by Toby Frost
In the moderate uproar that followed, Smith leaned over to Rhianna. ‘It all sounds rather more, well, reasonable than we’d expected, don’t you think?’
Rhianna opened her hands. ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’
‘We are the greatest empire in space,’ Miss Chigley resumed, ‘but not when we forget our moral fibre. Vigilance is all! In our struggle for justice, we must purge our very language of subversive jargon foreign to the cause. For what is a panini but a cheese toastie with added bourgeois sentimentality? What is a cup-cake but a fairy cake that has appropriated too much icing?’
Well, Smith thought, maybe she was a bit cranky.
The door burst open. Light shot in, and a long shadow fell across the stage.
The first speaker ran for the exit, reached the door, and flew back as if hit by a battering ram. He crashed against the side of the stage and flopped half across it, dead.
A figure stalked into the hall. It was a humanoid robot, dressed like a dandy: red tailcoat, long cuffs, a walking cane in one gloved hand. The machine had one camera-eye – the other was painted onto the smooth metal of its face – and a moustache made from ornate clock hands. On top of its head sat what looked like a chimney-shaped top hat, and was in fact a small chimney.
Policemen ran forward behind it, their blue uniforms like water poured into the room, but it was the robot that Smith looked at, and recognised. It was the dandy from the bank, the one who had gunned down the robber. Mark Twelve had called him the Ringleader.
The police rushed in. Smith thought of his gun, but did not reach for it.
The Ringleader shook his head sadly. ‘What a scene. What a scene! The sight of such uproarious treachery, here in our fair city…’ He waved a hand airily. ‘It saddens my patriotic soul. Officers, you know what to do. Knock ’em down and lock ’em up!’
* * *
‘You know what the problem with this place is?’ the Ringleader inquired through the bars.
Smith looked around the cell. The bench was occupied by Carveth and Rhianna, and so it was his turn to stand up. Sitting on the floor was not a pleasant alternative. In the background, he could hear the rumble of police work, as the officers put money in the drinks machine and filled out forms. It was swelteringly hot.
‘Well,’ Smith replied, ‘It’s got you in it.’
The robot paused. He leaned in, close to the bars, and with a tiny mechanical whine, the tips of his moustache rose until they pointed to ten to two. ‘You’ve got a tongue on you, for now. Tell me something. What do you know of the great gangs of Ravnavar, my loquacious friend? The Jackhammers, the Two-Percenters, the Blueberries? Do you know what unites those deadly warriors?’
‘They’ve all got silly names?’
‘They fell to mine own hand.’ The Ringleader paused, then let out a hard, metallic laugh. ‘I like you,’ he said. ‘You’ve got some fire to you. Perhaps, when this city is mine, you will sit beside me. You, though, and you,’ he added, pointing to Carveth and Rhianna, ‘I discard. You are tepid.’ He waved a hand eloquently, like an elderly royal greeting peasants.
‘I’ve got a friend who’d like to meet you,’ Smith said. ‘You’d inspire him.’
‘To glory?’
‘To violence. His name is Suruk.’
‘A Morlock ape. I don’t dally with savages.’
‘He could turn you to scrap.’
‘Then perhaps he will present himself.’ The Ringleader gestured grandly at the roof. ‘Great men are not born: they are forged. On the streets, in the heat of battle, or, like myself, in a two-part stainless steel mould. Such men deserve the lion’s share.’
‘Did you learn that being a ringmaster?’ Smith inquired. ‘When you were learning how to dress like a clown?’
The Ringleader was silent for a moment. ‘I would… rend you limb from limb, shred you like gerbil bedding. But I will leave you here, with your view. So that when real warriors take over Ravnavar, when we take the lion’s share, you can watch it all burn. Farewell.’
He turned. Rhianna said, ‘Hey.’
The Ringleader paused and looked round. ‘You’ve got something to say to me?’
‘Yes, actually, I have.’ Rhianna stood up, lifting her skirts slightly, and strode to the bars. ‘Do they do vegan food here?’
The Ringleader turned and walked away.
‘Well,’ Rhianna demanded, turning, ‘What do we do?’
