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  SIM

  by

  ANDY REMIC

  This book is dedicated to

  Jason, Sharon and Baby Ellie.

  First published by ANARCHY BOOKS 2011

  Copyright © Andy Remic 2011

  Andy Remic asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Mobi ISBN: 978-1-908328-08-3

  ePUB ISBN: 978-1-908328-09-0

  PDF ISBN: 978-1-908328-10-6

  ARTWORK by Vincent Holland-Keen

  DESIGN by MONGREL

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, now or yet to be invented, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  This novel is wholly a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed herein are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and to events or places, is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE DREGS I

  I HAD A dream filled with blood in the dark hours of the nightmare night. I had a very bad dream, filled with blood and death and severance.

  I dreamt of my mother, beautiful and pure, with long flowing brown hair and bright green eyes – real eyes! Then I dreamt of them torturing my mother, dark masks silent, empty of emotion, devoid of feeling, I dreamt of them killing my mother, pumping her twitching flesh body full of bullets as she screamed and drooled and her child – her beautiful only child – screamed and screamed and screamed, to save her help her, rescue, her and the blood was all over the floor in a deep pool that ruined my fine boots, and she was stretching out for me, blood speckling her hands and her pleading whimpering face full of pain and wailing a high wail of mercy and the bastards called it purification and no SIM could stay umbilicated forever and one day the freedom had to come, and I had to break free or be forcibly broken free. And so they slaughtered my mother, and there was nothing I could do. And so I awoke.

  *

  It was dark in the dregs. It was always dark in the dregs. The streets were deserted, dilapidated buildings illuminated in the swathe of my bright bright groundcar lights, cubescrapers run–down and dropping to bits, but then the dregs were scum and this was what they deserved. The GOV curfew was a good idea and kept many of the dregs and rebpeps off the streets at night, and thus away from temptation of infiltrating city side towards State; I was one of the SIMs who regularly patrolled these areas. I did not mind because there are worse jobs for a SIM and this meant I had at least been kitted with an I–BU, as opposed to basic BUs or ATUs. I cannot think of anything worse than just fukking existing as a Menial A with BU or AU upgrades. It would be demeaning. As low as low could be.

  I cruised, waiting for trouble. There wasn’t a night that went by without some form of civil unrest in the dregs, and most of it was cooked up by the rebs, and I would have no part of it and would stamp out such reb filth wherever it crossed my path. I would uphold LAW at all times whilst employed by GOV, unto and onwards for eternity. I would kill for GOV. For that was LAW. The way it should be.

  There came a tiny click.

  The sudden, violent explosion rocked my vehicle, puncturing plated wheels and sending a shock of high dark energy through my body; my armour, of course, saved me and I saw shrapnel come howling from the darkness and with a thunderous crash it shattered my vehicle’s windscreen and I closed mech eyes as hot metal scythed exo–s, screaming fists of steel pounding my body and knocking all air from my lungs…

  I saw the figures sprint from the darkness, guns roaring and teeth flashing in the firelight – I rolled from the cockpit and hid in the beauty of darkness. The explosion had also shattered my vehicle’s lights and I studied the approaching rebs (for they had to be rebs, with high explosive like that) and drew my SMKK with grim face and grim heart and the words of LAW pounding in my skull. I waited for the right opportunity for the killing, because killing had to be done.

  One reb, a large man with a ravaged face and MKII mech eyes scanned my vehicle’s interior; the roaring flames had died down now, and only several small fires burned under one wheel arch and the buckled bonnet. The light from this danced off the reb’s metal eyes.

  I lifted my SMKK, sighted with steady hand and squeezed the trigger. A single bullet punched through the reb’s skull and his brains mushroomed from the back of his head in quite an artistic way and he stood for a moment as if in shock, then slumped face–first onto my vehicle’s buckled bonnet. I had counted twelve figures in the gloom and scanned the suddenly panicky group who were trying to locate my position. They obviously thought me dead in the blast of high explosive, but they should have known better. Flicking to spray I showered bullets at the group and watched as men and women began to scream, punched to earth, punched to sky like flailing dolls, their bodies torn and holed and ragged; blood was flowing free now and I felt the joy in my veins as injecto chemicals ran fast and unhindered and I could almost hear and feel the groovy groovy MM, as if I was killing to music, as if I was conducting an orchestra of death.

