Tales of the Red Panda: The Android Assassins

by Gregg Taylor

  The room shown on the screen was empty but for a single man sitting at a desk. Clockwork turned one of the dials and three different rooms appeared and disappeared quickly, each fading into the other through a haze of snow-like interference. Finally the villain found the location that he wanted and the screen was filled with the colorless images of men engaged in furious debate. The volume was turned low but the meaning of the discussion was clear to both watchers.

  “You recognize this room, Mister Fenwick?” Captain Clockwork gloated. “These are the chambers of Judge Anthony West. How fortunate for you that an old friend has drawn this case. He has stalled on your behalf admirably.”

  Fenwick smiled. “Well, one tries,” he said.

  “Do not look quite so pleased, my young friend,” Clockwork hissed through his mechanical voice box. “Even as we watch, Chief O'Mally and the special prosecutor assigned to the Captain Clockwork case, a Mister Houseman, are demanding that Judge West recuse himself from this matter due to a conflict of interest. They wish to freeze your assets, raid your plants and factories and search your home.”

  “All of which will yield them nothing,” Fenwick insisted, trying not to think of just how untrue his words were. “And where will you be then?”

  “Oh, Mister Fenwick, how do you imagine I got my hands on so many of your companies' components for my machines? One of these tunnels leads into the heart of your very own industrial complex.” Clockwork's smile could be heard in his voice. “If only you knew which one.”

  Fenwick looked grave and looked at the rabbit's warren of catwalks and tunnels above him. He had been unconscious when he was brought in, and now wondered how many different exits there were, how far Clockwork's armies could travel beneath the city. The only way he would ever be found here was if it was on Captain Clockwork's terms, discovered by police to have committed suicide within his command complex moments before the police burst in to stop his reign of terror. That was how it would play out, and few would bother to deny it. Those who had stood by him, like Judge West, and Kit, would have their reputations in tatters.

  Captain Clockwork must have read his thoughts upon his face, because the shrill metallic laughter tore through the near-empty chamber again. The Red Panda's thoughts stayed with Kit for a moment. She would not have given up. He wondered just what she was planning, how violent it was and exactly how much damage it would do. He almost smiled in spite of himself. Instead he listened to the single robotic voice reverberate off every surface in the great hall.

  “Not playing to much of a crowd tonight, Clockwork?” he sneered. “No hordes of tin men to all-hail your greatness?”

  “They are otherwise engaged,” Captain Clockwork smiled, turning the dials of his tele-vision machine again until it revealed the office of the Mayor, where Ian James stood furiously lecturing His Worship on the finer points of Chief O'Mally's incompetence.

  “You see?” Clockwork gestured. “I have transmission panels hidden in the corridors of power all through this city. While Chief O'Mally lobbies for your head, Ian James calls for the Chief's on a platter. There is such balance in nature.” The villain turned sharply towards Fenwick, the cold eyes under the hood watching him for any reaction at all. “You see, a short time ago, I sent in one of my duplicates to the James Research Laboratory. Young Wentworth James himself set the new power plant to overload, and the explosion wiped out half the plant and killed a dozen men.”

  “You monster,” Fenwick said through gritted teeth.

  “Temper, temper,” Clockwork scolded. “The company will survive, in the short term. But without access to operating funds or new investment, it will be very difficult for them to rebuild. In the end they shall be forced to accept a number of offers of cut-rate investment. Partnerships that would still leave Ian James in control of the company, if only all of the interests were not owned by myself. The final transition may take a year or more, but the James Labs will belong to the Viper. There is no one now who can stop me.”

  “The police will find you, Clockwork,” Fenwick said. “They will find you and make you pay for what you have done. And so will the Red Panda.”

  “The police and the man in the mask are both shortly to have far too many problems on their hands to worry about another industrial accident,” Captain Clockwork said gleefully. “You see, August Fenwick is about to unleash another horrific attack of his mechanical monsters upon Toronto. The city will burn, Fenwick. People will die, and they will die with a curse on their lips against the man who did this to them. Your name, Fenwick. They will fall cursing you as Captain Clockwork!”

