"Well said, Mister Fitch," said Susanna, placing her hand on his arm. "Better die in honour than live in shame like Fleetwood."
"I will enjoy my shame, Miss Hartwell," leered Fleetwood. "And I'll enjoy your deaths so very, very much."
"You'd better get out," whispered Fitch to Anatole and the others. "This is not your fight."
"It is," squeaked Anatole. "Though I know not how to fight, I will stand with any who oppose the slave trade."
"I'd rather meet my end for a good cause than be brutalised by some drunken thug in this place," said Keating with feeling, thus revealing why she was so desperate to escape. From the moment she began to develop physically, the dangers had developed also for the young girl trapped on the island.
"This is our fight," added Bardon. "This is the fight of every honourable citizen."
"Slavers," growled Blake simply, his hand on the dagger at his belt.
"Gurwan im euen omay unand," observed Lucky Pete.
"What did he say?" asked Susanna of Mechatronic.
" 'There comes a time when you must make a stand,' " said Mechatronic, a strange emotion on her face, though only Susanna could see it under her hood and only Hartwell could hear it in her voice.
"Gurwan im euen no nop oong,"
" 'There comes a time when you must stop running.' "
"The empty, meaningless words of the losers," screeched Fleetwood. "Have you nothing real to say?"
"Ouanargh oant!" said Lucky Pete to Fleetwood's face.
"I think you all got the gist of that one," said Mechatronic. "I am truly sorry, Captain, but I can do little or nothing to help you. I am still too badly damaged from the crash to be of assistance. I believe this is where my journey finally ends. I, at least, have the comfort that I spent my final day with you, your sister and your crew. I experienced something more than a mere continuation of life."
She gazed at Hartwell's face as she spoke and each saw the same sadness reflected there—a sadness that encompassed not only the impending death of all in the room, but also the fact that she and Hartwell would never get to know each other.
hapter ifteen
" his is the end for all of you," shouted Fleetwood, thrusting Ruby away with such force she was flung across the room and landed heavily on the floor.
"Men, ladies," responded Hartwell, standing and drawing his sword. "It has been an honour. Now, for honour, we die."
"For honour!" yelled his crew, drawing swords, daggers and short sticks from a variety of unlikely hiding places as they stood and faced the rush of Fleetwood's men into the room.
Outnumbered, the new crew fought bravely but badly. Keating was punching and kicking at any of Fleetwood's men who came too close, many of whom immediately saw through her disguise and pressed in toward her with evil leers on their faces.
Bardon was duelling well, but his diminutive stature told against the longer arms and taller bodies of his opponents, while Blake was hampered by his deafness, which affected his balance and weakened his defence. Anatole clearly had no idea how to fight and instead relied on his fearsome appearance and huge frame to intimidate and crush any who got too close. Lucky Pete was flailing wildly in any direction with his arms, unable to see his attackers or to hear them over the melee, and though Susanna fought well with fists and sword, her size counted against her.
This left Madrigal, Hartwell and Fitch to take the bulk of the fight. Madrigal was one of the dirtiest fighters ever to grace the Caribbean, Fitch was devious with a sword and Hartwell brilliant, but he merely defended rather than attacked, turning his blade left and right as he blocked and parried the increasingly infuriated Fleetwood and two of his henchmen.
Mechatronic, blocking the strike of one of Fleetwood's goons with a smooth movement before dropping the man with a vicious knee to the groin, wondered at Hartwell's tactics before having to face another attack by two more henchmen. She blocked the blow from the first man, though it rocked her back on her heels to do so and her counter punch lacked any real force. She cursed at the damage she had taken during the crash landing and the weakness it inflicted on her.
As suddenly as the violence had begun, it ceased. A few of Fleetwood's men lay on the floor, dead or dying, and while all of Hartwell's crew were still standing, they were all panting with exertion and fear, and most had livid welts or bloodied slashes about them from the enemy attack.
"It's no good," crowed Fleetwood. "You have been lucky, but luck will only take you so far. How long can you stand against the next attack? How long before we crush you with our superior numbers? You are finished, Hartwell!"
It seemed that Fleetwood was right. Both the exits were blocked, more of Fleetwood's men waited outside, unable to enter the fray simply because the room, though large, wasn't large enough to hold them all and Hartwell's crew was already tiring under the onslaught.
"Men!" roared Fleetwood. "Victory is ours! Prepare for the final attack!" He raised his sword, as did his crew, and they rushed once more at their prey.
hapter ixteen
ne of Fleetwood's men leapt forward and swung his sword down at Fitch, who didn't have time to jump aside and could only fling up a bare arm against the blow. The sword struck his forearm, but rather than sever the flesh, muscle and bone, the sword instead bounced off with a metallic shriek. Fitch roared in pain as his blood sprayed outward, but incredibly, the pain eased almost immediately. He stared and saw the damage was superficial. The flow of blood stopped as the muscle and skin grew back over a fine metallic mesh briefly visible in his arm.
