"Oh, no! Kayla! What did you do?" Daremo admonished as he and Marcel rejoined the women. "We needed her to stay that way for a while longer!"
"She had, what you called, disconnected," Kayla, ignoring the hordes closing in, answered defensively, angrily jabbing her finger at the ninja's chest. "You told me that it was wrong! You said that we must not disconnect! You said we must remember who we are! It's not my fault!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Daremo saw a bald man write furiously, then whisper to a sword-wielding shocktrooper. Before the ninja could call out, the shocktrooper rammed his sword into Marcel, who screamed in pain and fell to his knees as blood gushed from the wound.
In a fluid motion, the ninja beheaded the shocktrooper and grabbed the panicked mathematician. A mad plan raced through the ninja's mind. Looking away from the bald mathematician, Daremo spat on his dagger, then turned back and held it up to his victim's throat. "Who knows what will happen to you if the fluid on my dagger enters an open wound," he hissed to the sweating scholar, who felt the moist blade on his neck. "Calculate the weak spot of that robot, just like you did to my friend's armor, and I will spare you."
Panic-stricken, the mathematician quickly calculated the location of the vulnerable spot, and informed Daremo. Striking the man unconscious with the pommel of the knife, Daremo rallied his friends together. "Aim just behind its left front leg!" the ninja instructed.
Mobius, who had finally gotten Robosphinx stable after Electronic Media's assault, charged the four Knights, sending the crowd scattering away in a panic.
Kayla's flaming arrows, Daremo's Chunyokai, and Corey's .38 all struck the weak spot at the same time. The Robosphinx kept charging at the Knights.
"Keep firing!" Daremo urged, as the steel behemoth closed range rapidly, its huge feet making the very ground tremble. He fervently hoped that the mathematician had not lied nor made an error.
A second salvo, and a third, and still the robot charged relentlessly. Marcel, still in great pain from his wounds, rose up and staggered over to join his friends. "Once more, friends, unto the breach!" he hissed as he took aim with his GodMeeter. The others prepared for one desperate, all-or-nothing attack.
Corey felt betrayed. Finally, she possessed power, but she could not use it to save their lives! It was so frustrating! What had she done to summon the power?
Instead of her .38, Corey raised her fountain pen. She pointed it at the weak spot and willed for, she knew not what, to happen.
Something did. Power flared in her arm and carried into the pen. A burst of lightning shot from the tip . right into the Robosphinx's weak point!
Sparks and smoke began pouring from the seams of the body as the robot began to fall to its "knees," the machine's momentum forcing it into the sand scant feet from the four Knights. Overcome by his wounds, Marcel collapsed to the ground. Corey rushed over and knelt by the fallen Knight, checking his wounds.
"'Tis not as wide as a church door ." he groaned.
"Oh, stop it!" Corey mumbled as she tried to stop the flow of blood. "Just don't die on us!"
With a loud boom, the head of the Sphinx detached itself and began climbing into the sky. "You may have stopped my creation," Mobius snarled over the loudspeaker. "But I shall have the final say! Look to the sky!"
The Knights looked up and saw, to their horror, a dirigible with Mobius' seal upon it. "Yes, stormers, it's one of mine! I shall rendezvous with it, while my remaining followers on the ground finish you off!"
On cue, the remains of the crowd rallied together and began closing in on the four Knights. The dirigible's Onslaught machine guns also aimed downward at the battle site.
The dirigible's Onslaughts opened fire, and the four Knights watched in amazement as members of the crowd collapsed to the ground. Another Onslaught fired at the Robosphinx head, causing it to veer away from the airship and spout black smoke.
Marcel looked skyward with curiosity, then his face broke into a grin. "By the Holy Trinity! Look up there! On the ladder of yon airship! 'Tis a bat!" Exhausted from this effort, the Hospitaller collapsed into unconsciousness.
"It's a ghost!" Kayla shouted, making a ritual hand symbol to ward off evil.
"No, it's Major Havoc!" Corey laughed with relief.
"But how?" Daremo wondered, though he, too, was delighted.
Indeed, hanging on a rope ladder that was being lowered to the ground, was the dark avenger, blazing away with a machinegun, clearing any of the remaining horde away from the four Knights. "Come on you guys, we have transportation out of here!" he shouted.