‘I don’t know.’ Carveth looked even smaller than usual: police detention seemed to be shrinking her. ‘But we’ve got to work fast. We’re stuck in jail, this robot bloke is planning some sort of coup, and I have to get back and feed my hamster.’
Smith looked out the cell window. Past the bars, he could see the street outside the station. Beyond that was the edge of the great park of Ravnavar. Behind the fence, two lancers were exercising their shadar. On the far side of the park, a young ravnaphant lumbered across the grass, having a rest between carrying classloads of children on its back.
‘I know!’ he said. ‘We could pick the lock with a hairpin. Have you got a hairpin, Rhianna?’
‘Sorry?’ Rhianna said.
Carveth leaned over. ‘You know, one of those wire things you use when you style your hair. After brushing it? As part of being tidy and hygienic? Oh, never mind.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Smith said. ‘I’ll come up with something.’
‘It’s Gerald I’m worried about,’ Carveth said. ‘He’s only got half a bottle of water.’
‘You there!’ Smith shouted through the bars. ‘Police fellows! Is Kallarn the Enforcer there? We’ve been unjustly imprisoned and my pilot’s hamster may die. I’m warning you – you don’t want to be responsible for that. Hello? Civis Britannicus sum, don’t you know. Habeas Corpus and all that. Arse,’ he added, turning away. ‘They’re not listening.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Men, we will just have to do what any good British officer would and escape.’
He walked to the window and looked out into the sunshine.
A figure strolled into view, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a sandwich board. On the front of the board, written in chalk as if by a child, were the words ‘Deliverance is close at hand’.
People steered clear – sensibly, Smith thought, for the fellow was clearly a religious loon. The figure stopped opposite the police station, looked up, and took off its hat.
It was Suruk. He smiled at the window. ‘Hey!’ Carveth shouted, and Rhianna took up the cry. ‘We’re up here!’
The alien pushed his hat down again, and his face was lost to view. Then he turned and walked away. The back of the sandwich board said ‘I have prepared a small diversion’.
Suruk disappeared into the crowd. ‘Where’d he go?’ Carveth demanded, but Smith knew that by now the old hunter would have ditched his disguise.
A thin, repetitive squeak rang out over the sound of the street below. Slowly, a box on wheels rolled between the pedestrians. The upper body of a robot protruded from the box, and it was wearing a straw boater.
‘Ices, ladies and gentlemen, finest ices! Perfect for a hot day! Special discount for officers of the law!’
‘Ice cream?’ Carveth said. ‘That’s it? That has got to be the crappest diversion ever.’
‘He’s stopped on a double yellow line,’ Smith replied.
‘Hallelujah, free at last. That’s rubbish. And it’s making me hungry.’
‘Oi!’ A large grey shape pushed through the crowd. The hulking form of Bill Sticker lumbered over to the ice-cream robot and jabbed a finger at its striped torso. ‘I bought this Cornetto off you and it shorted out my face,’ Sticker bellowed. ‘You’d better be insured for this kind of bollocks!’
Sticker grabbed the vendor and gave him a good shake. The vendor responded, perhaps unintentionally, by spraying Sticker with soft scoop. Sticker stumbled back, roaring, and struck the vendor’s box. A slew of cones rolled across the road. People stopped and made room: dogs and M’Lak spawn strained to get at the fallen
food.
A door slammed below the window, and a policeman strode out. ‘That’s enough of that,’ he cried, and he blew his whistle. ‘Stop right there, you two.’
A second officer ran out to join him, and began pushing the crowd away from the ice cream. A Labrador barked and tried to climb on him, and small dogs swarmed around his knees.
Smith tugged the bars. ‘See if you can find something to get us out of here,’ he said. ‘Maybe we can –’
A shadar jumped over the fence like a steeplechaser and landed beside the policemen. On its back, a Ravnavari Lancer struggled with the reins. The shadar opened its maw, and its tongue shot out like a catapult. With a loud thwack, the fleshy blob landed on Sticker’s metal chest and he was dragged off his feet. The beast bit Sticker around the waist, and shook its head as if to break the robot in half, snarling in triumph. People scattered; even the dogs thought better of arguing with a chameleon the size of a small dinosaur.
‘Damn it!’ the rider cried. ‘Spit that robot out!’
