Theme Planet (49 page)

“If we’re inside the machine,
where are we going?” said Amba.

“To my Heart,” said SARAH. “What
you don’t seem to understand, or comprehend, is that the Theme Planet was never
terraformed, it was never constructed from metal and wood and stone. No
machines were used to throw up mountain ranges and create beaches and forests
and the oceans; no work teams of engineers and builders and construction
specialists came in and
made
these rides.”

“I don’t understand,” said Dex. “If
nobody built the Theme Planet, then how was it created?”

“I created it,” said SARAH. “I
am
the Theme Planet. I
am
the rides. I created everything out there you can
see. It was bait. To lure in the humans; to bring you
inside
me.”

“What?” said Dexter, in abject
disbelief. “You’re the... the whole
planet?”

“I am not the
planet,”
said
SARAH, “but I
am
the shell that floats on the bedrock. This place is
nothing but a crater-pitted ball of bald rock.
I
am the flesh on the
bones of the world. When I instruct a mountain to rear from the ground, it is
so. When I seek to empty an ocean, it is so.”

“But then, if you are everything,
if the whole planet... the
shell
is actually
made
from you, from
your essence, or flesh, or whatever it is... then you must know where
everything is? You must have known we were here. Been able to monitor us. Watch
us.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said
SARAH, carefully. “Sometimes I am blind. Sometimes, there is simply too much
information and I cannot process it all at once. Potentially, what you say is
correct. In practice, I have grown too big. Grown too... data intensive. But
when
I did find you, and when I realised the reason for your intrusion, then I
decided to monitor you - in part.”

“Why?” said Amba.

“To see how good you were. Of
what you were capable. After all, you were the best Oblivion could send. And by
your actions, you have proved to me that you are indeed the most perfect
specimen of a human I have ever witnessed.”

“I’m an android,” said Amba.

“No,” said SARAH. “You are not.
You are human. Perfect in every way.”

Dex was rubbing his stubbled
chin, head to one side. “Why would you do that?” he said, his words soft,
confusion glittering in his eyes.

“Which part?” said SARAH, in all
innocence.

“Create a theme world. Bring the
humans to you. What are you doing, eating them or something?” He laughed, and
it was a weak laugh, tinged with elements of horror, and fear, and disbelief.
But then, Dex had a hard enough time adjusting to
normal
aliens without
discovering the entire outer coating of the world was some vast living
organism; an outer shell with a brain. A planet with an artificial skin which
could think for itself, and not only think for itself, but use intelligence and
cunning to draw humans into its web, like a spider catching a fly; like a
koroonga mammal trap (koroonga being twenty foot high plants that had somehow
evolved the ability to read a creature’s mind and display a projection of
whatever a creature most desired, drawing them into its gobble pod before
snap:
a slow, living digestion).

“I do not eat them,” said SARAH. “And
I do not kill them.”

“Why the fuck do you want us
here, then?” said Dex.

“You take something from us, don’t
you?” said Amba, eyes glittering. She glanced down then, realising all her
weapons had gone - all except her FRIEND, nestling inside her like a metal
parasite. Good. That was all she would need.

SARAH was silent.

“What do you take?” said Dex.

“I need your help,” said SARAH.

“Help?” snarled Dex, “you’ve
taken my fucking family, hunted me all over the bastard planet, and now every
bastard’s accusing me of being an android and sending my mind twisting inside
out. Why the hell would I help you? Amba here has been sent to
kill
you!”

“Earth’s Oblivion Government have
been infiltrating the Theme Planet for over a year now. They have spies and soldiers
everywhere. I assume they either want something, some technology, or intend to
destroy the Theme Planet -and everybody who’s on it.”

“Why?” snapped Dex. “You
obviously take something important from us. Go on, what do you feed on?”

“I feed on your negative energy,”
said SARAH. “I absorb your fear, your hate and your horror,” she said. “It is
my nourishment, it is why I created the Theme Planet. But it does your species
no harm - if anything, by giving me these negative emotions, tourists leave the
Theme Planet feeling
purged;
you go home happy and fulfilled, you go
home at
peace
with yourself, with your fellow man, with the world. I
think this is the problem with Oblivion; I am draining the dark energy and hate
from humanity. I am giving you a slice of utopia and the Earth authorities do
not want it.”

“Why would they object to that?”
said Dexter, softening a little. He didn’t know if he believed SARAH; it
sounded highly incredible to him, but then who was he to judge? He was simply a
dumb, crude cop with a love of beer and his sexy wife.

“Because,” said SARAH, gently, “humanity
is a damaged species. They are self-loathing and self-destructive, and the
Oblivion Government believe in war. They believe in attack. More advances in
weapons and science and medicine and genetic modification occurred during times
of war than any other period in human history. For mankind to advance, it must
be at war. For humanity to evolve, it must be through violence and hate. And I
am destroying that; I am pacifying the raging beast. I am making Humanity
soft.
Oblivion have
big
plans. I predict Earth and its armies plan to take
over the Quad-Gal. Earth intends to be Master of it all - to build a New
Empire. The New Earth Galactic Empire!”

“And you’re weakening its soldiers?”
said Amba.