Kayla hefted the unconscious Marcel over her shoulder as Daremo and Corey climbed the ladder. In a short time, everyone was safely inside the airship. Havoc set a course north for the Mediterranean, and wounds were tended.
A few minutes later, Corey joined Daremo and Havoc in the observation room.
"How is everyone?" Daremo asked.
"Well, Kayla's found the ship's coffee machine, and Marcel is doing Hamlet's soliloquy for the prisoners that Havoc set free."
"Sounds like everything's back to normal," Daremo smiled. "and, speaking of normal, Corey, just what exactly happened to you back there?"
"Oh, you mean Electronic Media," she laughed. "Yeah. Well, I guess deep down, I was fed up with all of those lame answers that interviewees give you, stuff like 'no comment,' 'I mis-spoke,' or my favorite: 'We can neither confirm nor deny.' No straight answers, no truth. No one is willing to take responsibility for anything, or make a stand for right. A part of me really wants see the sort of black and white honesty of Havoc's realm, and I think the Nile reality used that as a foothold."
"You made a very good pulp hero," Havoc murmured.
"Skip the flattery, Major! Talk!" Corey demanded. "How did you get out of that predicament? We all saw you die. And remember how I feel about vague answers."
"No, you only thought you saw me die," Havoc replied with just a touch of smugness. "Just as the paw came down at me, I created my darkness and hit the sand. Fortunately, the paw's impact punched a hole into one of Mobius' underground chambers, and I fell in. Awful lot of sand." He pulled out his .45s and held them barrel down. A thin stream of sand poured out from them. He shook his head. "Look at this," he muttered.
"But how did you know that there was a secret chamber under the sand?" Daremo pressed, intrigued.
"I didn't," admitted Havoc. "But, hey, that Robos-phinx came from under the sand, right? So, Mobius had to have built it in a secret underground lab. Anyway, once I got my bearings, I made my way through the tunnels, pummeled the remaining shocktroopers, rescued the prisoners, found the underground hangar, hijacked the dirigible, and came to your rescue. All in a day's work, really."
Corey let out a low whistle. "Unbelievable."
"Now, if you folks would kindly drop me off at Alexandria, I can continue my fight against Mobius," Havoc announced as he cleaned his guns.
"Wait a minute," Corey interjected. "We all just got started! Why do you have to leave?"
Havoc shrugged. "I don't know; I guess you folks have your fights, and I have mine: a lonely dark crusade against Evil."
"But this is not so!" Daremo explained. "We all fight a common enemy, be he Mobius, Kanawa, or Malraux! We are all in this together. You are not alone, Major. As long as one decent person continues to resist the High Lords, you are not alone. And in our little group, we would welcome you. You need not face your darkness alone. Please, join us, for your own sake as much as ours."
Havoc looked away, staring out the observation window. At last, he looked back. "Would I have to reveal my secret identity?"
Corey and Daremo broke into wide grins. "Not unless you want to," the ninja replied.
Havoc fell silent again. "All right, I'm in," he said at last, offering them his hand, which the two Knights grasped.
"Great! I'll tell Marcel and Kayla!" Corey beamed as she dashed out of the room.
As Havoc turned back to the window to resume his contemplation, Darem
o's sharp eyes saw the avenger's reflection in the glass, and Daremo saw Havoc doing something that he had never seen the pulp hero do before.
Havoc was smiling.
* * *
"This is Radio KIRO, Cairo, with this morning's top news stories. Last night, at Giza, a group of criminals slaughtered dozens of people in order to sabotage the Great Pharaoh's newest invention. The invention, a huge robot sphinx called Khefren the Happy Sphinx, was to be loaded with food and toys to be distributed to children throughout the Empire who were orphaned by foul acts of past Storm Knights.
"More news stories after a message from our sponsor, Mobi-Krisps, the new cereal that comes in the shape of little figure 8's and sphinxes. Mobi-Krisps has eight essential vitamins, plus a secret extra flavor ingredient from the kitchens of the good Pharaoh himself! Parents, keep your children happy and obedient, and feed them Mobi-Krisps, from Sinai Foods.
"That is all from Radio KIRO, the true voice of the Nile Empire!"