  August Fenwick leapt forward with a speed that astonished his captor, but it was to no avail. The android that had brought him from his cell now sprang to life. It had been still so long that the Red Panda had quite forgotten it was there, and it dropped him with ease with a punch to the kidneys that would have crippled a man without the skill to roll with the blow. Still, he was sent to his knees in agony.

  The crimson robes of the arch criminal brushed against Fenwick's hand as he lay prone and gasping upon the platform.

  “You are a weak little man,” Clockwork proclaimed. “It has been a pleasure destroying you thus far.” Fenwick could hear the footsteps climbing the metal stairs again. “Take him back to his cell and guard the door,” Clockwork called to the robot, “and see that you do not injure him further. It would not do for him to appear to have been beaten before his eventual suicide.”

  The mechanical man lifted August Fenwick off the floor as if he were a rag doll. “Viper!” Fenwick called. “Stop this madness! What can I offer you that will prevent the senseless slaughter of innocent people? Name your price!”

  The supervillain turned around and looked at his captive almost sadly. “Oh, Mister Fenwick,” he said. “There is nothing that you can offer me that I do not intend to take from you by force.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  Eighteen

  The taxicab roared through the streets at speeds no paying fare could ever expect to travel. Andy Parker gripped the wheel with white knuckles and pressed his foot still harder on the accelerator as he wove around the evening traffic on Bloor Street.

  In the seat next to him, Mac Tully sat relaxed with his foot up on the dashboard. Mac had been in enough scrapes now that he never seemed to get too excited until he absolutely had to, but Parker still thought he was probably showing off for the new guys in the back. Next to the oversize form of Tank Brody was a scared looking kid named Anthony that Parker hadn't worked with before. Most of the teams had been picked, with only a few leftovers, and Andy had been obliged to select one of the unknown quantities. He had chosen this gangly youth only because the Flying Squirrel had signaled him to do so behind everyone else's back, but Parker wasn't at all sure that he hadn't misinterpreted the signs. The kid seemed like a paperboy who'd taken a wrong turn. They'd been in the car two hours before they got the radio signal, and Anthony hadn't said anything that changed Parker's mind.

  The signal had roared over the radio setup only ten minutes ago, and they were close. Captain Clockwork's earlier targets had been small neighborhoods within the city. Now the word came that a legion of mechanical men were marching up Yonge Street straight through downtown, destroying everything they encountered. Parker couldn't escape the feeling that their foe had stepped up his attacks, and they might not be prepared for what lay ahead. Within the warehouse, the assembly of agents had seemed like enough to handle anything, but now they were spread out over the entire city. Parker's unit was roaring east, passing Bay and only moments from the fight, but when they arrived they might very well be the first on the scene.

  “Mac, hit the beacon, wouldya?” Parker said.

  Tully leaned forward and flipped a toggle next to the radio set. A small, red light began to flash regularly. “There we go,” Mac said cheerfully. “Now the other teams can find the car, anyway.”

  “Well, that's a load off my mind,” Brody said from the back. “
I'd hate for the cab to get towed.” Everyone laughed except Anthony.

  “Get set boys,” Parker said as he turned a hard right onto Yonge. “We should be able to see something…” Parker trailed away as they saw the street, nearly empty of people now, abandoned vehicles everywhere, and an advancing troupe of mechanical monsters just a block away. Parker coaxed still more speed out of the taxicab and closed the distance in moments. He then skidded the car to a halt, spinning it to a stop with the driver's side facing their foes less than twenty feet away. Parker threw his door open and raced around to the other side of the car for cover where Mac and Tank were crouched, waiting.

  “Where's Anthony?” Parker called. Mac pointed up, which made no sense, until Andy looked up and saw the scrawny youth on one knee on the roof of the taxicab.

  “Anthony, you wanna get down here?” Parker snapped.

