The Age Atomic es-2

by Adam Christopher

  “Welcome to my workshop!” said the King, strolling towards them. He ignored the pair of them staring at the tree, and instead moved to one of the nearby benches, on which sat a phonograph, complete with large horn. The King flicked the machine on, and the workshop was filled with jazz. “As you can see,” he continued, “I have rather a lot of equipment, but the space here is more than adequate.”

  Rad and Jennifer exchanged a look.

  “Some hobby you got,” said Rad, while Jennifer walked over to the tree.

  “Not a hobby, Mr Bradley, a vocation, a calling! My work here is very important, very important indeed. Believe me when I say that the future of the Empire State itself depends upon it.”

  “The tree,” said Jennifer, looking up at it. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

  The King walked over to her, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “The tree brings me luck. It was here before me, of course. The theater belongs to it, I think.” He pointed to a patch on the trunk that was worn smooth and shiny. “There. Rub it for luck. Go on!”

  Jennifer looked at Rad but Rad just shrugged. Jennifer rubbed the patch on the trunk as the King watched.

  “How does it grow inside, with no light, or rain?”

  The King shrugged. “It was here before me. It’s part of the theater.”

  “I think we got more important things to worry about,” said Rad. “Like the fact we’ve found the source of our robot problem.”

  “Ah yes, the robots,” said the King, rolling the “R” like a circus magician. “I’m sorry you got tangled up in that, but I did warn you not to come until very late. I can only keep the lantern lit for a few hours a night, and then it takes the rest of the day to recharge the power battery. You were lucky — my instruments reported movement a few blocks south, so I dispatched the Corsair to investigate. It seems like he reached you just in time.”

  Jennifer scratched at the slab in front of her with a gloved finger. “The Corsair?”

  “Ah, the Corsair!” said the King. “My… ah, assistant, shall we say? He’s not very talkative, but he is possessed of certain skills that come in useful.”

  Rad raised an eyebrow. “He’d make a good getaway driver.”

  The King clapped his hands. “Oh, isn’t that car something else? I built that as well. My own design, of course.”

  Jennifer said, “What does the green light do, exactly?”

  “It keeps the robots away,” said the King. “It’s not green; that’s just how we see it. But to them, the light is something else — it interferes with their sensors. More than that, in fact. I have discovered they will actively avoid it, as if it causes them pain, in some way.”

  Jennifer nodded like she understood. Rad just shook his head.

  “You’re gonna have to explain why there are robots roaming the streets in the first place. You seem to know a bit about that.”

  “Oh yes,” the King said as he walked around the stage, bending down to inspect various readouts on the workshop equipment as he passed them by. He tapped his fingers along the bench tops in time with the music. “When Wartime ended the Naval dockyards were in full production for another Fleet Day. A day which, of course, will now never come. They claimed most of the robots were deactivated, but I think you and I both know that the crews of the Ironclads are not entirely mechanical. They are men — were men — and unable to be deactivated, short of killing them. So they were released.”

  “Just like that?”

  The King clicked his fingers. “Just like that.”

  Rad and Jennifer exchanged a look, and she asked, “So why are they all up here? The Naval robot yards are a long way from Harlem.”

  “Ah, that is my doing,” said the King. “I am from downtown, actually. One night, among the chaos, I had my own little encounter. I discovered the robots — all lost, afraid, hiding in the shadows.” He held his hands out. “I decided to help them.”

  Jennifer stepped around the slab with a speed that surprised Rad. “Help them? How could you help them?” She leaned over him as she pressed her questions, her face pale.

  “Ms Jones, please! I am both an engineer and a doctor. I thought there might be a way to reverse the process of robotization. If the mechanical and electronic parts of these poor creatures could be removed, maybe the men trapped inside their steel prisons could be freed, and return to normal life.”