Knowing the Rules, Part III
Ed Stark
After Den walked through the wreckage of my office door, I stood behind my desk, pointing his bodyguard's tommy-gun at the hallway. I didn't allow myself to move or shift my attention until I'd counted to ten — the approximate time it takes someone to go downstairs and out to the street. I didn't want any surprises.
At the count of ten, I slid over to the window, standing about where the gangster lieutenant's goon had stood during our lively "discussion." I peeked out through the curtain. Looking down on the busy Cairo street — I'd forgotten it was a Market Day afternoon—I saw a figure that looked like Den Abhibe, wearing a dark felt hat to cover his facial features. He was proceeded by a large man who, with his half-waddling, half-doubled-over gait, could only be the gorilla whose nether-regions had become acquainted with my fist.
A little payback for the already-purpling bruise on my face.
The two figures got into a small but well-kept car — I couldn't recognize its make; there aren't that many '30s cars back in Sacramento, where I come from — and started to drive off slowly into the growing crowd. At that point, I allowed myself to relax.
I looked down at my chair and cursed. I hadn't realized it before, but when Den's goon had tied me up with my phone cord, he'd ripped it out of the wall.
"Damn." I muttered, tossing the tommy-gun onto the desk. It scattered meaningless papers and other junk. Abhibe should have known better than to search my desk — I may not be an immigrant from Terra, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid.
It didn't matter anyway, I thought as I surveyed the rest of the damage done to my tiny office, he couldn't have found anything about Jennie Burban, his wife's boss, in my office anyway. She'd been and gone only just before he arrived.
The bump on my head throbbed, and I put my hand to my head. Good. No blood.
Wait a minute, my aching head reminded, she was still here.
I glanced around again, my short-term memory reasserting itself. Damn! It was hard to think with a four-alarm headache.
I needed a drink. I started to go to my "filing cabinet" and everything came back — Jennie coming into my office, her "problem" of a disappearing husband, a lot of weird stuff about amulets and spells and curses ... and a Scotch bottle upside my head!
I looked down between my feet and saw the scattered glass and liquid remains of my one true friend in all the Nile. Hey, I'm not saying I'm a booze-hound or anything, but at that moment I wished she'd used the lead pyramid paperweight that still sat on my disguised bar.
Why the hell did she bash my skull in? I thought, I'd already agreed to help her.
Alright, I'm slow sometimes, but it'd been a hard day. I was more bemoaning the loss of good Scotch than trying to figure out why yet another client was giving me a pain.
I opened my files. As I'd already supposed, there was nothing in the drawers but a bunch of useless paper —window-dressing really. I keep all my important information . well, maybe I'll keep that to myself for now.
I don't know how long I spent staring at my empty liquor cabinet — it really couldn't have been that long — but at some point I realized that a new Scotch bottle wasn't going to materialize out of nowhere.
Finally, I made a decision. A new case had been dumped in my lap, one with twists and turns and dangers greater than any I'd faced since coming to the Cairo. At the end was either a gangster's bullet and a crocodile's stomach, or a reward from a beautiful dame.
It was time for action.
I needed a drink.
I walked over and pulled my gun out of the drawer of my desk. Grabbing my shoulder-holster and a few extra cartridges, I pulled on the jacket that belied my hackneyed profession. No traditional P.I. trenchcoat for me — I wore a heavy, leather-like jacket that had a few additional surprises all its own. Checking my gun and shoving it into the holster, I stepped over my broken door and out into the hallway. At last, I had a purpose.
Scotch.
Weaving my way through crowds of merchants, customers, pickpockets, and other, less respectable, Cairo residents, I let the fresh air invigorate me.
"Mmm-mmm; fresh air, motor oil, and camel dung — just what I need." Still, walking and thinking did wonders for my headache.
I didn't make the mistake of ignoring the rest of the human flotsam that floated in the market-streets of the city. Walking through the streets of downtown Cairo with a Purpose and a Chin Held High may be all right for gangsters and shocktroopers, but for those of us who walk the middle of the road, it's as good as waving a flag and screaming, "I'm on something!"
I spent a little time fingering the wares of a cloth-merchant and sneering good-naturedly at a tobacco-merchant.
"Not taking up smoking, are you, Jackie?"
