Cloneworld - 04 (19 page)

"You know what?" laughed Pippa, swirling her glass around, "I still can't believe you did it."

"Did what?"

"That mission. I thought you'd, y'know," she hiccupped, "screw it up."

"Hey! I might have an odd way of going about things, but they don't call me Franco 'Gets The Job Done' Haggis for nothing, reet? I said, reet?"

"Ha! I suppose they don't."

They sat in the gloom, with only purple Eezeelights flickering through the air, supposedly calming their collective mood. Franco watched Pippa fill her glass for a fifth time, then looked at his own. It was still full. For once in her life, Pippa was out-drinking him. He growled something, and decked the whiskey in one. "Can't be having that," he muttered, and held out his glass for a refill. Pippa filled it, then spilled some over the edge and across his combat shorts.

"Ach, Pippa, you sloppy lass."

"Your groin was in the way." She giggled.

"You're drunk."

"Wish I was," she said, and waved her glass around, catching the purple lighting. "Have you ever been in love?"

"Lots of times," grinned Franco. "With all sorts of laydees."

"No, no, properly, you dickhead, have you properly been in love? You know, where somebody expands to fill your life, fill your world, and you become a lost, whimpering puppy, willing to do anything for them. You lose your edge, er, you lose your fire. You lose all ability to think straight, or to follow your own senses; it's like drowning in honey and time no longer has any real meaning. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yeah, Pippa. I know exactly what you mean."

"I miss Keenan, Franco."

"I miss him as well, sweetie."

"Do you know what today is?"

"Go on?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"Surprise me."

"It's the anniversary of the deaths of Keenan's wife and girls, Rachel and Ally."

Franco chewed his lower lip, and wondered how best to progress. This was not easy territory. This was territory likely to get him shot. Or skewered. Or both. Best proceed with caution. Best keep big flapping mouth shut.

"I didn't know that," said Franco, and rubbed at his eyes. He watched Pippa refill her glass. Again.

"I killed them! Apparently. Did you know
that?"
She gestured hard with her glass, and whiskey slopped down her black shirt and combats.

"I know you were implicated," said Franco, carefully. "You said you'd been wrongly accused. You had no recollection of that night."

"But Keenan fucking
believed it!"
she hissed. Then laughed. "He almost killed me over that one. Several times. Tried his damned best. He hunted me for a while, did you know that? Of course you know that. You probably helped the motherfucker..."

"Pippa, I never hunted you," said Franco, softly. He sat up. Reached forward. Touched her hand.

"Get off!" she hissed, her hand snapping back, a blur. "What, you after another cheap fuck?"

"No," said Franco, meeting her gaze. "I'm here to listen. And to understand."

Pippa brooded for a while, head hung low, then looked up, face lost in shadows, eyes hooded and dark, probably one of the most menacing and dangerous creatures Franco had ever seen.

"It was a clone. Apparently." She laughed. It was a bitter laugh.

Franco nodded. Said nothing. He watched for a while as Pippa finished her drink, a range of emotions crossing her face like clouds across a stormy sky. Then, she slipped eerily into the ooze of unconsciousness.

Franco sipped his drink, but no amount of alcohol could touch him.

He thought about Keenan.

He thought about Pippa.

He thought about the junks, and their spreading evil and violence and how they,
he
, might have a chance at stopping them. By reverting them into something other than a race of psychopathic, warmongering aliens.

Franco finished his drink, and stood, and stretched. He placed his glass down with a
clack.
"Come on, little lady," he said, and stooping, picked Pippa up in his arms. She was surprisingly light, considering her strength and iron, and Franco carried her down the corridor. Her hair was in his face, and it smelt good. He shifted to the right, and her skin glowed, and this, too smelt good.

"
No,"
he growled, and lifted his head, and carried Pippa's lithe form through to her sleeping quarters. The door closed behind him with a tiny
click.
He laid her out on the bed. There. Beautiful. A goddess.

Franco sat down next to her, and gazed at her face.

In sleep, she was younger. Carefree. The lines of stress and iron were gone. She looked like... looked like any ordinary beautiful young woman. Franco traced a line down her face with his finger, and sighed, recognising how truly complex she was - inside her skull. An emotional wreckage. A social misfit. A psychological conundrum.

"Mmm?" she said, and her eyes fluttered open. "Franco?"

"I put you to bed."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"Come here."

"Now wait a minute..."

She grabbed him, stronger than him, and pulled him down into a kiss. A long, lingering, gentle kiss. Then she rolled over, and started to snore gently, fingers twisting through the thin silk sheets.

Franco got up, stepped out into the corridor, and closed the door behind him - with an act of iron will.

"Hot damn and bloody bollocks," he muttered, shaking his head. "I need another drink!"

Franco awoke, groggy in his airblankets, and yawned a long, long yawn.
Gods, that feels good. Good to sleep so deep. Good to have good dreams. Good to feel so... fresh!
He thought back to the previous night. To Pippa. And whereas one side of him, an old side of him, would have said
shit that's an opportunity for love wasted, and a real chance to piss Pippa right the hell off,
another side of him, a new, mature side of him, thought,
it was the right thing to do, a good thing to do. She's damaged goods. She needs some loving. Not Franco Big Boy loving, but real loving...

Franco sat up, and stretched, and froze.

Pippa sat cross-legged on the end of his bed, one of her yukana swords across her lap. Her face was down, eyes hidden, body tense. Franco was instantly fired with warning screams. This was not a good situation. This screamed murder...

"Er..." he said.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"I most certainly
am not,"
snapped Franco.

