Driftmetal IV

by J. C. Staudt

  “Thomas is out cold. And we don’t have a map of this place,” said Blaylocke.

  “The only people who need maps are the ones with no sense of direction,” I said. “I got here just fine without a map. Through the sewers, in the dark, with a couple of law-lovers breathing down my neck. I think I can find my way from one fancy-looking room to another.”

  “Why don’t we just go around the outside of the building?”

  “Duh,” I said. “Unless you want to walk down a hallway that’s on fire.”

  Blaylocke scowled. “After you.”

  “After Tom wakes up, is more like it,” I said.

  “Chester and I will carry him. You say you can get us there? Do it.”

  “I’ve never liked you, Blaylocke.”

  “I’ve never asked you to.”

  With our three crippled robots and one delirious adviser in tow, we stepped out into the rain again. The sun was setting, but the cloud cover made it impossible to tell how long it would be before dark. The bodies of our two slain adversaries were sinking into the mud. Their various augments were coming loose, making them look like dolls who have been squeezed so hard they’ve burst their stuffing. I would’ve loved to get my right hand on another one of those rifles, but if these two operatives had been armed, Thomas and I would most likely be dead.

  At the corner of the palace stood the vast kitchen gardens. Beyond those were the stables, and then the garage. I commanded the robots to smash through the wide barn doors, and we entered the hangar-like enclosure to escape the rain. After passing a fleet of motorcars polished to a spit-shine, a set of steps led us to a door, which opened onto a long raised breezeway running toward the main building. The automatons had to break through the doorframe, expanding it by a foot or two on each side.

  The openings between rooms were grander from then on; large enough for the robots to fit through. We passed a library with packed floor-to-ceiling shelves; a bright marble chamber with a piano in the center and a few chairs along the walls; a flowery drawing room; and a lesser dining hall with a short table. Outside the dining room was the palace’s main hall, whose grand marble columns I recognized. This was the way to the throne room.

  Thomas had attained semi-consciousness sometime during the trip. After seating him on the floor with his back to the wall, Blaylocke peeked into the main hall for a look. “Robots and operatives all over the place,” he said, ducking back into the room.

  “They’re still bringing in a bunch of equipment for their life support machines,” I said. I pointed to Blaylocke’s rifle. “I wish we had more of these things. What does that mode make them shoot, anyway? Have you ever seen anything like it?”

  “Some kind of thermal plasma,” said Chaz. “It’s hot enough to melt through just about anything, but it cools so rapidly it doesn’t seem to get very far.”

  “It’s the only thing that seems to do any significant damage to the automatons. Earlier today, we got into a fight in the street and managed to find a few weak spots with laser weapons, but the things are too tough for everything else.”

  “We know,” said Blaylocke. “We were here during the invasion.”

  “Then you also know that if we don’t shut this entire army down, a whole lot of people are going to die.”

  “A whole lot of techsouls…” Blaylocke muttered.

  “Yeah, techsouls. Who were people, last time I checked. And if that fire spreads through the servants’ quarters, it’ll eventually reach the attic… where there are several people we know who have no way to escape it right now.”

  “I wish… I hadn’t set that fire,” said Thomas, his head hanging between his knees.

  “Yeah… in hindsight, I have regrets about that. We didn’t have too many options. Now we only have one, and that’s getting to the synod before anything else catastrophic happens.”

  “That hallway is crawling with robots,” said Blaylocke. “How are we going to make it to the throne room?”

  “Oh, we’re getting to the throne room, alright… but not through the hallway.”

  9

  “By my estimation, this wall here should take us straight through,” I said.

  “The throne room walls are solid stone,” said Chaz. “If we take the automatons through here, the stress will be too much for them.”

  “They tore through the secret door easily enough,” I said. “How different could this be?”

  “I don’t think that was all them,” said Chaz. “We heard buzzing before the robots came through. The operatives must have used some kind of saw to weaken the stonework first.”

  I stood thinking for a moment. “How long would it take you to switch the remote from one sub-signal to another?”