  Rad hrmmed. This sounded like the kind of endeavor Captain Carson would have had a hand in, being the guy who had helped invent the damn robot technology in the first place. The fact that Carson had instead vanished and this guy had set up what was starting to look like a crazy person’s backstreet robot surgery crossed Rad’s mind as not particularly good signs. He raised a hand, but stopped when he saw the look on Jennifer’s face.

  She was standing even closer to the King now, her eyes wide, her lips parted. Rad could see the rise and fall of her chest.

  “Is it true?” she asked the King, her voice a breathy whisper. “Can you save these people?”

  The King still had the smile on his face, and he nodded.

  Rad jerked his thumb over one shoulder. “What about those robots outside? They don’t look much fixed to me.” He stepped up to Jennifer and pulled her away from their host. When she looked at Rad there was a spark in her eyes: she was hot on the trail of whatever it was she was looking for. “And what about our erstwhile friend, the amazing Cliff? There’s warehouses full of robots just like him downtown, all packed up like toy soldiers, waiting for something. That anything to do with you?”

  Rad pulled the metal rod from his pocket. The King’s eyes lit up and he smiled before holding out his hand. Rad pulled his own away and shook his head. “I met a guy earlier who didn’t like the look of this little thing one bit. Was scared of it even. You care to explain why?”

  The King raised an eyebrow and slipped his hands into the pockets of his velvet jacket. “Oh, probably thought it was some bad hoodoo. My work here makes some people nervous, although I can’t think why.”

  Rad sighed and held the object out. “OK, fine, knock yourself out,” he said.

  The King took it slowly, his fingers wrapping around the cylinder. Then it quickly disappeared into a pocket.

  “Kane Fortuna,” said Rad. “Now.”

  The King nodded. “Come.”

  The King walked toward the backstage door. Rad followed, but when Jennifer moved after him the King stopped, turning on his heel and holding up a hand.

  “Ah, Ms Jones. Please make yourself comfortable here. Mr Bradley and I won’t be long.”

  Jennifer met Rad’s eye. Rad frowned.

  “Where are we going?” he asked. “Why can’t she come?”

  “Trust me,” said the King. Then he smiled the infuriating smile and turned away, vanishing through the door.

  Jennifer sighed. “I don’t like this.”

  Rad adjusted his hat. Neither did he. He glanced around the theater, his fingers playing over the pistol in his coat pocket. He was armed… but so was Jennifer. The big silver gun still hung from her hand.

  “We’ll be fine,” he said, drawing in close, his voice low. “If I can keep his majesty busy, you can take a look around, see what you can find.”

  “OK. But be careful.”

  Rad flashed a smile and knocked the brim of his hat with a knuckle. “You too,” he said. Then he followed the King through the door, wondering what he was going to say to Kane Fortuna.

  FOURTEEN

  They came to a large door, unlike any Rad had yet seen in the building, studded with rivets and reinforced with bolted metal plates. As they paused, Rad could hear a sound close by, what sounded like bellows, or machinery. Heat wafted off the door. There must have been a boiler or a furnace beyond it, providing the King with his own prodigious power source.

  The King placed a hand on the door’s handle and turned to Rad.

  “We are here.”

  The room beyond was large and low: another workshop, almost
identical to the one on the theater stage upstairs, although crowded, messy. The walls were lined with electrical equipment in more of the tall cabinets, and there were workbenches, toolboxes, and stacks of robot parts. The difference here was that these parts looked new, freshly fabricated, their metal surfaces unblemished and shining.

  The King gestured for Rad to enter first. The detective raised an eyebrow and stepped across the threshold.

  There were three slab-like tables here, as on the stage upstairs, but they were occupied by long metal boxes that fitted their tops nearly perfectly, leaving just an edge two inches deep on all side. The boxes hummed and ticked: machines rather than just containers. Rad stood still, listening, as the unmistakable sound of someone breathing heavily, as though in sleep, filled the air. Rad threaded his way between the workshop benches until he was at the head of the slabs.

  Two of the three machines were empty. He gave them only a cursory glance. The middle slab had his attention.

