Legends

by Unknown Author

  Cassidy pushed Wisdom down and reached for the dead man’s submachine gun. Sean ignored the agent’s curses as the canine Sentinel unit focused upon its prey, taking off at a run, small hatches opening up above its shoulders. Acting on instinct, Cassidy brought the gun up and let loose with a burst, the bullets spanging across the monster’s snout and pushing it back. Cassidy fell to the floor, still squeezing the trigger, and saw a flash as a buttlet hit the exposed hatchway. Whatever was inside detonated, shredding metal and propelling its head forward as its body was blown back.

  The skull skidded to a stop beside Cassidy, red eyes dimmed. The telltale sizzle of Wisdom’s mutant powers hummed in the air. “What in the—■” he exclaimed with bald-faced shock. Cassidy looked over his shoulder to see another purple-and-pink horror keel over as Wisdom’s energy projections cut through armor plate and friend circuitry.

  “Aim for the ribs!” Cassidy shouted as he refocused his attention— another was coming up the path, two of Hammer’s goons taking up the rear. Cassidy rolled to the side of the path and squeezed off another round.

  Sparks flew off the metallic hide of the approaching creature. Bullets richoceted, prompting the guard shepherding it to dive for cover. There was another wave of sizzling air above Cassidy’s head, and another volley of Wisdom’s heat platelets sped toward the Sentinel. The energy blades neatly sliced a portion of the creature’s ear and shoulder like so much cold cuts. The creature stopped for a moment, then resumed its running gait.

  “What the hell do you mean, ‘aim for the ribs’?” Wisdom barked breathlessly.

  “Mind your flank!” Cassidy took the creature’s moment of hesitation to steady his aim. This time the stream of bullets peppered the Sentinel’s underside. He heard a satisfying crack, pulling away quickly as one of the gunmen strafed a line of fire right in front of him. The canine Sentinel stopped in its tracks, its red eyes dimmed. Cassidy was elated. He swung his gun into position to focus on the guard to his left—

  —and saw the brush was thick with teal-dressed guards. The report of weapons being primed was deafening.

  Cassidy slowly turned around. The two of them were surrounded.

  “All right, secret agent man,” Cassidy said sarcasticly as he raised his arms over his head. “What do we do now?”

  Wisdom shrugged. “Fall back on standards.” With a sardonic grin. Wisdom called out to no one in particular, “Take us to your leader.”

  One thing Cassidy learned about his partner: The agent was not too fond of tennis whites.

  “Can you believe this outfit?” he asked Sean for the seventh time.

  “Sit down,” Cassidy shot back. He concentrated on studying their prison. It wasn’t too terrible, as far as cells went. In fact, it was an elegantly appointed guest room. The carpets were plush, the fixtures crystal and chrome, the furniture hand-tooled by the best European designers. Sean focused himself past Wisdom’s grumbles. He concentrated instead on the results of a meeting he had the night before.

  “This is wonderful,” Wisdom hissed as he grabbed a cigarette from the teak presentation case by the armoire. “At least I can feed my habit.”

  “This isn’t gonna help,” Cassidy said softly as diagrams and charts went through his head.

  The sound of the locks being undone quieted the men. Two of the guards entered, followed by a tall, elegantly dressed man in his early sixties. He strode into the room with an air of assurance to him, bordering on regalness. He looked from Cassidy to Wisdom and back with clear, intelligent blue eyes.

  “You gentlemen,” Justin Hammer said casually as he adjusted the lapels of his suit, “are seriously depleting my stock—which is not good, considering I have a demonstration to give tonight.”

  Wisdom shrugged. “Awful of us, eh?”

  Hammer settled into the armchair opposite Cassidy. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Of course, the question is, what are you two doing here?”

  Cassidy looked at the agent. “I thought we were looking for the squash court.”

  “Why do I need squash courts when I have a stable and a tennis court? Stick to the classics.” Hammer fixed his gaze on Cassidy. “You—you are interesting. We found you wearing a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, yet my files show you’ve never been one of Fury’s men. You were with Interpol, and later an X-Man, yes?”

  “I was, yeah.”