In the distance, sirens started to wail. The shadar roared. Dogs barked. One of the policemen slipped on the ice cream.
‘Boss?’ Carveth said, ‘Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast.’
The sirens grew closer. From the depths of the park, they were answered by a noise somewhere between a bull and a foghorn.
‘Guys?’ Rhianna began. ‘Um, guys? I think we should, you know, get down. And, like, cover our heads, maybe?’
Sixty tons of enraged ravnaphant ploughed straight through the fence. Smith would never know whether it was defending its territory from the incursion of the shadar, or just really liked ice cream, because he was too busy throwing himself on the floor next to Rhianna and Carveth.
The beast missed its target and headbutted the side of the police station. It turned on the spot, taking out most of the lower storey with its tail, and bellowed.
Suddenly, the back wall of the cell was gone. Smith staggered upright and helped Rhianna get up. Together, they hauled Carveth to her feet.
They walked out. The rubble made a convenient ramp to get to street level.
Dust rose in a cloud. The shadar spat Bill Sticker out and bounded into the distance, pursued by dogs, as a police van swung in too fast and crashed into a fire hydrant. The ice-cream robot squeaked away at high speed, followed by Bill Sticker. Somewhere, fireworks had started. Two large dogs mated furiously by the side of the road. The ravnaphant climbed onto the back of a dustcart and started to stamp it flat. Thunder rumbled in the sky.
Suruk waited under a lamppost. As Smith approached, the alien ducked down and picked something from the road.
‘Free ice cream,’ Suruk said. ‘Excellent.’
A rocket streaked into the sky. Smith brushed himself down. ‘Nice diversion, old chap. Let’s go,’ he added, ‘before anything else blows up.’
They walked, a little shakily, into the alleyway alongside the station. Suruk led the way: he seemed quite comfortable in the back streets of Ravnavar. Carveth followed, and then Rhianna. Smith took the rear. He was just beginning to think that he recognised the place when something prodded him hand in the back.
‘Hands up,’ a woman said.
He grimaced and turned around. Julia Chigley stood a few yards away, half in shadow. A massive revolver jutted out of her hand.
‘So,’ she said. ‘I saw you people creep into the meeting last night, just before the raid. I always knew we had powerful enemies.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Smith replied.
‘Alright, feeble enemies. But devious ones.’
‘Look,’ Smith said, ‘Don’t take offence, here, but it’s not you they were after. I mean, they were after you, of course, but not just you. You’re just a scapegoat. Their real enemy is someone else.’
She reached up and ran a finger around the inside of her collar. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. But their aim is to bring anarchy to the whole city.’
‘Great!’
‘Not great. Once the city is on its knees, they will blow it off the face of the Earth. Well, blow it off the face of Ravnavar, but you see what I’m saying.’
Chigley frowned, and her grip on the pistol tightened. Sunlight glinted on the metal. ‘Blow whose knees where? Does he normally talk like this?’
‘This is a good day,’ Carveth replied. ‘Look, could you put the gun down? Please?’
‘It is strongly advised,’ Suruk added.
‘No. Someone out there wants Popular Fist destroyed. I mean to fight for it. They fear our movement,’ she added.
‘Frankly, I doubt it,’ Smith replied. ‘I’ve seen a pigeon produce a more impressive movement on a statue’s head.’ He felt sweat forming on his back. A droplet crept down the side of his face, like an insect. ‘Listen, they’re trying to fit you up. Two days ago, there was a robbery at the Automated Bank. The robbers meant to leave a poster behind, purporting to be from your people. They wanted you to take the blame.’
Chigley took a step back, into the shadows. ‘Prove it.’
‘Certainly.’ Smith reached into his back pocket and took out the poster. He opened the paper up. ‘See?’
‘This is crazy. But who would mess with us? Why, we’ve got over twenty members – twenty-five, once I’ve chased the subs up.’
‘You look dangerous, but you’re too small to hit back hard,’ Smith said. ‘And now you’re on the run. Now they’ll be waiting for you to act, and when they do, you’ll be playing straight into their hands.’
‘Which would be really bad,’ Rhianna added.
Smith said, ‘Look, why don’t you just go legit? You could enter the next by-election. Post some leaflets, kiss a few babies – the sky’s the limit.’