I'm glad to say I didn't jump or even turn in surprise. Truthfully, I'd been expecting to hear that seedy little voice in my ear for about a week now, but other problems had driven that expectation to the back of my brain. Still, it caught my temper.
"What do you want, you little sneakthief?" I pointedly turned away from the voice, hoping to make my disgust obvious.
A short, nearly-emaciated figure danced into my field of vision. He leaned over part of the tobaccanist's counter to meet my gaze.
"Ah, my friend Jackie; what I want has little bearing ... I am merely a servant to my master." He grinned hungrily, never taking his sharp, black eyes from mine.
I wasn't as attentive. I tossed the package I'd been pretending to inspect, nodded to the vender, and started off down the street without a word.
The little man — "Edgy" Aladda — fought to keep abreast of me as I trudged through the dense crowd. He was reasonably successful. I ignored him while keeping very aware of his position.
Edgy didn't get his nickname from his demeanor. Tools of the trade and all that.
"It is so good to see you out and about, Jackie," he said in a conversational whine, "I'd heard that you might not be coming out for a few days."
Still avoiding looking at Edgy, I did slow down a bit. Mobius' Hood! Was my life on display or something?! Edgy had heard something.
"I've been busy," I said crisply.
"Busy?" the Egyptian cackled, "I expect so, Jackie. I would hope so, for that would mean you have another case."
My heart sunk as I swerved to avoid a shill and two walking vendors. So, Edgy wasn't just curious; he had some business to take care of.
"No," I lied reflexively, "no case. Just a few visitors is all."
He cackled again, weaving first away from and then back to me in the crowd. His turban bobbed on his head and his long, white dress swept with his movements. Back at my side, he continued, "Oh, ho, Mr. Reynolds, I am so certain that is not the case," he kept cackling and I was getting annoyed as well as worried, "a woman goes in; three men go in. A woman and a man come out walking and vanish in the streets. Later, two men come out and drive away. This is a normal day at the office, Jackie?"
He was fishing, but I could tell he knew more
. "Yeah, Edgy; a normal day." I hoped he'd go on.
No such luck.
Edgy continued to walk with me, but he seemed more concerned with watching my face than saying anything. I was growing more worried and more frustrated. Edgy works for a guy named Skinny Nick, another Terran gangster of Max Burban's breed. I suppose it was too much to ask that he'd turn up missing as well.
We'd almost reached my destination — and the end of my patience — when Edgy piped up again. "Nick wants his money, Jackie. He sent me to find you."
Uh, oh. Loansharks are trouble. Even back in the States, where things are a little less predictable than in the Nile, loansharks behave by certain rules. They loan you money and, when you can't pay, they wait a little for you to beg — maybe a day. Then they "remind you." Edgy here was my reminder.
I was both concerned and relieved. I was into Skinny Nick deep. Two big and eight small (that means four hundred royals and eighty royals interest). I hadn't paid on the principle for almost three weeks. That I was that late was why I was concerned.
I was relieved that Nick had sent Edgy out here instead of a couple of bruisers in the night, as was his normal practice. Or so I was informed. I'd gotten into Nick soon after coming to Cairo. I'd tried to hide my grief for Mai Li in squandering our meager savings in gambling. I hadn't worked for months. When the money ran out, I decided to quit gambling and go back into business. But I needed money and fast — Cairo isn't nice to vagrants. Nick's information network had gotten wind of me, my problems, and my "special abilities," and I guess the shark thought he could bring a stormer on board for cheap. I met Edgy for the first time then.
Now that I'm old enough to know better, it's too late — but that's the point. Now I had to dig myself out.
Edgy broke my reverie, "You aren't very talkative, Jackie." The whine was gone from his voice. I didn't like what was left. I stopped and faced him.
"Edgy," I said as I stepped toward the side of the street, out of the crowd, "I've got a really bad headache and a face that's starting to ache. Unless you're going to add to that misery, I think you should scuttle on back to Nick and tell him . tell him I've got a line on something." I sighed. "I should be able to give him at least the interest in two days. Maybe three. I might even be able to cash out in a week." I had no idea whether this was true or not — I had no guarantee that I'd ever even see my "employer" again, let alone collect any money. But it was true enough to tell Edgy.
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