Toxicity (6 page)

Well. In her heart, Jenny Xi knew
that the day would never come.

No matter what Old Tom had once
dreamed...

Toxicity was the dumping ground
for the civilised galaxy of Manna.

And Manna, despite the claim of
being a perfect Utopia... well.

It would always need a toilet.

Jenny moved close behind Jones,
noting the many scars on his back. She moved close, and leant, blowing smoke in
his ear. “You know what they say about a man with scars on his back?” She
grinned, voice barely above a whisper but suddenly the card games, the
drinking, the back-slapping boasts were all forgotten; now
Jenny
and
Jones
were the centre of attention. The night’s amusement. A game for bored
soldiers on stag.

“Go on,” growled Jones, voice
dangerous, eyes narrowed.

“Well, they say that man’s done
a
lot
of running away.”

There was some laughter, a couple
of gasps, a general feeling of shock; for despite Jones having a loud mouth and
dubious views on the integrity of the female of the species, he was without
doubt a tough, bone-headed motherfucker.

“They say that, do they?” said
Jones, rising slowly and turning to face Jenny Xi. He looked down at her with a
sneer on his face. Jenny was tall, a touch over six feet. But Jones was nearly
a head taller, a rippling, stocky, powerful example of an arrogant male in his
prime.

“Jones...” said Zanzibar, his
voice filled with warning.

“Hey, fuck you, Zanz. Keep your
nose out of this.”

“Hey, I can see you’re saving
your hard-on for your boyfriends here.” Jenny winked, taking a few steps back,
smoking, eyes glittering with humour. “You wouldn’t want to give it to a real
woman like me now, would you? I bet you’d need a strap-on, you pathetic piece
of shit.”

Jones rolled his neck. “Oh, I’m
going to give it to you, all right,” he said, taking a menacing step closer.

Jenny lifted her fists and tightened
her jaw. “You see, all
I’m
bothered about is a modicum of respect. And
seeing as
I’m
the new Squad Leader, I see respect is something that’s
got to be earned.”

“I’ll show you some respect,”
growled Jones, moving forward, his own fists raised.

“Come on, let’s see it, fat boy,”
said Jenny.

Jones came at her fast, and
despite his weight of muscle, he moved quickly. Right straight, right hook,
left jab, left hook. Jenny swayed, ducking the blows, then shifted back a few
steps to give herself room.

“You’re slow,” she said, and took
a puff on her cigarette, flicking the butt away.

“I’m going to kick your ass,
bitch.”

“Yeah? Less talking, more
fighting.”

Jones growled, and charged. Jenny
ducked a swipe and rammed a fist into Jones’s ribs. There came a
crack
and
he staggered past, wheezing, gripping his side, and whirled on her, face
flushed, hate filling his eyes.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,”
he snarled.

“Come on, then.”

He charged again, fists flailing,
and for a moment they were both moving in a blur, a punch-up of staggering
skill, dodging, weaving, straights and hooks and jabs smashing and connecting.
Jones hit Jenny with a straight to the chin and she took a step back, amazingly
keeping her feet, avoided a follow-up punch, and delivered a right hook so
powerful it lifted Jones from his feet and deposited him on his rump with a
slap. Stunned for a moment, Jones rolled to avoid Jenny’s boot, which cracked
the earth. He slammed an elbow into her knee, folding her leg, but on the way
down her own elbow came over in a sideways blow like a bone knife, splitting
the flesh under Jones’s eye and sending him rolling away, growling like a dog.

Jenny leapt up, and there was a
sheen of sweat on her skin. Slowly, she lifted her fists once more and lowered
her head.

Jones stood, and in his own fist
was a knife.

“Don’t be silly,” said Jenny,
head still lowered, eyes glittering dark and dangerous.

“You fucking bitch,” he spat
through saliva and blood.

“Jones, don’t be a dickhead,”
came the warning rumble of Zanzibar.

“Yeah, you fucking idiot. Put the
knife down,” came another voice.

“I’ll kill her!” Jones slurred,
lurching forward a step.

Jenny held up a hand, palm out. “Stop.”

“You scared, motherfucker?”

“You’re raising the stakes,
Jones. Don’t make me put you down. I need you in the squad. This has gone too
far...”

“Fucking whore!”

He charged her, and Jenny lowered
her hands, eyes dark, mouth a grim line, and the rest of the squad watched in
hushed silence as the knife glittered through the gloom and at the last moment
Jenny took Jones’s wrist, twisting the knife away, side-stepping, ramming his
arm up his back. Jones’s momentum carried him on forward, as Jenny leapt, still
holding onto his twisted arm, her knee connecting with his spine as she rode him
to the ground. Jones’s face planted the soil and he grunted, spittle exploding
from his lips. Jenny took the knife from his fingers, lifted it in the air, and
stabbed Jones in the back of the shoulder. Blood bubbled and pumped. Jones
howled and squirmed, but Jenny held him there, her body hard and taut, her face
and eyes grim.

“Lie still,” she said.

Jones struggled.

“Lie fucking still!” she hissed.

Growling and snarling, Jones was
finally still. Jenny leant forward, and into his ear, said, “You’re lucky this
time, boy. Don’t fuck with me. Next time I push it through your ribs and cut
out your heart. Do you understand?”

Jones mumbled.