  “Mmm. Lost your abilities stopping Moses Magnum, didn’t you? Boorish sort. Horrible taste in champagne. Anyone for brandy?” Cassidy shook his head. “No thanks, I’ll pass.”

  “I’ve got my death of choice right here,” Wisdom added, displaying the cigarette. Hammer focused his attention on the agent.

  “And you—you’re new, aren’t you? Obviously, you’re a mutant, but you don’t show up in anyone’s records: MI5, MI6, W.H.O.—” Cassidy looked up. Pardon?

  “—yet someone must be paying for your operation. Care to enlighten?”

  Wisdom took a deep drag of his cigarette. “Nicotine Council. Don’t like prats like you smoking. Gives us a bad image.”

  Hammer laughed. A third guard entered the room, a decanter of brandy and three balloon snifters balanced on a silver tray in his hands. “Ah, bravado. I would never have guessed.” The industrialist poured a portion of the amber liquid into a glass and looked up. “Last chance, gentlemen.”

  “No thank you. I’ve learned my lesson about drinking with madmen,” Cassidy said politely, his gaze flickering to Wisdom. The agent leaned against the armoire with his cigarette. “Tell me, Hammer—has the Master Mold been constructed?”

  “Certainly it has, Mr. Cassidy. I need to start mass production at a moment’s notice.” The industrialist swirled the brandy in his glass, an expression of satisfied glee on his face.

  “Then ye know the Master Mold has a history of turning on their creators.”

  “I do, Mr. Cassidy,” Hammer replied between sips. “That is why I’ve taken precautions. Certainly, you and your unknown friend took notice of the radical redesign I did. The AI has been reworked to be much more manageable, disabling its intuitive process, which was a problem with previous models. I’ve altered the protocols in their programming, turning the burning desire to hunt mutants into a dull ache. On the other hand, I have retained much of the mutant recognition software—considering how prevalent mutant vigilantes are these days, I figured it would be a nice selling point.”

  “But you’ve built the Master Mold, you ponce,” sneered Wisdom. “With the big dog in place, the AI is already expanding itself. You’re going to learn quickly just how badly it’s going to bite the hand that feeds it.”

  Hammer chuckled. “That is where you’re wrong my friend. I have turned the scourge of the atom into humanity’s lapdog. And I’ve turned a handy profit as well.”

  Handing his snifter back to his underling, Hammer rose. “You’d be surprised at the applications for this technology. The cybernetic implications alone will give us a tidy surplus.” He once again studied both of his prisoners. “Still won’t tell us what you’re doing here?”

  “Trying to figure out how big an idiot you are?” Wisdom suggested. “Very well.” Hammer turned to the attendant. “Contact Scarlotti. Have him flow'n in. We may have a nice, messy interrogation for him.” Turning to Cassidy, he added, “I will return. I’d advise you to cooperate. It’s so difficult getting blood out of white carpeting.”

  Cassidy watched Hammer lead his entourage out. The second the doors locked, he smiled and maneuvered the lock pick out of the space in his cheek. He knelt by the door and asked the agent. “What’s your mutation, lad?”

  Wisdom rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you just wear a black turtle-neck and watch cap while you’re at it?”

  “Your mutation, Wisdom!” Sean worked the tool around in the lock, shaking his head all the time at the idea of a man using an ordinary guest room for a jail cell. Of course, there would be a guard outside, armed. . ..

  “I’m able to produce these ‘hot knives,’ thin platelets
of superheated plasma.”

  Sean nodded. “Right, as I thought. Now listen to me. I took those photos to a friend of mine named Forge. There isn’t anything this man doesn’t know about machinery. Considering how primitive these plans were, chances are Hammer has Bolivar Trask models—the earliest Sentinels built. Trask needed enormous amounts of space for the weapons and mutant recognition software. That explains that rather broad chest construction. However, Hammer’s designs are smaller; he already told us he modified the programming, and I’m positive he cleared out more space for better weaponry.”

  “Hooray for science,” Wisdom sneered. He stood at the door, watching Cassidy with a distinct lack of interest.

  “You might not be so doubting, Wisdom. Trask’s models placed their sensor arrays in a nodule at the top of the rib cage. Judging from the response we got earlier, the sensors are still there. I suspect that’s why the wee beasties have such a large chestplate. If Hammer sends any more after us, use your knives to smash the nodule and it’ll be effectively blind. It’ll shut itself down until repairs are made.”