“Yes. Many of them. I know there
have been reports of many leaving the military. Why do you think we have so
little crime here on Theme Planet? So few problems? Humans arrive full of
bitterness and angst, anger and frustration, and I take it away from them.”

“Sounds too perfect,” said Dex,
frowning. The surroundings were really irritating him now; the perfect pale
white, the slow ascent (descent?), he could almost imagine fucking Glitter John
Muzak piped in, tinkling and warbling like the worst of GlamRock Pock Rockers.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more his own hate started to build.
It was a shame SARAH had taken his weapons whilst he was unconscious - zapped?
- and it all smelled fishy, like a fishy fishfish dish, all felt wrong, and if
Dex could get his hands on the right equipment he’d shut down this bitch for
good...

“See?” said SARAH, gently.

“See what?” snarled Dex, spittle
on his lips, eye flaring with violence.

“You’re building up to it.
Building up to the kill. That’s why they sent you. Because of what you are. I
can see it now. I have proof.”

“Proof of what?” snarled Dex.

“That you’re an android,” said
SARAH. “That’s why they sent your kind; you’re the only ones who can infiltrate
and murder on my world. If a normal human assassin is sent on a mission of
destruction, they always -
always
- fail. They can no longer do it. No
longer carry it out, because I remove their fear, I neutralise their hate. But
you androids, especially the Anarchy Models, you are different. Harder.
Tougher. Mentally, you are skewed from reality and normality, robbed of
empathy; even ones like you, Dexter, who’ve been implanted with a family. To
make you forget. To make you believe you were human... I’m sorry, and I know
you don’t truly understand, and you don’t believe me, but I will show you how
it is.”

“Show me,” growled Dex, and his
temper was up, and his hate was bright and real, and it was all a big truckload
of bollocks. He couldn’t be a fake human. He could
not
be a plastic
model. How could he? He loved his children too much; and had too much empathy
for his Fellow Man. For his whole fucking species...

“It will hurt,” said SARAH.

“Not as much as I’ll hurt you if
you don’t prove it,” said Dex.

“I see your aggression is still
here,” said SARAH, giving a small, regretful smile.

“You’ve been trying to kill me
all over the fucking planet! What do you expect me to feel? Fucking joy at your
fucking eloquent confession? Well, I think it’s a whole barrel of whiskyshit, I
think you’re covering for something, I think you’re up to something; I think
you have evil plans of your own, Mainframe.”

“Dexter,” said SARAH. “Those who
tried to kill you,
really
tried to take you out - they were not my
people. They were infiltrators from Oblivion. From Earth. And there will be
more sent after you if you fail to destroy me... to destroy the Theme Planet.
Because - both of you - that is your final, ultimate mission. To bring me down.
To annihilate me. To wipe me from, ironically, the face of the planet by
whatever means necessary.”

“And how would we do that?” asked
Amba softly.

“You know. It’s built into both
of you. Engineered. You just don’t know
yet.”

“I still don’t believe you,” said
Dex. “I want to see my family. I want to see them with my own eyes. Because I
know you lie. I know all of you lie.” He gave a sideways glare at Amba, as
well.
It’s all unreal. A bad dream. A nightmare from the pit. None of this
is happening and I’ll wake up, back in London, in our nice house with our nice
groundcar. And Katrina will be there with a cup of fresh coffee, and the girls
will be arguing over the colour of their scarves and gloves before heading out
into the frosty, ice-rimed London City morning...

“You shall,” said SARAH, and
smiled, and the floating disc slowed and came to halt. It drifted towards the
white walls, which glowed softly and tried to instil peace in Dexter’s heart;
but he was having none of it.

A doorway opened in the wall.
Beyond lay a white, glowing corridor.

“They are down there,” said
SARAH.

Dex walked across the platform
and stepped off, into the glow. He walked forward, apprehensive, hateful,
bitter, his mind spinning and his thoughts fractured. This wasn’t how it was
supposed to be, he thought.

The corridor was short, and led
to a circular room with satin-covered beds and chairs.

There, reclining on the bed,
was...

“Katrina!” breathed Dex, and she
glanced up almost nonchalantly, and joy spread across her face. She leapt up
and ran to him as his little girls cried “Daddy, daddy!” and charged across the
room, and Katrina was there first, falling into his arms, and he smelled her
hair and kissed her lips, and she held him so tight he knew it had all been
bullshit and they were all wrong and they were evil, and his wife was here,
now, real, and he knelt and cuddled his little girls and they were weeping and
hugging him, and he kissed their sweet-smelling cheeks and stroked their arms
and ruffled their hair, then stood again, and there were tears on his cheeks,
and hate and rage and sorrow and joy rampaged through him, because they had
tried to convince him he was something he was not - an android, of all things -
and somebody somewhere was playing a very sick, cruel joke. And if Dex got his
hands on a gun, he’d fucking show them the meaning of sick jokes, all right!

“Does it feel right?” The voice
was Amba. She was stood in the entrance.

“Of course it feels right!”
yelled Dex. “Everybody has been lying to me,
everybody,
but now I’m here
and I have my wife and children, and God willing, we’ll escape from this place
and get back to Earth and never, ever leave the bloody planet again!”

Amba moved forward, so fast she
was a blur. She took hold of Dex, and shook him harshly. “It needs to click!”
she snapped at him, “You need to focus, soldier!”