by Sikes, AJ
“Or, we could just shoot you right now as traitors.”
Mr. Brand fidgeted and whipped a hand at the air. Aiden shrank back when his boss snarled.
“I’d kill ‘em if I could. Dammit, why’d I leave that chopper back—”
Aiden waited while Mr. Brand breathed out his anger and tightened his face. “Nuts. Get that viewer out, and keep your eyes peeled for any crabs around here. We need. . .”
Mr. Brand’s face drooped and he let his head hang so that his brow nearly rested on the frosty dirt.
“What do we need?” Aiden asked.
“A picture,” his boss said. “Of whatever happens next.”
Aiden followed Mr. Brand back down the line of shrubs, eyeing the scene of soldiers, prisoners, and auto-men. The opponents stood to Aiden’s right, in the corner of an open lawn. In the center of the open space sat a squat pile of brick. At the end of the bushes up ahead trees stood beside park benches, ringing the lawn like sentinels. The trees had seen a lot of years, each as big around as three men standing side by side.
As they edged farther along to the first tree and bench, Aiden kept his eyes on the brick pile. What was it? After a long slow crawl across the cold dirt and snowmelt, they reached the tree. Aiden moved up beside his boss, still eyeing the pile of bricks. He realized they were an old well half tumbled over and was about to tell Mr. Brand when he heard a shuffling behind them and a woman’s voice offering a cheerful hello.
#
“That you, Brand?” he heard a woman ask. “I thought you’d be around here.”
Conroy jerked around and stared into the darkness behind them. “This is where the bullets are, Miss Reynolds,” Brand said over his shoulder.
“Still can’t get the name right, hey?” she said, crawling up to lie beside the tree. Conroy watched her come and kept his back to the tree.
“Conroy, meet Dana Reynolds. Dana, this is Aiden Conroy. He’s one of my newsboys.”
“Pleasure,” she said, touching a finger to her brow. She’d tied her red locks back and wrapped a thick scarf around her neck.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got anything other than that sword and scatter gun, do you?” Brand asked.
“Why? You decide to join the resistance after all, or are you just waiting around for the story to happen so you can take pictures after everyone’s dead?”
Brand bristled at that and had a few words ready to go when Dana moved down the line of trees and benches and disappeared into the night.
#
The woman left them and Aiden went back to watching the soldiers and auto-men in the far corner of the park. He didn’t know who she was, but something she’d said made him think there was more he could be doing.
“We ought to go after her, don’t you think, Mr. Brand?”
“And do what, Conroy? Get our tails shot off? We’re no good to those people in a fight. For one thing, we haven’t got anything to fight with. And even if we did, do you really think you could pull the trigger? What if I’m lying there with my guts full of lead and you’re face to face with the man who shot me? What then? Do you think you could pick up a gun and give it back to him?”
Aiden hadn’t expected his boss to get so angry. He knew Mr. Brand had a rough time over there in the war. Hell, anybody who was over there had a rough time. Aiden went back to watching the soldiers and auto-men, and wondering what they were waiting for.
Why hadn’t they killed the people already, like the one with the bullhorn said? The soldiers had spaced themselves apart a little more, standing behind the auto-men still. Aiden kept his eyes on the one with the bullhorn, expecting him at any minute to lift the cone and give the order that—
A shrill cry split the night and Aiden’s eyes flashed to the soldier standing at the far end of the line. Only the soldier wasn’t there anymore. The others reacted by lifting their weapons and facing out into the park. Aiden almost felt their eyes pass over his and Mr. Brand’s position. Another scream ripped across the park and Aiden saw the next soldier fall. His chest crackled and glowed like an electric fire. The other four soldiers closed ranks now, moving into groups of two with their backs together. With two soldiers aiming their weapons at them now, the citizens moved closer together, too.
