. The image flickered, transposed in Keenan’s head with the hybrid killing
machine she could become. And Keenan felt something crack in his brain, a
broken egg, a yolk of truth and total understanding which flowed free and into
his mind and into his bloodstream. When Emerald possessed him, flowed with him,
joined with him,
merged
with him, so she had left something behind, some
residue of her alien self, some substance clinging to the inner walls of his
organic shell that had subtly
changed
him.

I can see Eternity,
Emerald had said. /
can see
beyond Time. I can see the pulse of The Galaxy Soul.

And Keenan
understood.

Like molten hydrogen, thoughts
flowed into his brain with the simplicity of binary. Doors opened. Lights
illuminated. The pain had vanished. In its place, came machine truth. A digital
epiphany.

The SinScript unfolded before his
very eyes.

He flowed with the code, and he
became the code.

There was a lot in there. Death,
disease, torture, suffering. A million year promise.

Keenan flowed to the machine
core.

And the instructions glowed.

The SinScript’s core read:
Destroy Quad-Gal.

“No,” whispered Keenan, brain
colder than frozen hydrogen. Despair swamped him. What could he do? What could
one simple soldier do against an army of such vastness, such longevity, against
ruling alien gods, and against a creature capable of destroying an entire galaxy?

Keenan opened his eyes, breathed
deeply, and lifted his hand. GreenSource ceased speaking. Now, it realised
there was something wrong and Keenan felt the underlying current of animosity
and pure digital hatred.

The GreenSource Mainframe was not
created
by NanoTek. It was not a machine.

It was old.
She
was old.

And
she
was alive.

GreenSource was a part of
Leviathan. NanoTek were a construct, a front-man, a puppet, a marionette,
through which She could channel the biomods and change the organic life-forms
of The City into...

“No more lies,” breathed Keenan.

Leviathan sought to change the
people and aliens of The City into a new breed, a new army. They would become
the next breed of
junks...
more powerful, more deadly, more toxic. From
there the army of poison would spread disease and pestilence and death across
the entirety of Quad-Gal, turning it into a dark and terrible place... as they
had, once before, a million years ago.

Here, and now.

This was the beginning.

This was a Prologue to War.

Keenan’s eyes snapped open as he
floated within GreenSource and he became aware that
she
had become aware
and he smiled, a detached machine smile, and she understood his new found
talents imbibed from a dead alien species. Keenan felt himself mentally
accelerate, images flickering into his brain, The City sprouting the perfect
deviant army, the army flooding out into Quad-Gal and invading hundreds and
thousands of planets and species and life-forms spreading toxicity only
this
time
it was a mechanical and electronic toxicity and the disease
was
the
biomod and it would spread and consume and eat its way through men and women
and the alien species throughout Sinax Cluster—discarding the weak, the
genetically incompetent, but
swelling its ranks
with every conquered world
every poisoned system every desecrated life-arm and within months the scourge
would be unstoppable.

Leviathan would riot through the
Four Galaxies...

He would
feed.

And he would destroy.

Keenan blinked as the
blast
of
hatred from GreenSource slammed him... and he was ejected downwards with such
force he thought his bones would snap, arms and legs flapping useless as he was
wrenched from the liquid interior. He erupted, gasping, from the quivering
orifice, soared over the gathered group, snarling as he turned the ejection
into a roll, landing and coming up fast on the very brink of the precipice
leading down down to broiling molten magma. Keenan teetered for a moment on the
edge, boots showering a cascade of brittle rock and glancing down at the distant
orange glow.

GreenSource had tried to kill
him...

He whirled. The GKs had tensed,
legs bowing, five thousand needles erupting across Nyx’s arms and torso. Momos
drew both yukana swords, and Lamia had transformed arms and legs into blades
which shimmered, a hallucinogenic whirl.

Keenan licked his lips, eyes
connecting with Franco, then Pippa. Pippa gave him a single, solid nod. In that
nod came the bond; the old connection. The old magic.

Despite their hatred, Combat K
were one.

And they had a job to do.

The voice of GreenSource boomed
from staccato towers. “Kill them,” she snarled, all gentility gone as her voice
rose to an inhuman, wailing shriek. “Kill them all!”

“Wait!” snapped the powerful
command of Steinhauer. “What’s this? What’s going on?” His head snapped from
Keenan to Dr Oz, then back; and as his eyes met Keenan’s there was a question
there, confusion, and in that split second Keenan realised Steinhauer’s
intentions were honourable; he really, truly believed he was helping Quad-Gal
Military, believed that Oz and GreenSource were enemies of Leviathan and the
junks... instead of the World Eater’s benefactor.

Oz rolled fast, yukana sword
slamming horizontally through Steinhauer’s legs, just above knees. The blade
exited on a fine spray of blood, which rolled down the black blade into
streamers against volcanic rock. Steinhauer screamed, his organism separating
into three discrete parts. Femurs severed, he tried to step forward, thighs
parting with crisp clacks from knee joints as he toppled onto the rock with
blood pumping a river...

Combat K smashed into action...
with an automatic precision which made them what they were. Pippa charged Oz,
who slashed the hissing yukana at her throat. She twisted, rolling fast with
the blow, HotWire bound arms flashing up. The yukana parted the wire, which
fizzled and gave a small
pop.
Pippa rolled, hit the floor, lashed out
with boots and swept Oz’s legs away...

The GKs spread out. Their guns
yammered, and Keenan dived, grabbing the Makarov from Steinhauer’s holster and
flinging it to Franco. He yanked Steinhauer’s MPK, still connected to the
screaming, legless man with paracord, and opened fire on the GKs which danced
back, sparks momentarily flashing across black alloy frames. And Keenan
realised, with a nasty shock, they were trying to protect the GreenSource
Mainframe...

Franco caught the Makarov, also
opened fire. He ran towards the SLAM Cruiser, diving inside and grabbing their
packs. He pulled free a G Knife, slit his binding HotWire, then shouldered his
pack and sprinted down the ramp.

“Keenan!”

Keenan caught the blade, MPK
still howling sending roaring scythes of bullets into and past the GK AIs,
bullets impacting with soft
whumps
in the walls of GreenSource. Keenan
sliced his own bonds, then glanced down into Steinhauer’s tortured face.

Steinhauer seemed about to
speak... but he slumped back, and was still. Keenan watched the life-light die
in his eyes. Sorrow ripped through him. They had shared their moments of
animosity, of differing opinions. Squabbled like kids on occasion. Steinhauer
thought Keenan was a renegade, a psycho and a loose cannon. Keenan thought
Steinhauer was an army bureaucrat, a bastard with a pencil shoved up his arse.
But they were both still Combat K; brothers. Keenan’s head lifted. His eyes
were dark, glinting evil under the surreal green light of the Mainframe.