Read Cloneworld - 04 for Free Online

hungry."
    "I'll bet you are, soldier. Listen. Take this card" - she slipped him a glossy business card on wafer thin alloy - "then head out of here, turn right, and half a klick through the neon bustle, there's a place on the right called Van Gok's. You'll find everything you need right there."
    "S'everything?"
    "Trust me," smiled the ganger, and her teeth were perfectly straight, in a genetically modified kind of way.
    Franco nodded, and stumbled out into the night. This was Downtown Nechudnazzar, otherwise known as Party Town , or The Streets That Never Sleep . It was a bustling maze of neon and flesh and drugs. It was a labyrinth of decadence, of hedonism, of violence, of pleasure. It was Franco's kind of place.
    As he wandered through a violently colourful maze and haze, his mind swam. Mission? queried his inner guilt . Aah, fuck it, what mission? What difference would one night make? After all , insisted Franco's internal lack of logic, if you keep a Combat K squaddie, one so rampant and horny and downright exuberant as I, locked away like a fish in a bowl, like a tiger in a cage, like a like a like a like a stag in a shed, then you can't expect anything else than a blowout when I go on R&R, reet? Stands to reason. Like night follows day. Like salmon swim in ponds. Like octopi have nine legs and a beak. Or something. Thus, so, when Pippa sent me on this mission, alone, on my billy-o, after such a long, long, long lockdown, then she must have, must have known I'd go a bit loopy the first night, stands to reason, that's what I always do, and even though she said not to, that's what she'd would have to say, standard procedure, but she'd know I'd do the opposite and so that's okay, because she knows, so I can do it, and not get into trouble, as long as I do the mission tomorrow, and nobody'll ever be the wiser. Reet?
    Franco stopped, and blinked, and placed his hands on his hips. The thick flesh snake flowed around him, a million party people going about the business of pleasure. Franco blinked. Clarity flooded him. An epiphany took him in its fist and squeezed harder than hard. I can party. Party, baby! After all, I'm the party boy, all right!
    Franco swaggered down the street, leering at pretty women (and a few pretty aliens). As a rule, most of the gangers avoided him. It was obvious he was an off-worlder. His clothing, for a start, proclaimed him an alien to Cloneworld. And then there were the subtle pheromones that gangers exuded to attract either sexual mates, or ganger mates. On certain drugs, gangers could get high just from cloning one another...
    Franco squinted again at the alloy business card. Van Gok's. Wasn't he that bloke who cut off his nose? Or something? A poet, or summat? Used to paint poems? Or was it the one who helped fat women disguise the wobbles? And wrote that bestselling celebrity navel: Hide the Fatty ? Or maybe it was a celebrity shit? I mean, chef?
    Franco stopped. He could see Van Gok's up ahead, through the haze of sweat and heat. And gods, it was hot. Like a furnace. Hotter than Hell. But a damn sight more fun...
    Purple neon glittered. Come to Momma, said the neon letters.
    Franco tottered forward like a baby taking its first steps.
    Pippa would beat him for being such a Bad Boy!
    He brightened. Hell yes!
    Outside Van Gok's stood three tall gangers. They were identical. They had the same fluorescent purple hair, the same silvered breasts, the same powerful, beautiful features. One moved to Franco, and touched him lightly on the arm.
    "We have many pleasures inside," she said. "Pleasures of body, mind and soul, pleasures of which you could never dream, pleasures only allowable to gangers but here, you can have anything and everything, anything filtered from the magic of an infinite mind, anything you can dream, we can provide..." She licked glistening, moist lips.
    "Anything?" breathed Franco, hoarsely.
    "Anything," she crooned, her voice music.
    "Can I have sausage and horseradish?" he said,