"You could have done anything."

"I could have done anything, yes, and chose to do
nothing,
ya idiot. You got drunk. You talked about Keenan. I put you to bed. End of. And if you don't believe me, go ahead, cut my fucking head off. I'm sick of being the underdog. Sick of being labelled unfairly. I am" - he puffed out his chest, quite a feat from a sitting position in bed - "a newly baptised
honourable man!
"

"So
nothing
happened?"

"Well, you kissed me."

There was a
hiss
as yukana cleared scabbard. Pippa's head came up. Her eyes were glowing.

"And that was it. I love you, Pippa. And yeah, giving you a good old Franco-time is very high at the top of my sexual fantasy wish-list, but believe me, taking it like that - no, not even an option, love."

"Bullshit."

"Why?"

"Because... because I fucking
know
you, Franco! I know what a sexual deviant you are! I know the places you've been, the things you've done, the
aliens
you've done..."

Franco met Pippa's gaze. He smiled. A warm, friendly smile. "Trust me," he said, simply.

Pippa suddenly frowned and leapt from the bed, holding up her hand. "Something's wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Outside."

Pippa padded through the ship, Franco following in his underpants. Pippa moved down the ramp, out into a fresh, crisp, wild morning breeze blowing through the mountains and carrying the smell of snow.

Franco stood at the top of the ramp, bemused, as Pippa moved onto the rock plateau and stood, sword at the ready, second yukana sheathed on her back. She was rigid, poised, readying for combat.

"Is she feeling alright?" he muttered.

"My analysis is that she has a bad hangover," said Alice, voice soothing.

Tarly appeared behind Franco, yawning, red curls tousled, skin sleep-warmed. She looked at Pippa, then to Franco. "Something I need to know about, soldier?"

"Er, Pippa going slightly mad? Stuff this, you fancy joining me for a coffee?" But even as he spoke, there came a tiny noise, a scattering of loose stones over icy rock, and a figure climbed into view. It was tall, lithe, clad completely in black. He, or she, wore a mask covering the entire face, and like Pippa, carried two yukana swords.

"Alice?" said Tarly. "Early warning signals are important, yes?"

"This creature is not registering on any scanners."

"Impossible," snapped Tarly.

"Fact," said Alice.

Franco sighed and cracked his knuckles. "I'll go and get my guns, shall I?" he said. "It's always the bloody same. You're just about to have breakfast and sexy chit-chat with a beautiful, scantily clad
General of Quad-Gal Military,
when some baddie comes along to ruins your morning's free juicy entertainment."

Pippa turned. "No! This is my fight."

"How'd you reckon that one, love?" frowned Franco.

"I knew she was coming."

"What? By telekinesis?"

"Just call it womanly intuition," she smiled, as the black-clad figure, breath streaming like dragon smoke, leapt forward with sword raised, bringing it slamming down - to be met by Pippa's yukana blade. A cold brittle
shring
rang out across the plateau. It sounded like shattering ice.

Both figures took a step back, studying one another, then stepped in fast to deliver a blur of sword strokes, one-two-three; both figures twirled, swords flashing in the early morning sunlight, then connected again in a grinding shower of sparks.

They stepped back. They moved slowly, in a circle, pacing like wild cats.

"They're weighing each other up," said Tarly, softly.

"I'll go and get my guns," repeated Franco.

"Pippa will be pissed."

"She'll have to be pissed, then. I'll not stand here and watch her massacred." He disappeared.

Pippa attacked, but the silent, black-clad stranger defended fast. Swords flickered out, ringing cold and sharp, and more strikes echoed as Pippa defended the stranger's counterattack, and both pulled back. They paced again, in a circle, engaged again, withdrew. Sunlight gleamed on blackened steel.

"Who are you?" said Pippa.

No answer.

They paced. The stranger attacked, and their swords clashed. Pippa's blade glittered like a striking snake. The stranger parried and counter-attacked in perfect balance.

Pippa was matched.

Franco reappeared. He now wore shorts, and carried two Kekra quad-barrelled machine pistols.

"Stand back, Pippa! I'll fill this fucker full of lead!"

"No!" said Pippa, without turning. "She's mine."

"She?"

Pippa was gleaming with sweat. She charged, their swords clashed, and the two warriors pushed in close, face to face. "Take off your mask, bitch," Pippa snarled.

"Fuck you," growled a harsh female voice, muffled by the mask.

They broke apart, kicking away from one another and performing somersaults. They landed neatly, twirling swords, and Pippa withdrew her second blade, hissing, from its scabbard. As if in mirror image, the female assailant also drew a second blade.

Franco aimed down his Kekra, and fired off a shot. There was a
ping
as it skimmed past the black-clad attacker's ear and ricocheted from a rock. The attacker did not flinch. Pippa turned and scowled at Franco.

"Do that again, and
you'll
be tasting my blade."

Franco shrugged, and grinned over at Tarly. "Bit feisty, is our little Pippa, hey?"

"So I see."

"Go on."

"What?"

"You're supposed to say,
it'll be going in my report.
Or something equally anal. That's what all you senior management types are like. I've seen it all before, so I have. You're the kind of bureaucratic motherfucker who put the
urea
into bureaucracy. As in, you're a product of piss, mate."

"Harsh, Franco."

"You boss-types bring it out in me."

The four yukanas clashed across the plateau, as Pippa and the attacker moved backwards and forwards, swordblades a blur of perpetual movement. They glittered, like lightning from storm-dark clouds. They spun and wove patterns of black and silver. The skill on show was incredible. It couldn't be long before somebody grew tired, and made a...