  “And there’s always those delightful weapon hatches,” Wisdom offered dryly.

  Sean heard the click of the lock pin being retracted. He rose and grabbed a lamp. Yanking the lamp free of the socket, he asked. “Can you use those ‘hot knives’ to disarm instead of kill?”

  “It has been done.”

  Sean tied the lamp cord to the doorknob. “Then do.”

  With a silent pause to ready himself, Sean pulled the cord. The door opened soundlessly. Wisdom and Cassidy stood at either side of the doorjamb. Light from the corridor outside, harsh and artificial, streamed into the room. Cassidy counted the seconds. The reasons he originally agreed to play superspy with a loudmouthed chain-smoker in a foul mood drifted through his mind. As the seconds crawled, he looked at his decision from all angles, like a pragmatist, and came up with the same answer.

  I’d still do this daft thing, Cassidy realized, because it needs doing.

  A shadow crossed the long, thin rectangle of light. Another teal-and-forest-garbed employee of Hammer walked in tenatively, a wavering, “What the?” on his lips.

  Wisdom didn’t bother with a crack. He brought his fist down hard on the man’s head, then pushed him down hard onto the carpeted floor.

  Cassidy slammed the door and watched his partner kick the man’s gun out of his hand. The hapless operative’s weapon bounced on the carpet as Wisdom fell hard on the man, his knees landing squarely on his opponent’s chest. Two shots to the head drove the guard deeper into unconscious.

  Cassidy picked up the gun. “I said disarm!”

  “He’s disarmed, in'he?”

  The guard stirred groggily, and got an elbow to the head for his troubles.

  Wisdom got up and tore down the curtains. “Right, our time is limited before sleeping beauty is missed.” He kicked the unconscious operative over and bound his hands and feet.

  “Fine. Start shooting those knives of yours off the second we enter the corridor.”

  Wisdom checked his handiwork. “Right—confuse the infrareds.” Cassidy smiled. “You know the location.”

  Wisdom pointed to his skull, his hands glowing a dull orange. “Right here, mate,”

  "■'Then let’s.”

  The corridors of the complex continued the hunting lodge motif of the building. There was something surreal about the wood paneling and soft lighting hiding a high-tech arms operation. Behind Cassidy, Wisdom muttered, “Now where is it. ..before slapping him on the back and pointing to the left. “This way.”

  Wisdom was off at a run, the hot knives shooting from his fingers at random directions. Cassidy allowed himself to drop behind the agent, looking over his shoulder frequently. An alarm sounded, as high and shrill as a child’s scream.

  For a long moment, the only sound in Cassidy’s ears were the clax-ons and the sizzle of hot knives. Wisdom appeared to be mumbling under his breath, carrying on a conversation with himself.

  More complaints about his cigarettes, more like, he thought to himself before gunfire rent the air above him. Spinning he saw two of Hammer’s operatives, coming up fast. Cassidy’s heart slammed against his rib cage as he aimed low and squeezed the trigger. A spray of bullets pinged directly in front of his pursuers, one ricocheting and embedding itself into a guard’s thighs.

  The afflicted guard fell to the ground in pain, while his partner let loose with another spray. Cassidy ran beside Wisdom now. There was a sudden, shaip, nasty pain in his arm. A line of blood slowly spread out to stain his tennis shorts. Sean returned fire and cursed.

  “What?” Wisdom barked as another pair turned the comer in front of him. The agent let loose a volley of hot knives, cutting them down. Turning, he did the same for the remaining gunmen.

  “Nothing!” Cassidy hissed. “How much farther?”

  “Around the bend and fifty feet!”

  “Then let’s!”

  The warmth of Cassidy’s blood trickled down his arm as the two men turned the comer. Just a flesh wound, Sean chanted silently as his partner blazed the trail. His mind was focused on the sound of footsteps, the discordant siren’s shriek, the beating of his heart—anything but the sting of the divot taken out of his flesh.

  Coming up quickly was a double doorway guarded by two of Hammer’s men.