Fleetwood's man drew his sword back for another swing. Reacting purely in selfpreservation, Fitch let fly a thunderous punch and again, a flash of metal was seen as iron studs erupted from his knuckles and smacked into his attacker's face. The man fell unconscious to the floor, his nose and cheek split wide open.
"Kill them!" screeched Fleetwood hysterically.
"Kill the demons!"
His men ran forward. Madrigal, with no conscious thought except to strike against his attackers, roared as the skin on his fingers erupted and strange rhythmic pulses of green light spewed out, leaping from his hands and into the five men rushing toward him. Each man screamed in pain as the power surged through them and they fell, burning, to the floor.
At the same time, another of Fleetwood's goons pushed Susanna back savagely and she instinctively swept out her fist in a backhand punch. As she did so, her hand speed increased exponentially as something erupted from her, something that whipped the man across the face, knocking him unconscious.
Hartwell caught a glimpse of what looked like a small, dainty cat o'nine tails retract into his sister's arm, leaving her white faced and shocked.
Fleetwood's men ran out of the room and clustered at the door as Susanna wailed in despair "I'm a monster!" and stared in horror and shock at her hand, which once more looked and felt completely normal.
Cries of "They're possessed!" and "They're demons!" sounded out from Fleetwood's crew. "Kill them and all their magic!" screamed Fleetwood in fear. "Kill them all, they are all damned!"
At that moment, another sound could be heard. It started as a series of faint vibrations like the notes played upon a tin whistle, though more regular and mechanical sounding. The noises grew, becoming more intense, the individual notes harmonizing from a discordant set to a regular rhythmic pulse, almost a tune, which undoubtedly came from the woman in the purple dress.
Mechatronic paused as her internal system's maintenance report activated and played out in her head and an astonished smile spread over her face. She reached up and dropped the hood from her face and cloak from her body, revealing her silver skin and unmuffling the sounds of her internal diagnostic system.
Fleetwood and his men slammed the door shut with yelps of terror, cries echoed by Blake, Anatole and the rest of Hartwell's new crew at the sight of the silver demon who seemed to whistle and chirrup without moving her lips. Eventually, the sounds ceased and silence fell once more.
"It's the first phase of my adaptive program," said Mechatronic. "The molecular technology that exploded outward when my craft disintegrated swarmed around me in the ocean and hence, you absorbed much of it when you jumped into the sea. The molecules have permeated you and have been building within you ever since, changing your body chemistry, improving, adapting, evolving you to new forms."
Fitch looked at Mechatronic and demanded hoarsely, "What has happened to us? What have you done? Have you cursed us, you silver demon?"
"Of course not," said Mechatronic. "It is technology, advanced technology from my world. It is upgrading you, changing you physically, but not in character or personality. Your will, as always, is your own."
"But what was that in my arm and in Fitch's skin?" asked Susanna.
"You have a molecule whip," replied Mechatronic. "Fitch is developing metallic subcutaneous armour, as well as attacking prongs. The rest of you will also develop similar upgrades soon, but your ability to handle them will vary until you learn control."
"You've infected us and control us?" demanded Fitch in fear.
"No!" shouted Mechatronic emphatically, her eyes flashing at the accusation. "I would never attempt that, not after what I—" The silver woman stopped and controlled herself, the look of anguish on her face disappearing as she bit down on her emotions. "You are not being changed mentally, you are still… you. Do not be afraid, but trust me," she said, imploringly. "Let go of all thought and simply react—your instinct and the technology within you will harmonize and work together. Let your thoughts go, be of the moment and we shall live!"
"So, we are affected by this technology but remain mentally unchanged," spoke Hartwell, his voice and tone calm and measured to reassure the crew, though he was as frightened as they were. He was also furious with Mechatronic, who was clearly in some way responsible for the changes within them. "We are the same people we ever were, you are still the same crew and I would not change you for any other, not now, not ever. You are still you," he added gently to Susanna. "I still love you as much. Nothing can change you on the inside. Your character, your courage, your loving nature—all these are the true Susanna Hartwell."
The door slammed open again and the crew looked to see Fleetwood, red in the face, exhorting his terrified crew. "They're still human!" he screamed. "They will still be split by good steel and die like vermin. Get in there and kill them!" Despite his words, his men still appeared undecided on entering the room of the damned.
