Operation_Endgame

by Pip Ballantine

  Wellington slipped out his pocket watch. "Twenty minutes after seven."

  "Who are you looking for, Professor?" Eliza asked.

  "Doctor Tomlin," she said. "Doctor Ignatius Tomlin. Ignatius is my colleague from the Lovelace Centre, the colleague I mentioned to you earlier this morning. He is far more punctual than I, and he told me this afternoon that he would be joining me tonight at a quarter past seven, here. He’s late."

  Eliza’s heart kicked in her chest. Her fingertips itched for her pounamu pistols as she asked, "Why that particular time, Professor?"

  "He had a few computations that needed his attention, so he was unable to join me for dinner. To make up for it, he promised to join me for drinks."

  "Dr Tomlin was taking his dinner early in his cabin, wasn't he?" Eliza saw the answer in Falcon's face. "Cabin?"

  "Second car. Cabin 24."

  Not tonight, Jekyll. It ends now. "Time to go, Welly."

  "Right behind you, darling," he said. "Professor, you should—"

  "—join you?" Falcon interjected, bending back her wrist. From the sleeve, a small pistol slapped into her open palm. With a quick hiss and a crackle, a transformer spun up. "But of course."

  Eliza slapped two hands over the pistol and pushed the professor’s hand down. "Professor," she hissed, "are you mad?"

  "No, just prepared."

  Wellington gave a little chortle. "I had no idea Quantum Engineering was such a dangerous profession."

  Falcon winked at him. "If you are not in danger as a professional scientist, you’re not pursuing the sciences right."

  "And exactly what is this contraption of yours?"

  With a smirk and a waggle of eyebrows, Falcon replied, "Something I’ve whipped up in my laboratory. Theoretically, I know what it could do, but I’m not so concrete on what it can actually do." She leaned into Eliza's ear and whispered in such a way that caused a trickle of electricity to slink down her spine. "Why don’t we find out together?"

  An experimental. Lovely. "Keep this mechanication of yours concealed until we can get out of here. Now then," Eliza said to each of them, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Jekyll may be preparing his next tableaux in Cabin 24, so we need to move."

  Wellington nodded before bolting for the door.

  "I was going to say inconspicuously but..." Eliza motioned with her head for Falcon to follow.

  "Is Mr Books always this impetuous?" Falcon asked.

  "Perhaps not the word I would use," Eliza said through clenched teeth. He was up ahead, moving quickly through the train. Reaching into the folds of her dress, she slipped her pounamu pistols free. "Concerning Jekyll, though, his judgement can be questionable."

  Through the door window, she saw he’d come to a halt. Eliza and Falcon entered the car just as he kicked at the door to Cabin 24. A blood-curdling scream worthy of any fine grand guignol came from the cabin.

  Over the cry came a man’s voice, shrill and panicked as well. "We’re in here! We’re in here!"

  "Mr Books," Falcon called, holding up her dubious sidearm. "Run."

  Wellington disappeared through the opposite car door as Falcon pulled the trigger.

  The sound assaulting Eliza’s ears defied reason. Wondering where the bass drum, Gatling gun, and screaming hyena had come from, she finally realised this aural madness came from Falcon’s palm-sized pistol. The beam emitting from its muzzle split, creating a field of wild, swirling energy when it came into contact with the wall. As Falcon turned at her waist, the crunching of wood and grinding of metal drowned out the odd, rattling thrum-scream. Luxury and elegance tore asunder, removing the wall completely and revealing a diorama of what was happening in Cabin 24.

  Then, the crunching of wood and metal stopped.

  The screaming ceased.

  The calls for help went quiet.

  "So that’s what it does," Falcon said, eyeing the diminutive pistol with delight.

  In Cabin 24 Ashe Robbins was dressed in high boots, a revealing blouse, and tight-fitting breeches. Around the actress’ waist was an ill-fitting gun belt with toy pistols that had green handles. Her cheeks had a good amount of rouge on them but there were lines of black running through it. She had been sobbing. Sharing this macabre stage with her was a man about Wellington’s height, or at least made to be so, with books secured to his shoes in a slapdash fashion. The suit he wore swallowed him whole as did the bowler he wore. If Eliza had not known there was a grown man wearing the suit, she would have thought it was a child playing dress up.