  “A few minutes, at least. Why?”

  “So I can command our robots to start breaking down the wall. While they’re doing that, we switch to the Evelyns’ frequency and take control of them.”

  “Why don’t you just switch over now?” asked Blaylocke.

  I gave him a dark stare. “I’m not using the Evelyns to bust through a wall. These Deltas can run themselves into the ground, for all I care. My Evelyns are too good for grunt work.”

  “You realize you’re comparing robots to other robots, right?”

  “Shut up. Chaz, can we take control of the Evelyns now?”

  Chaz gave me his cautious look. “I can tap into the Evelyns’ sub-signal, but I can’t hijack it. Remember all those parts you brought me? Those were for hijacking… for taking over. This thing here—” he held up the remote, “—this only lets us give commands along with everyone else.”

  “So the Evelyns would still get the synod’s commands, too…”

  “Right. Except if they’re programmed in as the robots’ masters, they’ll be able to give voice commands, while we’re limited to using the remote.”

  “This has suddenly become very complicated.”

  “I was wondering why you seemed so confident.”

  “I thought you overrode that squad of operatives back in the ballroom.”

  “Nope. I just issued a command. The robots dealt with the operatives before they figured out they could still give orders.”

  “Okay, so the synod needs the same treatment. Let’s forget these three and tap into Evelyn.”

  “You want to kill them?” asked Chaz.

  “Who, the synod?”

  He nodded.

  “Of course I want to kill them. I don’t think thousands of people should die in a war that I helped start. But when people want to fight, there’s no holding them back. I’ve tried.” I ran a hand through my dripping hair. “Hard to stand in the rain without getting wet, am I right? This has become a war with two bad endings. Either Maclin wins and Roathea’s streets are policed by robots for the rest of our lives, or the Regency wins back the throne and stays as corrupt as it’s always been. All I want at this point is to get us out of here safely. And if I have to kill a bunch of creepy cyborg executives to do it, I won’t lose a wink of sleep over it.”

  Chaz sat on the floor and brought out the tools from the backpack. “The order we give has to be clear and decisive, then. It has to result in the synod being completely disabled before they have a chance to respond.”

  “Do we know for a fact that the whole synod is in the throne room right now?” asked Blaylocke. “What if they’re all in different places? And even with the synod dead, won’t the operatives just take over for them?”

  “Screw you and your logic,” I said. “Why do you have to ruin every exciting moment with discretion and forethought?”

  “I don’t know how you’ve managed to stay alive so long,” he said.

  “By not stopping to think about how likely I am to fail.”

  “That’s counterintuitive,” Blaylocke said. “Considering every possible point of failure is the only way to prevent yourself from—”

  “Everyone who wants Blaylocke to keep blabbering, raise your hand.”

  Thomas was staring off
into space while Chaz tinkered with the remote. I only had one hand I could raise, and I sure wasn’t about to do that.

  “It’s settled then,” I said. “No one cares.”

  “You say that every time I try to make a point.”

  “And it never stops being true.”

  “I’m almost done, guys,” said Chaz. “I think I’ve got it.” Just as he finished speaking, something inside the remote popped. Sparks shot two feet into the air, and a wisp of white smoke curled out. “Never mind. I’m not almost done.”

  “You’re slipping, Chaz.”

  “What’s that?” asked Thomas. He was pointing toward the far wall of the dining room.

  When I glanced over, smoke was pouring out from a vent near the room’s high ceiling. It was as foggy and gray up there as the sky outside. “The fire must’ve spread,” I said. The Civs might not need to waste their bombs on the palace.

  “And our hosts seem to know about it now,” said Blaylocke. “Operatives. Coming down the hall, this way.”

  I cursed. “Get out of sight, everyone.” I scrambled around, looking for a place to hide. The only thing in the room was the dining table, its long white tablecloth hanging almost to the floor. “Come on, Tom.” I yanked Thomas to his feet and pointed him toward the table. Then I tipped the backpack over and started sweeping Chaz’s components into it with one hand.