"I will lead the way," shouted Fleetwood, finally realizing that a direct example was required. "Follow me!" He rushed back into the room, expecting to see that his opponents would be too demoralised by their demonic possession to fight back. Instead, he saw a crew scared but defiant and which looked as always to their respected captain for guidance and leadership.
"I'll kill you!" screamed Fleetwood, conscious even in his rage that Hartwell had somehow proved to be the better man again. His inferiority complex, nurtured day by day at seeing Hartwell's superb running of both ship and crew in peace and in battle, finally exploded as he saw that even when faced by the powers of Hell, the crew still believed in Hartwell and followed him willingly. He screamed in searing hatred as he bounded forward, swinging his sword.
Hartwell turned to meet him, suppressing all fear at what was happening to his beloved sister and crew, finding the central point of calm, rational logic and parried Fleetwood's frenzied blows, waiting until his opponent lunged so wildly he threw himself off balance, at which Hartwell impaled Fleetwood through the heart.
Fleetwood looked down in dumb amazement at the sword piercing his chest. He blubbered in fear and his bowels loosened as his body told his brain that it was split.
Hartwell pulled the sword backward and Fleetwood, denied the only support keeping him upright, crumpled to the floor. He landed full length, his face smacking off the bare, splintered floorboards, where he stared in astonishment as the light faded from his eyes.
hapter eventeen
" hey're demons!" shouted a voice from outside. "They burn with their hands and survive death!"
Hartwell saw that the rest of Fleetwood's crew, having witnessed the past few minutes, were unwilling to continue the fight without enlisting the help of the patrons of the inn.
"They have gold!" shouted one of the more devious thugs.
"And women!" shouted another.
"And they are damned!" yelled a third. "God shall protect us against them."
"Kill the demons!"
"Pray for the demons and let the Lord's light shine upon them," cried a familiar voice. The crew looked through the door and saw Pastor White, clutching his bible.
"As if things weren't bad enough," muttered Fitch to Susanna.
"Quickly," shouted Hartwell, looking speculatively at the trembling pastor. "We're leaving. Madrigal, can you summon those lightning bolts again?"
"I think so, Captain," said Madrigal, looking in a mixture of fear and bewilderment at his fingers.
"Then blow that wall down," commanded Hartwell, gesturing at the wall around the door.
Fleetwood's crew looked at Madrigal, looked at the rotting wooden wall and leapt back as Madrigal raised his hands.
Once again, a series of pulses erupted from Madrigal's hands, making him yell in pain as his fingers burned before immediately healing over. The wall blew backward, spilling Fleetwood's men out over the floor of the balcony and showering them with flaming timber and splinters.
Hartwell led his crew out. Pandemonium had broken out in the main drinking area of the inn as the room above exploded. Some were screaming, some running, a great many were taking advantage of the confusion to slit a throat or steal a purse, but an ominous silence fell as Hartwell and his crew emerged through the smoking hole.
"Demons!" they shouted. "Kill the demons!" A roar of approval and encouragement went up from the crowd as they picked up swords and bludgeons and ran to the stairs.
"That makes it easier," said Hartwell. "No innocent bystanders to worry about. Madrigal, your lightning, please." He gestured as he spoke to the men and women pounding up the staircase toward them.
Madrigal held out his hands and the power surged through, smashing the mob backward and igniting the wooden stairs. The flames spread astonishingly quickly around the inn, burning brightly and hungrily.
"Sorry," said Madrigal in answer to Hartwell's eyebrow of admonishment. "I didn't expect it to be that powerful."
Hartwell looked round and saw that the front of the inn had a large circular window set within it. "This way and somebody bring Lucky Pete," he shouted, leading the crew around the balcony. He paused briefly by the figure of Pastor White. "Are you coming with us, Pastor, or are you going to stay here and burn?"
White looked at the flames, the dead bodies and Captain Hartwell standing tall in the middle of the chaos and decided the cursed crew of Satan was the lesser evil when compared to staying in the burning inn. He pulled himself upright and staggered after them.
A few of the denizens were still ready to put up a fight and they stood between the window and the crew. As the crew drew closer, the denizens pulled small crossbows out from under their coats and grinned in anticipation.
"Let's see your demon powers reach us from this distance," said the leader.
"Yeah, our arrows will slice you freaks into pieces," snarled another.
Susanna moved to the front of the crew. "Challenge accepted," she said. She drew her arm back and hurled it forward, as though throwing a ball. The strange whip-like device appeared once more, somehow erupting from within her arm and streaking over the distance before lashing the leader in the face, who yelled in agony and fell back.
Madrigal simultaneously unleashed more of his lightning, this time controlling the flow more effectively.
The men screamed as the power hit them and released their arrows, which flew off in random directions.
Lady Mechatronic and the Steampunked Pirates Page 6