  The man was young, brown hair greased and damp with sweat, big eyes closed, their lids and surrounds dull red. His chin was covered with a green encrustation that, along with the faint tang in the air, reminded Rad of the barkeep he’d met in Harlem what felt like a million years ago.

  Rad swore under his breath, and took off his hat to rub his head. His scalp was crawling with beaded sweat, the adrenaline-fuelled fight-or-flight response that had kicked in somewhere in the theater upstairs now threatening to make his heart leap out of his ribcage.

  The man in the machine rolled his head, and his eyes flickered open. Rad’s own were wide, his jaw was loose, and he couldn’t find anything to say.

  “Rad? Is that you?”

  Rad remembered how his tongue worked. “Kane Fortuna. All my days.”

  Kane smiled and closed his eyes. “Nice to see you too, partner.”

  FIFTEEN

  Jennifer traced her fingers along the painted brickwork as she explored the corridors of the King’s bizarre theater complex. She’d retraced her steps back to the former lobby and had then taken one of several plain doors that clearly led into what would have been the hidden workings of the theater, the areas not meant for public view. Behind the tattered but still decorative facade of the theater, the corridors were plain and the rooms she had found so far functional and mostly empty.

  She was surprised to find herself alone, left to her own devices, the King apparently confident that she would be a good little woman and sit in the main workshop like she’d been told. Like the fact that she was a Special Agent operating on behalf of the City Commissioners somehow didn’t matter.

  Jennifer stopped in the corridor, and smiled to herself. Of course, that had been a little lie. But sometimes little lies got you places a lot quicker than otherwise. And besides, it wasn’t entirely incorrect; it was just… well, just a little out of date. But the King was a crook and a crazy person who was going to help her, had to help her, so what did it matter.

  And Rad was right — with the King otherwise occupied, it was the perfect opportunity to search the place.

  Rad Bradley, private detective extraordinaire. He was a nice guy. He was going to be disappointed when he found out who she really was, but that didn’t matter. Because when that time came, Jennifer hoped to have solved the little mystery at the heart of Harlem and to have found her brother, James, and that was all that mattered. And the answer lay somewhere inside the King’s theater, she was sure of it.

  Jennifer took a breath and ventured onwards.

  She’d been working on her own for a long time, too long. She still remembered the day of chaos, the day the Empire State Building had been torn apart from the inside-out. In the aftermath there had been no one to stop her borrowing one or two things, like the experimental silver gun that swung heavily from her right hand. That, and as much of the surveillance data on the robot gangs as she could stuff into an old briefcase without anyone noticing what was missing. And the logs from the naval robot yards, the ones indicating that James had gone in but that his section hadn’t begun processing before a halt was called to the operation.

  The risk was worth it, as had been calling Rad. That had paid off in spades, because he had led her to the King, which would lead her to her brother, she was sure of it. And once she’d found him and got him to safety, she and the detective would be able to clear up the little problem of the robots and the wacko calling himself the King of 125th Street. And then she could go back to the Empire State Building and maybe take charge herself. After all, she would be the city’s savior, and she had a very big gun.

  Jennifer rounded a corner. Ahead was a large, low space, with a set of wide sliding doors forming most of the far wall. In the center of the room was the car, vast and black and silent. She’d managed to get herself back to the garage. She’d lost track of time, and she was now far enough away from the main workshop that she wouldn’t be able to hear the others return. She also knew that she shouldn’t be here, not really, and it occurred to her that she’d entered the domain of the King’s robot driver.

  Jennifer waited in the doorway a moment, but the garage was quiet except for the slow ticking of the car’s engine as it cooled.

  “Hello?” She raised the gun and stepped forward, eyes wide, alert. There was no other exit aside from the big sliding doors, and no real place for the robot to hide. Jennifer jogged forward and ducked down to peer into the car’s interior, but it was empty. She tried the door, which opened with a click and swung backwards smoothly.

