Air Pirates of Krakatoa

by Dave Robinson

  The big car pulled smoothly away from the curb. The driver was good, shifting smoothly and taking curves on the level. Doc relaxed in his seat, listening to the quiet sounds of the streets in an attempt to tell where he was going. The well-paved roads made it hard for him to tell where they were going, especially in a strange city. They drove for a while, possibly along a canal, though Doc wasn't sure.

  After about half an hour or so, they pulled off the road and into what sounded like a large room, possibly a warehouse. The engine stopped, and Doc heard the driver's door open and close as the chauffeur presumably got out of the vehicle. They sat there for at least another minute before the visitor reached up and removed Doc's blindfold.

  “You don't need that any longer.” He put the cloth on the seat and then got out of the car. Doc was about to slide over when the visitor came around and opened Doc's own door. “If you would follow me, please.”

  The car sat in a puddle of light in the middle of a fair-sized loading dock. Wooden crates lined the far wall, and there was a faint tang of oil in the air. His erstwhile visitor led Doc up a short flight of cement steps and then through a rusty metal door. They were in a dark corridor, with a cement floor and brick walls. The visitor opened a door about ten feet down the corridor on the right, and then pointed him up a flight of stairs. “Go up one flight, open the door and down the hall. It's the door at the end, you can't miss it.”

  “Aren't you coming?”

  “No, I wait here.”

  Doc shrugged and started up the stairs. Once out of the other man's sight, he clicked off his pen, stopping the tracking function. These stairs were metal, with open treads, very industrial in design. The landing was wood, as was the door at the top. Doc opened the door onto a carpeted hallway, the walls covered in wooden paneling. Another door capped the far end of the hallway, this one carved from dark wood, with a sky-scape of dragons rising from a mountain in bas-relief.

  The door opened smoothly onto a sumptuous room, dark and rich with a hint of Dragon's Blood incense in the air. The scent came from a brass burner on the sideboard, to the right of the desk that dominated the room. Sitting on the desk was the only other occupant of the room, a woman in a smartly tailored dress made from batik fabric and high heels. He thought she was Chinese, slim with long dark hair pinned in place and a half mask in the shape of a tiger.

  “Please, sit.” She gestured towards the one chair in front of the desk.

  It was cool leather, comfortably stuffed, and he found himself looking up at her as she remained on the edge of the desk. The mask covered her eyes and most of her nose, but from his current position Doc could see a little more of her face than she might have expected. She was probably older than she first appeared, at least thirty if Doc was right. “You wanted to see me?”

  She nodded, and twisted to face him, extending one of her legs along the front of the desk. “Yes, I did.” She balanced on the edge of the desk, looking him over as she displayed herself. “You may call me the Tigress.” She smiled slowly, running her tongue along her upper lip.

  “You have developed quite a reputation over the years, Doctor Vandal,” she said. “May I call you James, or do you prefer Doc?”

  “Doc will be fine.” He kept his eyes on her face, or at least her mouth, trying to read her expression.

  “Would you like a drink?” The Tigress gestured towards the sidebar. “I have some fine genever, as well as whiskey or tea.”

  “No thank you.”

  “Very well.” She slipped off the desk and poured herself a snifter of genever. “Are you sure you won't have some? It's very good.”

  “I'm not a drinker.” Doc smiled. “I prefer unclouded senses.”

  “Don't I cloud your senses?” She pouted. “At least a little?”

  “You are a beautiful woman,” he said, “but I prefer my mind engaged with beauty rather than clouded by it.”

  The Tigress dipped her head. “Well said.” She put down the drink and took a seat behind the desk. “It was too much to hope that you would be malleable. Are you sure you don't want some tea? It's Darjeeling.”

  Doc shook his head, letting her take the lead.

  “So be it.” She poured herself a small cup of tea and then slid the tray with the tea service across the desk to where he could reach it. “Feel free to help yourself if you change your mind.”

  Lifting the steaming cup, she took a deep breath before taking her first taste, and gave a contented sigh. “Ah, there's something about a good cup of tea.”