“Do you fucking understand?” She
grabbed the hilt of the knife and twisted.

“Yes!” he screamed. “Yes, I
fucking understand!”

Jenny stood, and turned on the
rest of the squad. They were deathly quiet. Her eyes were flashing mad and
dangerous, and she held up the bloodied knife. “Anybody else want to be Top
Dog? Do I have to prove myself to any other cunt? Or are you all happy?”

“You
know
we don’t all
think like him,” said Zanzibar, his incredibly deep, dark, brown eyes fixed on
Jenny. The large, dark-skinned soldier stood and moved forward, and gently took
the knife from Jenny’s hand. “Calm down, Xi. Calm down, my friend. Come on, we
go a long way back. You know you can trust me.”

Jenny took several deep breaths,
and Zanzibar turned and made a hand gesture. Somebody left to get a medic.
Jones was unconscious; nobody moved to help him.

Zanzibar guided Jenny to a seat,
and somebody put a glass of whiskey in front of her. She decked it in one.

“I’m sorry,” she said, lifting
her head then, looking round at the gathered faces of the squad. “I shouldn’t
have...”

“Don’t apologise,” rumbled
Zanzibar. “Prick had it coming, right?” There was a muttering of agreement.

Medics arrived, and Jones was
rolled onto a stretcher and carried out. Jenny toyed with the knife. “You know
what? I know he isn’t a bad man. I know Jones has done...
good
things in
his time. He’s a good soldier. A good fighter. Good for the cause. But I...”

“Hey, when your blood’s up, it’s
up,” said Zanzibar, and patted her arm. “Don’t worry about it. Now come on.
Pick up the cards. Let me relieve you of some of that hard-earned pay you carry
in your fat purse.” He winked.

“Is that fighting talk?” smiled
Jenny, breathing deep.

“Always,” smiled back Zanzibar.

~ * ~

FROM
BEHIND HER cards, through the smoke, fuelled by whiskey, Jenny surveyed her
squad. Many were new to each other, these men and women, and new to her -
except Zanz. But she felt like she already knew them. She was also
sure
they
had been informed about her previous squad; killed to a man on an assassination
mission. It happened. What looked mildly suspicious was that
she
was the
only one who’d survived, and she didn’t like that. Made her look like she was
either a coward, or on the inside spitting out. And she was neither. Jenny
licked her lips, rubbed her eyes, and rolled a fresh cigarette. Sometimes, it
was better to die with your men.

“Your hand, girlfriend,” said
Randy, in his effeminate voice, and Jenny grinned over at him. She’d seen Randy’s
profile. Randy was tall and slim, with masses of long curly black hair. He had
designer stubble and a designer uniform. Even his boots were decorated with glitter.
It had led to a lot of misunderstandings, and a lot of agony - for other
people. Just because Randy sounded like a squeaky girl didn’t mean he fought
like one; he was an expert in martial arts and street fighting, and a dab hand
with a machine gun. Maybe not a man to have in your bed, but certainly a man to
have behind you in a firefight.

“Thanks.”

Randy winked at her. “Don’t let
Jones worry you. He likes a bit of rough and tumble, but then don’t we all?”

“I know I do,” said Jenny.

“Ooh, saucy.”

“Why don’t you shut your hole,”
growled Bull. Bull was a short stocky man with angry eyes, an angry face and so
many facial tattoos they often squirmed together to form new ones, depending on
the expression he pulled.

“You can fill one, if you like,”
winked Randy.

Bull went red. Well, the few
remaining bits of untattooed skin went red. “What have I told you, eh? What did
I say about making suggestive comments? Bull doesn’t like it. Bull likes his
women quiet and chunky. Bull doesn’t want an amorous relationship with a fop.”

“Oh, fop now, is it?”

“Guys,” said Zanzibar, ever the
voice of reason, and Jenny realised she was actually
enjoying
herself.
Yes, her knuckles hurt like a bitch, but Flizz, the glamorous assassin, tall
and slender and beautiful, and as deadly as a striking cobra, had been down to
the kitchens and brought her back two bags of frozen haranga. Flizz was quiet,
shy, and with her glossy long hair and perfect make-up made Jenny feel quite
dull, in her stained combat clothing and facial bruising. Still, she’d met
Flizz a few years back; they’d been on the same squad for a short period.

Jenny sighed. Anyway. She’d not
made a brilliant first impression on this new squad, by any stretch of the
imagination.

“Right,” said Zanz. “I’m upping
the stakes. Twenty.”

“Shit, I’m out,” crooned Randy,
and tossed down his cards.

With a grin, Jenny laid out her
own cards. “I’m out as well.” She rolled her neck, feeling tendons like steel
threatening to strangle her. Randy stood and came round the table.

“Here, girlfriend, let me help
you with that.” He started a slow massage, and Bull scowled at him.

“Leave her alone, you big girl.”

“You
wish
I was a big
girl,” said Randy with a wink.

Bull snorted. “The only day I’d
shag you is on the day you died,” snapped Bull.

“Ooh, Bull, don’t tempt me.” Then
down to Jenny, “Ignore him. He’s a bullish brute. I, and the rest of my
colleagues, are far more sophisticated. Just look around you - you never could
hope for such a group of efficient military effluvia to back you up in bringing
down the Bad Guys.”