  It was when Wellington emerged from the far door of the car that the director and sole audience of whatever was transpiring between Miss Robbins and Doctor Tomlin picked himself up from the floor. He was clutching what remained of the high back chair he had been sitting in. Tendrils of smoke rose from the man’s scorched shoulder as he spoke her partner. "Ah, Wellington," Jekyll spoke cheerily, "come to enjoy the show? We were about to get to the good part."

  He turned to face Eliza and Falcon, and from behind her, the adventurous professor let out a gasp that was part exclamation and part shock. Jekyll’s chef’s frock sported modest stains from the night’s repast, but there were also a few smears that Eliza recognised straight away as blood. That did not bode well.

  "Ladies…." Jekyll smiled an impossible smile. Teeth that were far too long and far too sharp for a human jaw, grew more visible as the corners of his mouth stretched further and further back towards his ears.

  Instinct took hold, and Eliza’s grip on her own pistols tightened, but she caught a movement in the corner of her eye. With a quick, hard shoulder check that would have made a rugby back quite proud, she knocked Professor Falcon over, thwarting her shot intended for Jekyll. This was not Eliza saving Jekyll, but an apprehension. They needed to take him alive—however that might go.

  He inclined his head towards Wellington, still at the opposite end of the car. So they at least had him confined between the two of them; his chemically enhanced strength and agility against Eliza’s and Wellington’s aim.

  Could the chase be—

  The mad scientist’s eyes locked with hers and his smile stretched a fraction more, and that was when her eyes caught sight of the small box in his right hand.

  Of course, she thought. If he had access to the passengers, he would have access to the crew. All parts of it, including...

  "While I am not a cook, I am a rather clever gent as you both know," Jekyll said, his over-pronounced words sending spittle everywhere. "I garnished the conductor’s food with something special, something quite unique. So unique that it could prove hazardous to his health if he does receive an antidote." From his jacket’s inside pocket, he held up a small vial of red liquid. He set it on a small table nearby, then held up the device resting in the palm of his hand. "That antidote will mean nothing if I throw this switch, however. Access to the engine will lock down completely. You might get through the door with some effort, but not before the Express comes into Constantinople like a gigantic bullet fired from a gun." Over his shoulder, Jekyll called, "Wellington, be a good lad and join the ladies."

  Eliza’s eyes went to her partner’s, but he gave a fractional shake of his head. Not yet.

  Jekyll gave a hard, dry laugh. "Keep your hands up where I can see them, if you please. I know Arthur raised you as quite a resourceful lad."

  Wellington put his hands up to frame his face, his footsteps silent as he slipped by Jekyll. The madman’s gaze never left Eliza’s, his eyes fixed on her hands. If she even tried a shot, he would have thrown that switch.

  "Very good," Jekyll said as Wellington passed by, countering him. He winced as he did so. He was hurt. Good. "Let us not do anything hasty, yes?"

  A scream followed a rush of flesh, a decision made independent of any counsel or authority, as Ashe Robbins threw herself at Jekyll, wrapping her diminutive form around the monster’s forearm. The unexpected jolt caused him to drop the trigger. It clattered along the floor, just close enough to Wellington f
or him to scoop it up.

  Jekyll roared as he swung his arm back, lifting the actress off her feet. She soared back into the now-open cabin, and the mirror her body struck crunched on impact, shattering the reflection of the enraged fugitive. Robbins’ body crumpled to the floor as Jekyll sprinted for the door where Wellington had been.

  Ye gods, was he fast.

  “Falcon,” Eliza said, “get that antidote to the engine room.”

  Muttering a choice curse or two, Eliza sprinted past Wellington, making chase down the length of the OHX-1. Jekyll must have known this chase had to end, seeing as they were running out of...

  Oh. Damn.

  She took aim and fired. Jekyll stumbled into the door frame, and his head reared back just before he pushed himself forward. Maybe she had hit that mangled shoulder. Impossible to tell through the broken glass of the door ahead, but she had caught him somewhere.