  “One sec,” the boy said. And without further ado he produced perhaps the largest handgun Parker had ever seen and squeezed off five rounds of rapid fire. Brody and Mac were in no position to see the results, but to Parker it was crystal clear. Every single shot flew straight and true and hit the nearest mechanical man centre mass. The machine staggered and began to emit a small amount of black smoke, but it didn't exactly stop either. Anthony spat and dropped to the ground behind the taxicab.

  “Okay, good news is the exploding bullets work,” the boy said seriously. “The bad news is they don't work all that well.”

  “Nice shooting, Tex,” Parker said. The boy just nodded, but he seemed pleased.

  “Do we have a plan beyond hiding behind this taxicab?” Brody asked.

  “Okay,” Parker said, “here's what we do…”

  “Car!” Mac yelled, pointing up again.

  The four agents barely had time to scramble away before their vehicle was demolished by a small coupe that fell from the sky. The gas tank of the taxicab caught fire in the collision and both cars exploded.

  “Did they just throw that at us?” Anthony shouted, sounding less pleased than before.

  “Oh, man,” Mac groaned, “she's gonna kill us.”

  Parker called, “The Squirrel is the least of our problems. Let's move!”

  “Something's coming!” Tank bellowed.

  There was a furious roar closing at great speed, and the advancing mechanical men turned to face it. As they scrambled for new cover, the team of agents could see metal bodies of the tin soldiers thrown high into the air as the Pandamoblie burst through their ranks, fitted with a stylish new battering ram that none of them could remember seeing before. There did not seem to be a mark on the sleek, black roadster as it turned a hundred and eighty degrees in a controlled skid and fired four rockets from hidden chambers as it thundered to a halt.

  The rockets' flight plan did not seem to be terribly controlled but it didn't matter much, as they encountered a solid wall of tin soldiers and tore them to pieces. Shrapnel damaged a few more, and a dozen others that followed were knocked off their feet by the shock wave.

  The Squirrel stepped from the car and surveyed the scene.

  “What did you idiots do to my taxicab?” she called before climbing up the side of the building and disappearing.

  “We're dead,” Mac said, matter-of-factly.

  Parker barked orders to his men. “Kid! Lay down some covering fire! Tank! Serve up a round of grenades for our guests.”

  “Got it!” Brody yelled as Anthony's pistol blazed, and he sent the first grenade a country mile into the advancing ranks of the mechanical men, followed quickly by a second and third.

  “Maybe save a couple for the ones right in front of us,” Mac called nervously.

  “What's the difference?” Brody called as he launched another mighty toss. “They're all headed this way.”

  “I think you'll find out the difference in a minute, my son,” Mac responded, firing his automatic into the nearest unit to little effect.

  Behind them, Parker could hear the roar of another engine on the way, and knew that there would soon be more agents on the ground. He wanted to find a way to soften up the ground for them if he could.

  “Mac!” he called, dodging the flailing electric whips of an advancing machine. “What about Doctor C's toy gun?”

  “Holy cats!” Mac said, holstering his pistol. “I clean forgot!” Strapped to Tully's back was a large power generating unit, with a heavy cable on the side that fed into what appeared to all the world to be a length of pipe with a funnel on the end. Doctor Chronopolis had called it a sonic disruptor, which Mac did not think sounded violent enough, so he had named it Debora. Why this sounded more dangerous to him he did not bother to explain, but he probably secretly hoped that someone would ask him. So far no one had.

  Mac pointed the end that looked like a funnel at a cluster of mechanical men closing in on Tank Brody and released the switch that Chronopolis had told him was the safety.

  “Everybody cross your fingers!” he said, and pulled the trigger.

  None of the men could have told you exactly what came out of the funnel end of the weapon, but for twenty seconds, whatever Mac Tully pointed it at shattered as if it were made of crystal. Mac ran towards their foes laughing, the air before him seeming to blur, almost as it might over far-off roads in the summer heat. But there was no sound beyond the tearing of metal and the whooping of the agents. Just as suddenly as it began, the effect sputtered and finished.