  Instinctively, Wisdom shot a volley of hot knives through the one on the right, who was larger, taller, and better built than his compatriot. Closing distance quickly, the agent placed one hand, burning like an ember, in front of the surviving thug’s face.

  Wisdom’s expression made his intent clear.

  “Little pig, little pig, let me in,” the agent snarled.

  A new noise disrupted Cassidy’s concentration as the terrified guard unlocked the doors. It was a heavy, insistant thunder, and all too familiar. Cassidy spun around to see a Sentinel dog coming up quickly.

  “Faith, Wisdom, they’ve released the hounds,” Cassidy gasped as he fell to the floor and started shooting. The bullets climbed up the monstrosity’s leg in a shower of sparks. The dog continued moving in, its long, silvery tail curling upward. A corona of energy was forming around the tip.

  The double doors opened. Wisdom pushed the guard inside and grabbed his gun. Cassidy shot again, this time sending bullets ricocheting off the dog’s shoulder. The corona of energy gained a blinding intensity before a beam of pure white light seared across the distance. Cassidy rolled to the left, just in time for the beam to scorch an oval hole in the carpet where he was a second earlier.

  “Inside, leprechaun!” Wisdom shouted as he fired off another set of hot knives, pushing the canine Sentinel back and shredding its head. The creature hesitated, then continued its loping stride.

  “Stop callin’ me that!” Cassidy shouted as he pulled back, heart pounding. The headless dog ate up the distance between it and its prey quickly. Raising his gun, Cassidy fired just as the technological hound leapt. There was the satisfying crack as a bullet smashed the plastic nodule. The Sentinel, now effectively blind, fell backwards into inactivity.

  Cassidy swore and slammed the door. The place was cavernous, its ceilings soaring and filled with computer banks, testing equipment and various monitors. On one monitor, labeled b3, Cassidy saw an installation of steel girders and glass. The centerpiece of this facility was a canine Sentinel writ large, secured in place by wires and gantries. This was the Master Mold for this version, the macromodel that produced the normal-scale Sentinel units.

  Wisdom stood in front of one terminal. “So this thing is the superuser mainframe,” he muttered to himself before shouting, “Cassidy— have our prisoner put everything that’s not bolted down in front of the doors.”

  “The Master Mold is here!” Cassidy shouted back. “I’m going to find the programming terminal and disable it.” He grabbed the gun from the guard’s hand and motioned toward the doors. “Ye heard the man,” he growled. The nick he received from the bullet throbbed dully
.

  Wisdom stood before the main console muttering to himself. Cassidy inspected each terminal, trying to determine which one led to the Master Mold. He kept his gun trained on its former owner.

  A small console in the back bore the b3 appellation. The password prompt flashed. Cassidy experimentally punch in a few guesses while Wisdom continued working. “Faith, man, I’m not a roboticist. I can’t even get into the terminal!”

  “Poxy instructions,” Wisdom hissed under his breath before shouting, “Try ‘Napoleon’—and look for the coolie vent. Should look like a large conduit surrounded by baffles.”

  “Napoleon?”

  “Considering how obsessed this pillock is with his brandy, it’s worth a shot.”

  Cassidy started plugging in phrases associated with liquor—then added tennis terms. Wisdom slid the virus disk into the superuser terminal and began typing furiously, muttering, “Slow down,” at uneven intervals.

  Cassidy switched his attention from the password prompt to the room. To his right, he saw a large metal cylinder taking up the length of the wall, thin metal panels surround it. “Found it!”

  “Good, because whether we beat down the puppy or not, we’re finishing up with Plan B.. . .”

  Running out of tennis turns, Cassidy recalled the evidence of horses on the grounds of the villa. He started punching in horse riding terms furiously. “Plan B?”

  Wisdom pressed a button on the superuser console.

  Cassidy typed in the word lipezaner. hello, mr. hammer, the terminal responded.

  Wisdom smiled. “Plan B. B for ‘blow everything up.’ ”

  Thump!

  The noise from the double doors caused both men to look up with alarm. Cassidy had the venting protocols called up on the screen. Wisdom returned to the superuser terminal, a string of invectives issuing from his mouth longer than a Welsh name. “Why won’t this thing load? You have to keep them occupied, Cassidy!”