Aiden wanted to help them, to tell them to run or to rush the soldiers and take away their guns. At the same time, he knew what would happen if any of the citizens moved a muscle. Or. . .the auto-men still hadn’t moved. Aiden had half a second to wonder why when the lead soldier with the bullhorn was cut down as he lifted the cone to his mouth. His partner spun around and stepped aside to avoid his comrade’s falling body. A figure danced in the shadows and Aiden saw a glint of flame reflected off a long blade that whipped in the air and took the soldier’s head clean off his shoulders.
#
Where six soldiers had once stood, only two remained. The auto-men hadn’t moved, but the last two soldiers had. They now stood behind the line of machines. One with his back to them so he could cover the citizens with his chopper. He shouted some commands, or threats. Brand couldn’t tell which. The soldier’s partner stood directly behind one of the automatons, using it for cover while he aimed his Tommy gun into the darkness of the park. Brand couldn’t help but keep his head down to avoid the searching muzzle.
“I hope she spelled their names right,” he said.
“That lady who was here just now?” Conroy asked.
“Her name’s Dana Reynolds, remember?”
“You say it like I should know her, but—”
“I’m just telling you so you get it right when you meet her again. Now keep quiet.”
The kid hushed up and they watched the scene. The soldier facing the prisoners turned to look over his shoulder and that’s when she struck, lancing out from a group of citizens to slice the man across his chest. Firelight reflected off the steel of her blade as it swept in a downward arc and then came back up to catch the other soldier at the back of his neck. His head toppled from his shoulders and his body dropped to the ground like a sack of lead covered in crawling arcs of electricity and fire.
Brand waited to see what the auto-men would do. When they just stood there, Brand shifted his weight to his knees and rose into a half-crouch.
“Let’s go, Conroy. I think it’s the all-clear.”
The words died on his tongue and he pulled up short when he caught the hum of an airship motor. Three of the Governor’s leviathans hove into view across the neighborhood, tracking a path to the park. The people scattered, running like frightened animals around the frozen auto-men and into the open lawn. Brand cast his eyes through the crowd, but the skirted figure of Dana Reynolds wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
Tugging on Conroy’s collar, Brand moved across the lawn at a trot. As they got closer, he could see that the auto-men were armed with pistol-like weapons. A citizen broke away from the fleeing group and grappled with one of the machines, yanking on its right arm. The man kept up his efforts, but the automaton wouldn’t give up its grasp and no amount of pulling or wrenching seemed to help. Brand heard the man cursing and bit back the laugh in his heart. It was Stevie Five Sticks. Other men tried to disarm the machines as well, but their luck wasn’t any better. The auto-men didn’t fight back though. With the airships closing in, most of the citizens gave up trying to get a weapon and stampeded out of the cordoned area. Some knocked the auto-men aside, pushing them over onto the snow-crusted lawn. Some went a step further and jumped on the machines, trying to break them or just taking out their anger and aggression. Brand knew he had to stop them. Crabs crawled around the scene, darting around angry feet and falling automatons.
By the time he and Conroy got to the scene, most of the people had made it out of the cordon and formed into groups again. Those who had attacked the auto-men had given up, except for Five Sticks and tw
o others who kept up their attempts to steal a weapon from the machines. From the assembled crowd came murmurs of what to do next. Brand wanted to go to them, tell them to clear out. But his attention stayed on the three men still wrestling with the machines.
“Let’s go, Five Sticks! The smart ones are over there.”
The gathered citizens watched Brand and Conroy approach. Five Sticks looked over at them, his face darkened with pitch and a cap snugged down tight over his head. The flames behind him cast a gory halo around his head. He was dressed like a cautious saboteur, but he looked every bit a maniac.
“That you, Brand? Glad you could join us. If you’re in the running mood, go on then. We’ve still got a few things to say to the Governor.”
Five Sticks went back to wrestling with the automaton. His pals kept up their assaults, too, working on a single machine together now. One had his foot on the thing’s chest while the other yanked on the arm with the gun in it. Brand cast a wary eye at the other machines. Tesla’s terrors stood stock-still, mute and anonymous. Brand thought them almost humorous until he saw the pistols they held were smaller versions of the electric rifles.