  I strode forward and counted the dead, their faces twisted in pain, their mechanical eyes out. There were seven down, two wounded. I slit the throats of the wounded rebs to save on bullets, then listening carefully, orientating, I ran off in pursuit of the other two. They were fast, but then they were reb trained and ought to be. My new k legs were doing well and I pushed them hard; I reached a junction and my eyes focused fast in the gloom, with a tiny whine. There – a sudden movement in an alleyway and I crept forward with SMKK ready and the reb made a run for it. The reb was a woman with dark hair tied back; I could distinguish her sex by the shape of her hips as she pounded along and she was fast.

  I lifted the SMKK. Pulled the trigger, ignoring the spray of spent cartridges spinning red and red hot before my face; I ejected the mag with a click and slotted in a new one in one smooth movement. The female reb had cart–wheeled to the ground filled with bullets and I moved forward and stood above her; her hands were covered in blood and she was staring at them in confusion, her mech eyes glowing, her mouth twisted but with no sound coming out. I shot her in the head, smashing one of her mechanical eyes.

  Only one reb left, now.

  I listened again, for out in the dregs sound was one of my best allies; the reb would be running scared, alone, with only the most basic of weapons. Reb weapons could not match the sheer might of GOV financed kit, and this was good for me. Still, the rebs had access to high explosive and that was dangerous enough. I pounded up the street, my k legs working hard and slid to a halt on fine rubble which scattered and clacked. I listened, and turned at distant echoes...

  There came a muffled explosion which was no–doubt my vehicle’s fuel tank igniting; I saw a flash of actinic fire laced with orange, although it was not orange, of course. I only knew of orange from the Old Tales. I, like the rest of SIMs and humans and peps on the planet, had mechanical eyes. Only animals and birds and fish had real eyes now; SIMs and humans had mechanical units which scanned light and transferred the data into signals which the brain could recognise and decode. But whereas science helped rediscover sight for a blind global population, it failed to provide sight in colour. We could all see, but only in shades of grey. We were eternally and permanently colour blind. The joy of blues and greens were now denied us. Science had not been able to discover and integrate the decoding for colour which an organic brain would understand, and as such, colour was an unattainable dream.

  There. A sound. I crept across buckled, twisted alloyconcrete and stopped. There had been a creak of wood and I knew that with all the gunfire most dregs would be as
leep or at least pretending to be; they didn’t want shooting and knew how dangerous these Justice hunts could be. I scanned the area with all senses aware; I heard footsteps, slapping alloyconcrete, and I orientated on the sound and set off in pursuit. I pushed my k legs hard and came around a corner and there she was, turning at the bottom of the street with a flash of grey.

  I heard her footsteps descending. I ran after her, glancing up at the giant structure to my left for the purpose of dreg orientation – but I didn’t recognise the crumbling brickwork because this was an area of the dregs that had once been an industrial sector and as such was not on my tour list for Leviticus 20 stuff. I pursued and found the steps with ease, and could hear her distant panting, and running down with my heavy boots echoing on metal steps I kicked open the door and dived forward, rolling to the right. Bullets exploded against the metal doorframe with bright flash sparks, and I lay there in silence, motionless, listening to her breathing…

  *

  Earlier that evening I was more calm, and sure of my future as I lay on my bed, as still as I could, breathing slow because bad dreams haunted me often and made my brain full of pain inside. I watched their little eyes peeping from the dark and I could see the light from the outside moon glinting in their eyes like tiny sparks; and they were waiting for my silence so they could come out, and so I lay there, and waited, and waited, and calmed my breathing, the good old SMKK cold in my hands, death cold and grey in my heavy gloved hands. And out they all padded! Three of them, cheeky bastards, with grey fur and one squeaked a tiny squeak and as gentle as I could I lifted my SMKK and sighted down the barrel and held my breath and held my excitement, yes the little bastards would get it this time infecting and polluting and spreading toxic on everything they touched! I pulled the trigger. The gun roared and bullets whined, hammering wood and spitting splinters and blood.