  “Don't stop the music!” called Anthony.

  “Um… I think it's out of… whatever…,” Mac called from the position he had gained, deep within the advancing robot lines.

  “Doctor C said it recharges in an hour,” Parker called.

  “Oh, Debora,” Mac cursed, “you've finally gone and killed me.”

  There were mechanical men closing on Mac's position fast from all three sides. They seemed to be approaching cautiously, as if he had been identified as a threat, but they were rapidly losing whatever fear they might have felt. The rest of Mac's team was too far away to be of much help.

  The machine closest to Tully was one of the tin soldier models, and it swung its musket towards Mac with a graceless motion. The young agent looked vainly for any cover. Suddenly the metal skin of the monster was pierced by what appeared to be a black arrow, followed quickly by a second. Mac Tully did not ask questions, he just dropped to the ground and covered his head with his hands. He heard a series of explosions and when he looked up, all three robots lay in smoking ruins. He rolled over and saw the Flying Squirrel standing atop a nearby lampost, a large, black crossbow in her hand.

  “You wanna get off your duff there, Mac?” she asked without further comment.

  Tully scrambled back to the front line, where reinforcements were arriving and taking stock of the situation. The machines had halted their advance and seemed to be regrouping themselves as well. As he neared the assembly of agents, the Squirrel swooped in and landed beside him, the crossbow and exploding bolts strapped to her back.

  “Where did you get that?” Mac asked enviously.

  “Santa brought it to me,” she deadpanned, though it was almost true. If fact, it was one of several exotic weapons that the Boss had given her for Christmas. She was probably the only girl in the world that would have found it a romantic gesture, but she tried very hard not to think of such things just now. “How many are we up to?” she called.

  “I think sixteen,” Parker said, “with more on the way.”

  “It'll have to do,” the Squirrel said grimly. “Listen up…”

  “Squirrel!” a voice from the assembled agents called. “Look!”

  She turned around. At the far end of the block, the main line of the advancing troupe of mechanical men had begun to split to reveal a group of thirty captive men or more, each with their hands on their heads.

  “Hostages,” the Squirrel hissed in disgust. “Robots that fight like chickens. What next?”

  Electric whips flailed and the men began to move forward toward the position held by the
Flying Squirrel and her men.

  “What do you think their plan is?” Andy Parker asked her. “Some sort of ultimatum?”

  “What do we do?” one of the other team leaders called.

  “Quiet, Peaches,” the Squirrel said, “I'm trying to think.”

  The prisoners advanced slowly. There were a number of policemen, some men in suits, and perhaps a dozen that looked like workmen of some kind, all dressed in coveralls. The Squirrel scanned the advancing robots, looking for any tactical advantage.

  “Something's wrong,” Tank Brody said.

  No matter where they struck, there seemed no way to get the prisoners away from their captors before they could be cut down. This was bad.

  “Something's wrong!” Brody said again.

  “No kidding!” the Squirrel snapped, turning to Brody. “Wait! What are you doing?”

  But Brody had already completed the motion and had launched another magnetic grenade straight towards the advancing lines.

  “Are you crazy?” Kit yelled.

  “Watch!” was all Brody said. It wasn't easy to follow the path of the grenade at that distance, but the results weren't hard to see. The magnet had done its job all right, but somehow it had stuck to one of the prisoners! And as the charge detonated and the man was torn apart into scrap metal, the meaning was clear. Those weren't men at all, but Captain Clockwork's flesh-covered robots!

  “They were in perfect step,” Brody said. “Even if they'd been soldiers they couldn't have been in step that perfect.”

  A block away, their cover blown, the supposed prisoners dropped their hands from their heads and produced weapons.

  “New rule, boys!” the Flying Squirrel called as the agents hurled another volley of explosives into the coming throng. “If you don't know 'em, shoot 'em!”

  The sudden roar of gunfire could be heard miles away.

  Nineteen