  She glanced at him, looking surprisingly normal in her half mask. “But tea wasn't why I asked you here.”

  “Then what was?”

  “Coffee,” she said bluntly. “You were with Cornelius Basingstoke when he died, and I have it on good authority that he wanted you to investigate the piracy his ships are suffering.”

  Doc raised an eyebrow. “I wasn't aware that was common knowledge.”

  “You would be surprised at what I do and do not know, Doctor Vandal.” She put her cup down so the porcelain rang. “My concern is for your intentions. What exactly do you intend to investigate? More importantly, who are you working for?”

  “I'm working for myself.” Doc leaned forward in his chair. “My cousin was killed, and I want to know why. I also want to know the reason behind the attacks on his and others' ships.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” the Tigress said, reaching for her tea cup, which was vibrating on the desk. “At least, as long as you are looking for the real reason.”

  “The real reason?” Now the teapot was vibrating as well as the cups. The snifter on the sideboard had vibrated its way almost to the edge. “What do you mean, the real reason?”

  Paneling shattered as a metal fist as wide as Doc was tall punched through the wall. Moment later, another joined it and the two metal hands started ripping the wall apart. Bricks and panels flew, as steam hissed from finger joints bigger than Doc's thigh. As the hole grew, the owner of the hands came into view, a giant metal figure at least fifty feet tall. Two searchlights glared from its head throwing painfully bright beams toward the wall.

  Glass and porcelain shattered on the floor as Doc pulled Tigress across the desk, giving her barely enough time to grab her handbag. “Time to leave.”

  Lifting her into a fireman's carry, Doc sprinted for the stairs.

  “Let me go!” Tigress pounded at his back.

  “You'll break a heel, and that will slow us down.” Doc told her, throwing open the wooden door at the end of the hall. The building shook as the automaton continued ripping the building apart. It was getting closer

  “Hang on,” he said, grabbing hold of the handrail with one hand and dropping down to the floor below. Tigress hung on as he hit the cement with a thud, bending his knees to take the worst of the shock. Doc grunted, caught between her weight and the unyielding floor, then forced himself forward.

  His earlier visitor was gone, and when he pushed through the door so was the Pierce-Arrow. In its place were damp tire tracks leading to the open doorway.

  “That's not good,” he muttered, as the Tigress slipped down from his shoulders, and removed her shoes. Reaching into her bag, she dropped a pair of slippers on the ground

  “Now I can run.” She stepped into the slippers, balancing on the balls of her feet. “Let's go.”

  Tigress took the lead, and they ran into the street. Outside, the scene was chaos. A giant metal figure stood in the canal, ripping the building apart. Smoke rose from twin stacks growing out between its shoulders, and hydraulic pistons glistened in the reflected headlights. They were so bright that the reflections off the walls almost matched daylight save for the stark shadows. The head turned slowly toward them as they ran down the street.

  It was well after midnight, and the streets were deserted. Behind them the road shook as the robot rose out of the canal and onto the pavement. They were in a native district, full of small stores and low buildings, so the robot towered above the roofs. D
espite her shorter stride, the Tigress was running quickly, but there was no way they could keep ahead of the robot. All the shops were closed, and none looked sturdy enough to stop the robot for more than a few moments.

  There were no cars on the streets, not even parked. Doc's shins hurt from the shock of landing on the cement, each step producing another spike of pain, but there was nothing he could do about it but grit his teeth and keep running. A beam of light flashed past them, and Doc pulled the Tigress behind a stack of barrels, moving on once the light had passed.

  She moved ahead of him, still wearing her mask, and peeked around a corner. Moments later, she waved him forward. “Over here.”

  Over there, was around the corner which turned out to be right next to the Tram system powerhouse. Smoke rose from the building, as the Tigress led Doc towards it. Trams sat in their bays, ready to be charged with steam for the next day's trips. “Quick, see if you can find one on a morning run,” she told him. “We need one with steam in it.”