  There were several squeaks and through the smoke with my ears all hammering with the booming sound I could see their dark blood on the carpet and saw that I’d killed two of the little bastards and that should keep them away for a while, a warning like, and so I got up and stepped over to the corpses and lifted one of the mice by its tail. It was only half a mouse, its head and half of its body having been ripped away by fresh pure bullet steel, and I smiled because I hated the mice with their infestation and their promise of disease and decay, because I was a SIM and I was perfect – or as perfect as perfect could be – and these mice lived in holes under the ground and were not free like glorious I! I was free, I was SIM, I was in cool calculating ultimate control.

  My heart was hammering all hard now and to calm myself I switched on the light, reached across the bed, and switched on the GOV imposed radio. The groovy groovy MM was playing smooth and I listened, the notes entering my veins and reacting with injecto chemicals and calming my mind, calming my nerves. The groovy groovy MM was not as good – as powerful – as mandrake but it would do, would have to do; would last me until I bought mandrake from base.

  I stripped down my SMKK and cleaned it with an oiled rag, then loaded bullets into the mag and slotted the mag into its neat, precise slot. I loaded bullets into other mags which I kept on my belt and I counted them slowly so that I would always know where I stood with ammo because I didn’t want to ever be caught out in the open dregs with no weapon or ammo. That would never do for a Justice D, especially with I–BU fitted as standard kit.

  Mice.

  Oh mice! How they piss me off. They sneak into my apartment when it's dark and quiet, and I am telling you, they haunt me, taunt me, mock me with their squeaks! They infest me. They breed just so fast and so fast out here in the city but don’t get me wrong this is not a dirty apartment, just full of so many nooks and crannies there are many places to hide and breed and feed from; and I wish it was different but being a SIM means I am restricted and the GOV don’t care about vermin because they have too much to do with pep vermin out in the dregs, so I have to put up with it as best I can and waste a few bullets here and there and now and then but that's okay, I can live with that psychological scarring.

  I was set for a Leviticus 20 tour this evening down in the dregs. I oiled my gun again, carefully, examining the good anti–seize springs, and OK’d the sight with my computer which was called TEK–Q.

  ‘How’s it going, buddy?’ asked my computer as I slotted SMKK into the laser–sight lining–equipment and sat back, tapping a pen on the desktop.

  ‘Not bad,’ said I. ‘I’ve just killed a few more of the mice, fukking little peps infesting my apartment and running and shitting everywhere.’

  ‘Whoa!’ said TEK–Q. ‘A bit less of the bad language, Justice, if you don’t mind. My CPPU can’t handle it, and I’ll be a burning up in a minute!’

  Tinny laughter emanated from the speaker.

  I said nothing.

  ‘So then,’ continued TEK–Q as the thin red beam buzzed and clicked, checking the sight on my SMKK, ‘you ready for your Leviticus 20? Jolly Joker the Jolly Jokeman says the weather out there tonight is just a fine, just rolling along under a clear sky... say, you should try watching Jolly Joker sometime, he’d enlighten your life way up! He’s certainly livened my life up, he’s such a laugh...’

  ‘No,’ said I. ‘I prefer my mandrake, gives me more buzz. You know how it is with us Entropy Vets. Don’t like too much TV. TV is bad for your concentration and killing streak.’

  ‘Tut tut,’ said TEK–Q. ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, naughty Justice SIM you are. Mandrake is pretty much illegal and you shouldn’t be using it!’ TEK–Q's voice was chastising. Like an old school tutor. There was a hum, and the SMKK ejected. ‘The sight’s done, buddy budd.’