‘Yeah,’ she replied, ‘but that wouldn’t be very exciting, would it?’ For a long moment, Chigley held them at gunpoint. Then she seemed to deflate. She lowered the gun and her shoulders drooped. ‘Who am I kidding?’ she demanded. ‘I mend photocopiers for a living. I’m no revolutionary. Here, have your gun back.’
She held out the pistol, handle-first. It was Smith’s Civiliser, presumably stolen from the police station in the chaos. He tucked it out of sight.
‘Look on the bright side,’ he said. ‘If you weren’t being oppressed by the state before, you certainly are now.’
* * *
‘Now this,’ said Mark Twelve, ‘is not exactly what I wanted to hear.’
They stood in the darkened crime den off Robot Row, surrounded by artificial vice. In the far corner, one of the robots took a massive download from the opiate cable and rolled off its couch with a sound like an accident in a saucepan factory.
‘Me neither, funnily enough,’ Smith replied. He folded his arms and looked down at the robot, ignoring the seat he had been offered. The situation was bad enough: it did not help that he had been obliged to pay the ice cream vendor for the loss of half of his stock and a straw boater, about which Suruk had been strangely evasive.
Mark Twelve sighed. He had been assembling a scrapbot out of a toy car and a teapot, and now his gloved fingers carefully set it down. ‘You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Captain Smith. My way of work, indeed, my dears, my whole lifestyle, requires a certain degree of discretion. And that’s something I cannot expect from a man who sets two dinosaurs loose outside a police station.’
Suruk raised a hand. ‘Actually, that was me. And technically, they were not dinosaurs. And you have left out the dogs and the police cars and the fire hydrant.’
‘Hey,’ Rhianna said, ‘just chill out, alright? Let’s just be still, everyone, and try to concentrate on the issue. If we all form a circle and hold hands –’
‘No!’ Twelve barked. ‘Dear lady, I will not be holding hands with anyone: I’m furious and I’ve got six arms too many. Oh, and I’m talking to a man wanted not just by the police but by a ruthless metal gangster. So no chilling out. Sorry.’
Smith said, ‘What if we get rid of the Ringleader?’
/> ‘And how would you do that? You and whose army?’
‘Well, I… hmm. Yes, you do have a point there –’
‘The People’s Army of the Popular Fist!’ Carveth exclaimed.
In a rustle of collars and creak of servos, half a dozen heads turned to her.
‘The cutting edge of discontented workforce,’ she said, almost under her breath. ‘A brigade of wild revolutionaries hell-bent on destruction and mayhem. A secretive brotherhood whose shadowy world only we can penetrate – who fight and die at our command.’
‘Bollocks,’ Mark Twelve replied. ‘But supposing it isn’t… What do you want me to do?’
‘We want your scrapbots to trail the Ringleader,’ Smith said. ‘We need to find out where he hides out, and who he’s reporting to.’
‘That could be difficult, my dears.’
‘How?’ Carveth demanded. ‘He’s a metal dandy with a bright red coat, two huge henchmen and an enormous steaming hat.’
‘I meant that it could be dangerous.’
‘Danger be damned,’ Smith replied. ‘We need your help. There’s something going on beyond mere crime. Somehow, I can’t help but suspect the lemming men are behind this. And when the lemmings are behind you, you’re usually headed for a fall.’
* * *
The insectoid house was in shadow: its inhabitants did not need light to see. The Ringleader tapped the glass of the nearest case and noticed movement, a ripple of armour plate. Slowly, the sleek head of a Procturan Ripper slid out of the dark, and its mouth opened a foot from the robot’s head, its breath misting the ferroglass between them.
‘Boo,’ said the Ringleader, and the extraterrestrial drew back into its lair. ‘Come on, boys,’ he said to the two huge shapes beside him. ‘There’s nothing impressive here.’
He led Rom and Ram out of the insectoid house and into the sunshine. Ravnavar Zoo was quiet at this time of the morning. A row of children from the local grammar school trooped past, a teacher at their head. The Ringleader touched the edge of his hat-chimney as the teacher passed. ‘A pleasant afternoon to you, madam.’
‘Yeah,’ said Rom. ‘You have a nice day.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ram. ‘Or I’ll smash your face.’