  Doc nodded and picked up speed. The station gate was locked with a chain, but it was less than ten feet tall, so he just vaulted over it, rolling back to his feet on the other side. Looking back, the giant was still a block or two away, and the Tigress had almost reached the gate. She waved frantically for him to go on, and he dashed for the doorway.

  Approaching the building was like entering Hell. The roar of the coal fires drowned out the clanking of the robot outside the gate. It took a moment for Doc to make sense of the scene. Sweating workers threw shovelfuls of coal past the grates as others spun the valve wheels connecting steam hoses to pressure tanks. Escaping steam hissed everywhere as the air smelled of wet metal. Doc approached one of the trams, only to be stopped by one of the workers, a small dark man gesticulating wildly.

  “Pay him.” Tigress bent with her hands on her thighs, breathing deeply. “Pay the man,” she panted between breaths. Somehow, Doc wasn't sure how, she had managed to keep the mask securely in place even while running and jumping. She’d lost her bag somewhere along the way.

  Doc pulled out a handful of five and ten gulden banknotes, handing them over to the man. The worker glanced at them quickly, then pointed towards the nearest tram. As Doc helped the Tigress onto the tram, the worker disconnected the hose in a burst of steam.

  Most of the interior space was taken up by the pressure tank. Made of cast iron, it was about four feet in diameter and a good eight feet long. Apart from the controls, most of the interior was empty space with just the steam engine under the pressure vessel, low sides and a thin roof. The controls themselves were simple enough, two levers for power and brake. As soon as the worker was out of the way, Tigress gestured for Doc to take the controls while she called out to the workers to clear the tracks. He shoved the power lever all the way forward and the tram picked up speed.

  With just the two of them on board, and no cars to pull, it rattled along the tracks quickly, heading straight for the gate.

  “Brace yourself,” Tigress muttered just before they reached the barrier. The tram's wooden rails splintered, but the lock was no match for the mass of the tram car, which split the gates as they careered to freedom.

  The moment they passed the gate, Doc realized the big disadvantage of a tram. It could only go where the tracks took it, and from the looks of the switch it was taking it right towards their attacker. The tracks were solidly built and even at full power the tram wasn't going fast enough to leave the tracks. They clattered around the corner and found themselves heading straight for the automaton's feet.

  “Get ready to jump!” Doc yelled, his words barely audible over the noise of the robot.

  The machine, or perhaps its controller, seemed to know they were on board, as both eyes opened up, fixing the tram with two beams brighter than the Sun. Thankful for the roof above him, Doc shielded his eyes as best he could and peered at the machine. They were less than thirty yards away as it raised a fist to strike.

  “Now!” Their actions echoed his words as Tigress leaped onto a bale of cloth outside a small shop seconds before Doc leaped off the tram himself.

  He hit the asphalt hard, rolling on his left shoulder, and came up behind a barrel just in time to see the giant metal fist crash down on the pressure vessel. It must have hit a seam, because the whole vessel exploded in a cloud of steam and jagged spikes the vessel shattered, causing much of the tank to flash over, as the rest poured over the sides of the tram, soaking the roadway.

  Some of the shards shot upwards, clanging off the metal body. One caromed off the near searchlight, breaking the lens. Doc's side plunged into darkness just as the tram, which hadn't stopped moving, caught the robot in the shins. Even without a full load of water, the tram weighed a good fraction of a ton, knocking the robot off balance.

  Gyroscopes whined as the huge machine tottered, fighting to retain its balance. One foot came up, then back down on top of the tram. Metal bent, screeching, and the tram took the path of least resistance: rolling back the way it came taking the robot's foot with it. The sudden movement was enough to knock the robot past the limits of its gyroscopes, which stopped whining as they tumbled, taking its artificial sense of balance with them.

  Twenty-foot arms windmilled as it started to topple backwards, just a few degrees at first. Its center of gravity passed its feet and the robot crashed to the ground, flat on its back. The impact crushed the dorsal funnels as shockwaves went everywhere. Suddenly supine, the robot thrashed around like an upended turtle. Between the shocks and the flailing arms, it was all Doc could do to keep his feet. The one remaining searchlight beamed up into the sky, illuminating the clouds.