  "Alive," he reminded her as he dashed past. "We need him alive."

  "Thank you for the reminder," Eliza gasped. "Nearly slipped my mind."

  They now entered the crew quarters, and Jekyll was still ahead of them, his shoulder covered in blood but doing nothing in slowing his pace. The mad scientist slipped through the final door with enough time to lock it behind him.

  Eliza pulled back the hammer of one of her pistols.

  "Save your bullets," Wellington said, his stride widening as he drew closer to the door.

  "Remember. Manners." Eliza said, stepping back. "Knock first."

  He stepped up to the door, took in one long, slow breath, and Eliza caught in Wellington’s eyes that dark stare she had once been on the receiving end in India. His kick shattered the lock and lifted the door off its hinges. "Knock, knock, Dr Jekyll," he called into the luggage car.

  Two steps in and a harsh white light blinded them both. Eliza's hair whipped her face, and her mouth suddenly watered. A thick tang of copper assailed her nostrils, tempting to take he down to her knees. She knew this sensation all too well, and amidst the assault on her physical senses, she also felt a growing dread. The haze receded from her eyes enough for her to see the electroporter swirling before them, its self-contained tempest devouring Jekyll. He disappeared just before the gate collapsed on itself and snapped shut, leaving singed suitcases and lockers rocking side to side in its wake.

  Bracing herself against a stack of crates, she rested her fist against her hip, let out a long breath and waited. She couldn’t imagine what Wellington was thinking in this moment.

  "Perhaps..." she began.

  "Do not start, Eliza."

  "I would rather not fight about this."

  "Neither would I."

  She sighed. "Do you think the Old Man is right?"

  Wellington frowned. "About what?"

  "That we are too close to this. Too close to Jekyll."

  "You think we are letting him escape?"

  "I think," Eliza said, chewing on her bottom lip, "we’re being careless."

  "I think not," came a polished accent, sharp and insistent.

  Both Eliza and Wellington looked back to the where the door swung on damaged hinges.

  "Before you ask, the conductor and I had a rather one-sided conversation. He should be administering the antidote to the engineer as we speak," Professor Falcon stated. "Now, I believe you two should take a moment to tell me all about this clever little intrigue you have pulled me into. Why don’t we start with the man who used ætherdimensional manipulation to escape because that intrigues me greatly."

  Chapter Fourteen

  In Which a Genius Devises a Clever Plan

  Electricity once thrilled him to the core. Something about that strange metallic scent made his mouth water and the hair on his arms stand on end. It intoxicated him like a fine scotch or brandy. That signature odour of raw power conjured and controlled by Man was more than just the smell of innovation. It was the smell of success. The smell of money.

  Electricity had been the innovation that made him who he was: the brightest scientific mind in the world. In the truest sense it defined him—and certainly not that mad Tesla fellow.

  Now, the electricity in the air turned Edison’s blood cold, caused his heart to hammer against his chest, and made his palms sweat. From the sharp tang, it wasn’t a Shocker on the blink. The scent was his captor returning from the hunt, and Edison knew there would be something new for him to do.

  The simple act of sitting up in his bed activated the two Shockers standing guard in his room. Their eyes turned from green to yellow as both metallic heads swivelled in his direction. Once they had acquired their target, their bodies followed suit. Their odd movement of head first, body after was unsettling—a flaw he had left in deliberately for just that reason. However, now that he was the prisoner, Edison made a mental note: the independent movement between head and body had to go. He’d make it more natural next time.

  When the lock to his room disengaged, the Shockers’ eyes went from yellow to red. Edison took a deep breath, tried to imagine himself somewhere other than a dungeon in Paris. With the Shockers on high alert, any sudden movement—even the most remote sign of a threat—and they would strike.

  "Security Protocol HJ EH 101,” a dreadfully familiar voice boomed out.

  Dr Henry Jekyll entered Edison’s quarters and glanced only for a moment at the surrounding automatons. Once the sentries’ eyes returned to the amber "Caution" glow, he turned to face Edison. "Thomas, how are you today?"

  Even with the Shockers powered down, Edison was still in defensive mode. He did not care feeling the Shockers’ wrath. Dr Henry Jekyll’s? Even less.