The airships were overhead now. Two had gondolas hung heavy with gun turrets. The third was a broadcast ship, its screen aglow and megaphones blaring hokum over the streets. Brand watched them circle the corner of the park while Five Sticks and his pals did their worst to get the guns away from the automatons.
Brand opened his mouth to shout at the crazed gypsy. Instead, his tongue tasted ash and charcoal and he grabbed Conroy’s shoulder. Five Sticks wrenched on the machine’s arm and an electric bolt exploded from the weapon, burning a hole straight through the gypsy’s chest. The crowd of citizens screamed and groaned, some running off into the night, others wailing grief and falling to the ground to pound their fists into the snow and dirt.
Five Sticks fell backwards and landed on top of a fallen automaton. Sparks and fire consumed the man’s body, wrapping him in a shroud of lightning and burning him to a husk. Brand stood like a statue before the gruesome sight, his hand still on Conroy’s shoulder, hoping it would help the kid keep his legs. Conroy wavered and shook, but he stayed up. Brand felt his own knees start to give when the remaining auto-men whirred to life and lifted their weapons.
Chapter 47
Wynes raised the bullhorn to his mouth and Emma’s ears bristled against the static of his voice. “Get out of the van.”
Emma reached to set the parking brake and Wynes threw the bullhorn aside so he could jerk the Tommy gun up with both hands. Emma put her hands out on the windscreen and yelled. “The brake! I’m just setting the brake!”
“Do it slow,” Wynes shouted back. He moved off to one side and kept the chopper on her. Emma pulled the lever back and felt the brakes take the weight of the van. Eddie stayed down on the seat, breathing slow and steady.
Emma whispered through lips that she kept thin and tight. “Stay here, Eddie. It’s okay. It’s—”
“Get out,” Wynes said.
Emma cast one last frightened look at Eddie out the corner of her eye, praying Wynes wouldn’t notice. He kept the gun on her and she felt his eyes drilling into her own. Emma opened the door to the cab and dropped a foot to the ground. She held the door with both hands and lowered herself down, letting go the door and pushing it so would close. She kept her hands raised and moved to stand clear of the van, facing Wynes.
“That’s more like it,” he said. With one hand holding the Tommy gun on her, he fished a set of bracelets from the pocket of his great coat and tossed them into the gravel by her feet.
Emma picked them up and clasped them loose around her wrists. She let her voice run thick with venom. “You’ve done a fine job for the city tonight, Detective. I’m sure the Governor will reward you.”
“Didn’t you hear, Miss Farnsworth? It’s acting Underminister of Safety and Security now. And you know, I think you’re right. When I show up with a fugitive in tow, and a murderer at that. . .well, I think that acting will vanish lickety-split.”
Wynes came closer and gripped each of the rings in turn, latching them down tighter. “What about your dinge? You leave him back there, lying in the dirt like a dog?”
It took all her strength not to lash out at him. Emma set her jaw and let the rage shake through her shoulders.
“He couldn’t move. You hit too hard, and he couldn’t. . .”
“That’s all right then. I’ll have one of the boys pick him up. Let’s hope he’s got his legs back, otherwise they’ll have to drag him.”
Wynes pushed her in front of him and marched her through the yard. Emma felt the angry heat in her chest slowly cool as they walked. Anger turned to fear until a cold terror balled up inside her. They followed the gravel path to the far end, away from the tents. Off to the right, the line of tethered airships seemed to pass silent judgment on their progress, condoning and condemning at once, and Emma couldn’t tell which she preferred. She’d done everything she could think of to make things right, but it had all turned out for the worst for everyone. The people who’d helped her ended up getting hurt. Maybe it was better that Eddie was on his own. He might stand a chance of escaping now.