  “What are you doing?” he complained. “I’m right in the middle of—”

  “Get under that table,” I demanded.

  We all scurried beneath the table and pulled the cloth into place, just as a group of operatives stormed through the hallway door. They jogged past the three standing robots, giving them curious looks as they hurried through the room.

  “Tell the robots to shoot them quietly,” I whispered.

  “I’ve already started switching the sub-signal to the Evelyns’ frequency. I have no control over the Deltas anymore.”

  “Dangit, Chaz.”

  One of the operatives stopped in his tracks. He heard me, I thought, cursing to myself. He jogged over and picked something up off the rug. A transistor of some kind, or a capacitor. In our hurry, we’d missed it. The operative looked up at the robots, then down at the tiny component between his fingers. His gaze pivoted back and forth once more. Then he looked at the table.

  I pulled my face back from the edge and tried not to move. Now I could only see the operative’s boots, which turned in our direction and began to come toward the table. Blood pounded in my temples. The medallion lurched in my chest. Every breath through my lungs sounded like a gale-force wind.

  A bluff’s as good as a bullet in the right hands, I reminded myself, reaching for my empty revolver. To my left, Blaylocke was clutching the Maclin rifle, ready to spring into action. Thomas was curled up in the fetal position. Chaz clutched the backpack to himself, his eyes darting and scared.

  The operative’s boots stopped a few inches from one of the dark clawfoot chairs. We heard him lay the electronic component on the table with a shallow thud. Then he turned and jogged through the dining room’s rear door, followed closely by the other operatives.

  I inhaled deeply for what felt like the first time in days. I waited several more seconds before I lifted the edge of the tablecloth and scanned the room. All clear.

  For the next few minutes, Chaz and Thomas remained beneath the table while Blaylocke posted watch at the hall door and I stood lookout at the rear. Chaz was still a little shaken when he emerged, but I knew he’d fixed the remote by the triumphant manner in which he was holding it.

  “We all ready to go?” I asked, taking it from him.

  “Now or never,” he said.

  I pushed the call button and said the one thing I knew would work, no matter how the robots had been programmed. “Evelyn. Detain the synod and every Maclin operative in sight.” If Chaz had rebuilt this remote correctly, we’d know it soon.

  I could already hear the burgeoning sounds of chaos as I crawled beneath the table to fetch Thomas. “Tommy, you’ll have to walk on your own now, alright? I need you to look tough—pretend you didn’t just get the crap kicked out of you. We’re about to make an entrance.”

  Thomas nodded, grunting as he climbed out from his hiding place.

  We ended up taking the hallway after all. Between the dining room and the throne room, the operatives were swarming like black flies on the corpse of Maclin’s short dynasty. They hardly noticed us. They were too busy being chased down and collared by my faithful Evelyns.

  “There you are, Mr. Jakes,” said Jawhead, as we entered the throne room. He was standing a few steps from the dais, anchored within the shiny metal clutches of a Mark-Seven. Strangely, he seemed not to mind. “And you’ve managed to locate a few of your missing friends. We’ve been looking all over for you. Apparently, you feel it necessary to sow chaos wherever you go.”

  “I told you that the first time we met. Not my fault you didn’t believe me.” I leaned over and spoke to Chaz. “Why don’t you go get everyone before the place goes up in flames, ol’ buddy. Bring them out here. I think it’s time.”

  Chaz ascended the dais steps, climbed over the rubble, and disappeared down the hidden passage. While he was gone, I took a moment to study some of the equipment the synod was putting together. It seemed their goal was to turn the throne room into an audience chamber, just like the one on Maclin. The various life support systems were beginning to take shape; these included everything from a contoured chair with tubes and wires streaming out to something that amounted to a sterilized enviro-dome with its own private air supply.

  “There are many things about you that amuse me, Mr. Jakes,” Jawhead said after a moment.

  “That makes two of us,” I said, doffing my imaginary cap.