  Still, it was better to play to the man’s volatile ego. "As good as a captive can be," Edison replied. "Considering that I can only see this room and the adjoining bath, it is just another delightful day in Paris."

  Jekyll chuckled. "Captivity has done very little to blunt that wicked sense of humour of yours, but I fear I have neglected my responsibilities. It has been some time since I came to check on you."

  "The Shockers; protocols in tending to my dietary needs are adequate. Except for Epsilon over there. He keeps burning my toast."

  The Shocker farthest from the door flashed its eyes between yellow and blue, its internal gears seeming to clatter in an almost angry fashion.

  “Ah, yes, Epsilon.” Jekyll walked up to the trembling Shocker and rapped a knuckle against its head. “On the blink. Literally. An engineering matter beyond my own scope, so I turn to your talents in this field."

  Edison held himself to the edge of the bed. "I’m going to need very specif—"

  "I have all the tools you will need. The Shockers are quite the creation, but very high maintenance," Jekyll said, motioning to the adjoining room. "If you please?"

  Edison was trying to grasp what stunned him more: that Jekyll was actually trusting him with maintenance on the Shockers, or that he actually used the word "Please."

  As he slipped out of bed, his eyes never left the closest automaton. Though its status was in safe mode, its head continued to track Edison’s every move. The other, Epsilon, on the other side of the room, hesitated, but followed him. Once the inventor entered the parlour, two of the three Shockers activated. The Shocker closest to the window, a Shocker that Edison designated as Beta, remained dark. Beta would only activate if another Shocker were to fail. He glanced over his shoulder at Epsilon and noticed the unit was limping.

  Jekyll was correct: the Shockers were one of his finest innovations, and they were designed to be high maintenance. One of his more ingenious strategies. A commission from the Pinkertons for these automaton enforcers would be lucrative, since after the prototype, they were inexpensive to create. The real money with the Shocker would be in maintenance though. Outside of himself and a select few technicians that worked for him exclusively, no one else understood or were successfully able to maintain and repair his mechanised security guards.

  “Alright then,” Edison said once he reached the centre of the parlour
, “let’s take a look at you, Epsilon.”

  Edison opened the metallic French doors built into the Shocker’s chest. Lights blinked on and off, gears clicked and kept time just as a heart would, and a number of small chassis continued to rotate without fail.

  "I was hoping this be something simple," Edison said. "Pop open the hood, look at the engine, see what’s wrong."

  Jekyll clicked his tongue. "Mechanical Engineering can be a fickle mistress." He motioned to another room that held a long table. "Would it help if you use the table?"

  Edison glanced into the dining room, looked back at Epsilon, then back to Jekyll. "That would be most appreciated. Yes."

  Jekyll motioned for a sentry to approach. "Do assist Mr Edison; carry his tools into the dining room."

  "Follow," Edison spoke in a monotone to the malfunctioning Epsilon. It took a few seconds before the unit attempted to walk. That must mean a problem in Epsilon’s internal gyroscope, or something in one of its relays. He directed the Shocker to lay down on the table. Its legs extended, inch by inch, until its knees were flush with the table surface. The knees bent back, lowering itself onto the table. Its legs then retracted to their normal height, and then the automaton was prone.

  Jekyll looked to the other Shocker, Alpha. "Just stand there," he said, "Keep an eye on Edison."

  Alpha's head turned to face backwards, and the automaton walked in a reverse direction to the far corner of the dining room. Once there, the head swivelled back to a normal, front-facing position.

  "I can trust you to bring Epsilon back to proper functioning form, yes?" Jekyll asked.

  Edison crooked a single eyebrow. "I am fully aware that you’ve turned my machines into bombs, and they will go off if I reconfigure their programming or internal mechanics in any way. So making it functional is my top priority."

  "Excellent," Jekyll said. He beamed with newfound vigour as he rubbed his hands together. "I knew I could count on you. Otherwise, it would be..."With his mouth he mimicked the sound of an explosion, wiggling his fingers as he spread his hands apart. "You really want an entire city block on your conscience, even one as shallow as yours?"