  She leaned in to take a better look at the remarkable vehicle. She’d never seen anything like it, although the controls seemed just like any other car. The car was powerful, she knew that, and fast too. It would make the perfect getaway vehicle if she and Rad had to make a speedy escape. Even better, the car had a large button in the center of the dash that said START. Jennifer just hoped it was that easy.

  She stood and moved to the garage doors. There were four windows set high; on tip-toes Jennifer could just make out an empty, narrow street, more like an alleyway. She tried to remember the route they’d taken to get to the theater just a short while before. She could remember the way, she was sure of it-

  An arm enveloped her chest, a gloved hand pressed hard against her mouth. Jennifer cried out but she couldn’t breathe, and the sound died in her throat. She struggled, half-turned, and got a face full of thick black fur.

  She pushed against the robot as it dragged her backwards towards the car. Jennifer’s arms were held against her body but she could bend the gun arm at the elbow. She raised the weapon, trying to angle it in her hand to point it at her attacker, but the gun was knocked away with a clack almost as soon as she moved. It flew through the open door of the car and was lost somewhere in the vehicle’s cavernous interior.

  The robot stopped moving. Jennifer tried to pull away, and found some slack in the robot’s iron grip. She twisted, thinking this was it, she’d found her moment, only for the robot to yank her back hard against his body. Her mouth and nose had been released as the pair wrestled, but she drew breath for a scream before the robot’s leather-covered hand clamped over her face again.

  Eyes wide, nostrils flaring in panic, Jennifer tried to pull back as the robot brought its black metal face close to hers. Jennifer could see her own terrified face looming large in the two black glass eyes.

  “Jennifer Jones,” said the Corsair, and then it laughed. Jennifer’s heart hammered, fear and panic joined by shock and surprise. She felt ill, and behind the robot’s hand the taste of bile was hot and bitter in her mouth. She jerked again, trying to get free, but the robot’s grip only got stronger.

  “Hey, don’t make this difficult, Jen. It’s for your own good.”

  Jen. He called me Jen. My brother called me Jen and he called me Jen and I’ve found him I’ve found him I’ve found him oh god I’ve found him and it’s too late too late too late

  Jennifer slumped a little, her eyes flickering, and the hands holding her relaxed their grip.
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  Her deception successful, Jennifer drew a deep breath and screamed Rad’s name.

  SIXTEEN

  After showing Rad into the workshop, the King had excused himself and, in his shock, Rad hadn’t stopped him. Instead, Rad sat next to Kane’s machine for a while, having dragged a tall stool out from one of the workbenches. But after their greeting, Kane had drifted into unconsciousness. Rad hadn’t wanted to disturb him — the machine looked too much like an iron lung for his liking — but his mind was made up, at least. Rad’s priority was now getting Kane out of the place and to the medical attention he clearly needed. But first he had to talk to the King, find out what the machine was actually for. He desperately hoped it wasn’t keeping Kane alive. He also wanted to see what Jennifer had found, if anything.

  Rad stood, and quickly made his way back upstairs.

  Rad found the Corsair first, standing stock still in the lobby of the former theater. Rad let the door close quietly behind him, unwilling to disturb the mausoleum-like silence.

  He checked his watch. It was now four in the morning. Maybe the King had gone to bed.

  Rad looked the Corsair up and down and then cleared his throat. “Ah, you know where the King is?”

  The machine didn’t move.

  “OK,” said Rad, regarding the twin doors on either side of the lobby that led into the theater itself. “Guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

  He started to turn, but then jerked back in surprise. The robot had turned its head and seemed to be looking at Rad with its round glass eyes.

  “Huh,” said the detective, looking over the faceplate of the robot. There was something about the shape of the eyes he thought he’d seen somewhere before. “You know, you remind me of someone.”

  The robot said nothing.

  “Oh, yeah, the strong silent type, I remember. Well, so long.” Rad waved over his shoulder as he left, but as he walked towards the doors he was suddenly afraid to turn around or even look behind him. One thing was for sure: the Corsair was as creepy as hell.