  “But the one thing that amuses me above all else is that even when your cause is hopeless, you still believe you’ve won.”

  “I like to think of myself as an optimist.”

  “A very noble thing you’ve done, bringing the Civil Regency Corps to our doorstep. Did you really think they stood a chance?”

  I pondered this. “They might be about to lose, but I think they stood a chance.”

  “They stood no greater chance than you stand now.”

  “Hey, what do I know? You’re the one with the gun to your head.”

  “The synod will rule. Your pitiful efforts will never impede that.”

  “Oh… you must think I’m here to stop you,” I said. “No, listen. I’ve thought about this a whole lot. Believe me, I have. I’ve even changed my mind a few times. But at the moment, I’m more than happy to let you all fight it out amongst yourselves. Once my friends and I make it out of here, this has nothing to do with me anymore.”

  I heard noise down the tunnel. Chaz emerged, followed by the remainder of our motley band. The Regent strode out proudly—almost bravely, even—possessed with a renewed sense of hope at the prospect of seeing his family again.

  Jawhead looked over. “Here they all are. You’ve finally come to your senses and delivered the Regent. I don’t seem to see his family, however. Has there been some mistake?”

  “The only mistake in here is that for some reason, you still think you’re in charge. I really couldn’t tell you where the Regent’s family is. Neither can he.” It was as close to a truthful lie as I could phrase it.

  “Very well,” said Jawhead. “Given the urgency of the hour, I shall accept your offer, as promised. The Regent is now our prisoner. You are free to go.”

  I had to laugh. “Not while I control the robots and you don’t,” I said, brandishing the remote. That was an outright lie, but it was a lie I was more than happy to tell under the circumstances. “Evelyn, tighten your grip on the detained.”

  The room echoed with cries of pain. As long as the synod didn’t call my bluff, this was all going to go over as smooth as butter.

  Jawhead chuckled. “I have nearly three legions at my disposal. You don’t leave here unless I say you do.
”

  “I have a feeling you’ll let us leave,” I said. “Especially since you’re coming with us. If anything happens to us, or to the Highjinks, you go down with the ship.”

  “Clever fellow,” said Jawhead. “You win, Mr. Jakes. You may take your hovercruiser and go.”

  The medallion spoke to me in its sinister, silent tones. I was on fire, now. Incited. “Oh, no. You don’t step back over the line once you’ve crossed it. I’ll see you tossed overboard—every last one of you—before I leave you here. We’re going. Now. Blaylocke, shoot anyone who resists.”

  We left. Truth was, I didn’t know exactly how many members the synod had. I didn’t even count to see how many synod members or operatives we’d apprehended. At least one for each of the Evelyns, I supposed. Through the great hall, out into the pouring rain, down the palace steps, across the lawn, up the loading bay door, and into the bowels of the Highjinks we came, our little group of ten, plus forty-odd robots carrying a mix of black-suited operatives and cybernetic synod members. Along the way, Sable and Ezra stopped to snatch up the charred wooden statue, whose blackened bits now amounted to a patch no larger than a dinner plate.

  I found my black cape in a crumpled pile in the corner of my cabin. Putting it on made me feel like a villain again. But when I followed the Regent to the brig and watched him embrace his family—thirsty, starved, and half-dead as they were—I didn’t feel so terribly evil anymore. They were alive. Alive, and safe.

  When Eliza had taken the Regent and his family to the galley for a hearty meal, we stowed our prisoners in the brig and stowed the Evelyns in the cargo bay. Before we took off, I made sure the ship had clearance. Memories of the Galeskimmer’s abrupt undoing were reminder enough for that.

  Once all was in order, we made ready to go airborne. For the span of about five minutes, I really did think I’d won. In fact, as the ship’s displacer engines heaved us off the palace lawn, I got this self-assured feeling like I didn’t just think I’d won. I had won. No sooner had I puffed out my chest and returned to the bridge in a triumphant swagger than things started to go downhill.