  Doc backed up against a doorway, but it was locked. Every building he could see was locked up tighter than a prison cell with shutters and shades closed tight. Nobody seemed interested in joining the fight. One window opened for just a moment, only to slam closed even more quickly than it had opened.

  Finally, the machine stopped thrashing, and the searchlight dimmed but did not go out. Doc moved slowly forward, wondering if there was someone inside, but he couldn't see an obvious hatch and no one had left the machine while he was watching. From the design, it looked a lot like the miniature flying robots that had attacked Vic in New York. The body had the same curves, and it bore a similar antenna on top of its head.

  As he got closer, he felt the heat from its torso and puffs of smoke escaped its joints. Even though it was still, something was still burning inside. From the smell, it was an oil burner, possibly driven by steam turbines. He was only about fifteen feet away from the torso when he started hearing popping and cracking sounds coming from inside.

  Doc stopped, and cocked an ear to listen.

  The robot exploded in a cloud of smoke and steam, sending huge chunks of metal everywhere. Doc tried to throw himself out of the way, but something caught the side of his head and the world flashed white before everything went black.

  #

  Vic woke to the sound of a bell and Ming looking at her. They were sharing a suite, but Ming was already out of her own bed and fully dressed.

  “Time to get up, sleepyhead,” she said brightly. “We have to meet the rest for breakfast.”

  Vic struggled upright and then threw a pillow at her tormentor. “Need coffee.”

  Ming raised a silver service with the hotel's monogram clearly visible. “It's right here, all you have to do is get up.” She poured a cup and waved it gently above the table, blowing on it softly so the aroma wafted towards Vic.

  The sheets were soft and warm, but the coffee was calling her name. Vic swung her legs over the side of the bed. As she sat up, Ming pulled the cup further back. “Bathroom first.”

  Grumbling, Vic made her way to the bathroom for her morning ablutions. Once she was back out she saw that Ming had her coffee ready and clothes laid out for her. A light skirt and blouse lay on the bed, with a feminine hat nearby.

  “Thanks, but I already have clothes.” Vic pointed towards her bag. “I was just
going to wear some khakis.”

  “You can wear khakis another day,” Ming told her. “Today you are meeting my grandfather. You will dress properly.” She didn't quite stamp her foot, but Vic could easily imagine it.

  “Fine, I'll dress up for you.” She smiled and reached for the blouse.

  It was just seven o'clock as they made their way into the dining room. Gus, Kehla, and Gilly were already seated at a large table, with a swarm of liveried waiters, but Doc was nowhere to be seen. Vic shrugged and made her way to the head of the table; if he couldn't be up on time, why should he have pride of place.

  She seated Ming to her right, and reached for her second coffee the moment she touched the chair. Doc's expression was going to be priceless. The food was delicious, especially the rolls. Breakfast conversation was light, a natural result of having been cooped up in the same airplane for the last few days. Vic was finishing off her third cup of coffee when she realized that it was quarter after seven, and Doc still wasn't here.

  “Gilly, did you see Doc this morning?” Vic asked quietly, and then turned to Gus. “How about you and Kehla, did either of you see him?”

  “Not this morning,” Kehla answered. “Gus and I were up early but there was no sign of Doc.”

  “I didn't see him either,” Gilly added, dabbing his lips with a napkin. “His bathroom backs up against mine, and I never heard the water this morning neither.”

  “That's not like Doc, not when he set the time.” Vic pushed back her chair. “I'd better go wake him up.” Ming looked like she was about to follow but Vic waved her off. “Finish eating, I can handle this.”

  Ming looked dubious, but acquiesced.

  Minutes later, Vic was standing outside Doc's room, one finger firmly on the doorbell. “Wake up sleepyhead! You're the one who wanted a breakfast meeting so why aren't you downstairs?”