  ‘Thanks, TEK,’ I said.

  ‘No probbo, buddy. I see Snow made the news again; her mission was successful and she executed the traitor Trebxaal Infinitus–III and escaped his armed guards and robodogs and wire.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will she be coming back, buddy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You don't know that, Justice. I hope she comes back,’ said TEK–Q. ‘I’ve seen the files, and I’d like to meet her. She was rumoured to be wild, on fire! She was fire–filled snow!’ TEK–Q laughed his tinny laughter at his own tinny joke.

  ‘She was a killer,’ said I. ‘An assassin without compare. She is too dangerous... she will not be coming back, TEK. She is lost and down and mashed bones in Middle–Asia. That is a long place away. And you think the GOV will let her live after killing Trebxaal Infinitus–III?’ I shook my head, sighted down my SMKK and reached for the switch.

  ‘Off–lining, buddy budd,’ said TEK–Q. ‘Catch you next one.’ There was a hum and the power cut and I holstered my weapon.

  *

  Leviticus 20 – most of the Justice SIMs go out on Leviticus 20 tours down in the dregs and basically uphold GOV imposed curfew. It is our job. It is what we do now that Entropy is over. We do it well.

  I got off my bed and checked all armour was fully functioning OK; I’d recently had a k leg upgrade and it felt very good, superior, as far as armour went, and it would surely see me admirable service out in the dregs. All that remained was to leave the groovy groovy MM behind as it crooned soft from hidden wall speakers, and the injecto was pumping in my veins and I didn’t want to leave because I started to think again, this time of Snow having been brutally reminded of her by TEK, and I remembered all the good times we’d shared, all the fun times... but that was back then, we’d been different people. Different organisms. And she’d been different... up in her cauterised mindshell.

  I listened for a while longer, knowing that with each passing minute I was relaxing with the groovy groovy MM entering my veins and making me mellow and slowing my heart and relaxing my brain, and when I finally turned it off I was very loathe to do so because groovy groovy MM was quite addictive, but not as addictive as mandrake, which I bought illegally from Sullivan like a naughty schoolboy smoking hydroheroin behind the bike sheds.

  I swit
ched off the lights and left my apartment. As I walked slowly down the stairs I could hear MM coming from behind many other doors, because on a pep it was imposed and was good to keep order, keep control; and that web of control over society was a necessity.

  Being a Justice SIM meant I had choice, and only indulged in the groovy groovy MM when I felt I needed it. It was one of the privileges of my position and rank.

  After all, I was SIM.

  I stepped out into the night. It was frosty like an ice–white bastard. My armour was good, my armour would certainly protect and I trusted it with my life; just like one should with the best GOV armour. After all, GOV were there to help us all! Whether we wanted it, or not.

  I walked to my vehicle and climbed in, legs hissing. I fired up the engine and waited, listening to the deep rumble, enjoying the ambience, aware that all over State similar Justice SIMs were doing exactly the same thing. I slipped my vehicle in gear and moved away from my street, headlights cutting harsh slices out of the darkness as I headed wasteland side – towards the dregs.

  *

  I blinked, my mind coming back to the present in the hot violent dregs and I needed to be focused, tight, aware; or I would be a dead SIM. And dead SIM is bad SIM.

  I lay there in the crap and metal detritus, listening to the reb’s laboured breathing, but she did not come to check my body. She backed away, calming her breathing by force of will, and then she was gone, a fleeting ghost in the gloom; I tracked her direction by sound.

  So then, I mused. She was clever.

  And cautious – for a reb.

  I scouted my surroundings, checking for traps and mines, then slid soundlessly through a doorway. Above, huge rusted iron supports could be seen in the dim light from smashed windows. Broken glass littered the floor like knife shards, along with other unidentifiable debris and kipple. I circled a giant machine which had once been a press of some kind, then switching my gun to spray, took several steps forward... something hit my face and I yanked the SMKK trigger and bullets screamed like a blade–tortured banshee...