Emma shivered in the growing cold as Wynes directed her to stay on the gravel. She hadn’t noticed her path wavering and meandering into the dirt. Fatigue made stones of her legs and she sighed in relief when she saw their destination. A low roofed shed stood at the edge of the yard. The door was closed with a chain and padlock. A feeble light glimmered through a small window beside the door. Barrels stood in a row to the left of the shed. Beyond them were more piles and mounds of material, but here everything was stacked neatly, like it was ready for use. Raw lumber and coils of rope, lengths of chain and iron. A mound of gravel and one of sand. Beyond these Emma saw row after row of girders and two cranes standing nearby.
“Stand over by the barrels,” Wynes said.
Emma stepped to the side, still looking at all the materials piled up for the fair project. Where had it all come from? She spotted a familiar sigil on one of the cranes and felt an emptiness in her gut like she’d felt the night she found her father in his office.
“You like the view, Miss Farnsworth?”
“Oh, sure, detect— I mean, Underminister. It’s great to see my family’s contribution to the fair project.” The cranes had come from her father’s plant. No doubt much of the raw materials had been brought from there, too. She hadn’t known the plant was being demolished, but as she absorbed the scale of the fair project, taking in all the materials in the yard, the girders and chains and ropes became cast in a familiar hue. She closed her eyes and saw the mounded furniture, the filing cabinets, the desks. She saw the automatons all thrown in a heap and recognized them, like departed friends.
“It’s a pretty sight, isn’t it?” Wynes said from behind her. “Must warm your heart, knowing your old man—”
Emma rounded on him with a snarl and brought her cuffed hands up with her fingers ready to gouge his eyes out. Wynes got the Tommy gun up between them and she felt the muzzle jab her in the stomach.
“I wouldn’t, Miss Farnsworth. I really wouldn’t.”
“I would,” she said, her hands still up and her lips curled back. “But you’d like it too much, and I’ll die before I ever do you a favor. Detective.”
Emma stepped back a pace and Wynes opened the door to the shed. He motioned for her to go inside and she took a step, freezing mid-stride. Her eyes went to the bulk of the airship bobbing in the night air behind Wynes. Keeping the Tommy gun aimed at her navel, he whipped his gaze around and back.
“Oh, yeah. Thought you’d like the view this direction, too. You know what they say, Miss Farnsworth. The killer always returns to the scene of the crime. Now get in there.”
Emma stepped slow and clumsy on numb feet and with legs th
at felt ready to collapse like straws. The shed was occupied. Two figures sat in the corners to Emma’s left, framing a small pot belly stove that glowed warmth through the shed.
Wynes came in and unfastened one of Emma’s hands. He passed the cuff around a pipe that was held to the wall by the door. She felt her knees shake and her teeth rattle when Wynes latched the cuff to her wrist again. As he stepped to the door, Emma slumped against the wall and slid down to rest on the earthen floor like the other two people in the shed.
“Play nice, everyone,” Wynes said, closing the door. Emma heard him refastening the chain and padlock outside, the metal scraping against the wood of the shed door. She heard his footsteps crunch through the gravel. She heard the other prisoners murmuring. She heard the fire crackling in the stove. But all she could see was the back of Archie Falco’s head silhouetted in the cockpit of the Vigilance.
Chapter 48
Static hissed out of the broadcast ship above them and Aiden ducked without thinking. He was on his knees before he realized the auto-men still had their guns on him and Mr. Brand. The gypsy guy was dead on the ground, cooked like a sausage left on the fire. His pals had their hands up and stood face to face with two of the Tesla gearboxes. Off to the right, the crowd of people had thinned out, but a lot of folks were still there, standing eye to eye with the auto-men. Some folks seemed ready to bolt, and Aiden said a silent prayer that they wouldn’t give the machines any reason to shoot.
Just don’t move, Aiden thought. He breathed in and out and let his eyes move until he could see his boss.
Mr. Brand stood frozen, hands at his side and right in front of the lightning gun in an auto-man’s grip. Aiden wanted to whisper. The machine in front of him hadn’t fired when he ducked. On cue, the megaphones overhead crackled to life and Aiden flinched and went flat on the ground, waiting for an electric bolt to tear into his back.