Empire State

by Adam Christopher

  "Relax, pal. I can work it out. It's all going according to plan." The Science Pirate reached out and pulled a short lever downwards without looking. The airship shuddered, and there was a whining noise coming from somewhere high above them. Kane's big eyes searched the ceiling of the dark bridge.

  "OK, I've got it." The Science Pirate turned to the control panel, and after a few minutes and a few more shakes, Kane saw the view outside the front window change. The airship was rotating about its axis. Kane watched his companion at work, the armoured frame hunched over the alien controls. After a while, the Science Pirate slid one glove off to get better precision on a panel of buttons, and then moments later took the other off as well.

  Kane leaned forward, jaw flopping like a wet copy of the Sentinel fished from a gutter. He was about to say something when the Science Pirate sighed mechanically and began fiddling with a hidden strap under the helmet's chin. There was a click as a buckle and popper were undone, and then the faceplate pushed up and the helmet came off, swept off the back of the Pirate's head. Long hair, deep brown, spilled out from it as the Pirate pulled the helmet free, then balanced it on the top of the control deck.

  Kane stared.

  "You're... a woman?"

  The Science Pirate laughed, this time in a beautiful, haughty female voice. She shook her hair out and swept it out of her eyes with her long fingers, and turned to look at Kane.

  "Surprised, pal?"

  "Ah... a little, yes."

  The Pirate turned her attention back to the control panel.

  Kane stood dumbfounded. OK, the Science Pirate was a girl. A woman. That was fine. In fact, that was more than fine, that was... alluring. He smiled as he watched her work, his eyes undressing her cloaked, armour-plated body.

  He shook his head. There was something... familiar about her. She was slim, the armour bulking her dainty frame deliberately as part of the disguise to make her look like a man. It made sense – a female hero, protector of the city, wouldn't be taken seriously. Kane was sure she was a sure-fire hit, but really, during their partnership policing the skies of New York City, how much of the heroics had been down to the Skyguard and how much down to... her?

  Partnership? Kane smirked. Maybe that was just what it was. What were they? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Lovers? Husband and wife? Was it a lover's tiff that split them apart and turned the Science Pirate against the Skyguard, and against the city? Gardner – the real Skyguard, the refugee hero from the Origin – had never said anything about his home life and had never gone into detail about the big fight. This had been a major hole in Kane's newspaper story leading up to Gardner's execution, an important omission, but one he'd had to gloss over with his best journalistic purple prose, distracting the Sentinel's readers with tales of the Skyguard's wondrous exploits.

  The Science Pirate hadn't got a mention either. It had taken some fancy and creative writing, but he'd excised the other half of the duo from the newspaper stories. Kane wanted to keep that part a secret. When the Science Pirate arrived in the Empire State, he wanted him – her! – to himself.

  Her voice interrupted. "You going to help me with this, or just stand there looking handsome and heroic all night?"

  Kane blinked. The Science Pirate – she – had both hands on a large lever, something like a railway track switcher, rising up out of the deck as part of a row of big controls. She was leaning on it, and looking back at him over her shoulder, clearly requiring help even with her powered suit. Kane's mouth twitched into a smirk. She was awful pretty. She smiled back, and her hair, all loose and natural, dropped over one eye. Kane studied her face. It was small, finely boned, exquisite in every detail. Although it was hard to tell in the dim light of the airship control room, her eyes were a brown so dark they were almost as black as the pupils. Her face was… familiar.

  Kane stopped short, his expression hardening suddenly. The Pirate saw his change, her own face reflecting something else. Confusion, and alarm.

  She raised an eyebrow and looked Kane up and down. "So, tough guy, a little help?"

  Kane darted forward, grabbing her arm. She cried out – it was a high, harsh sound.

  Kane looked into her face, at her chin, the nose, those deep eyes. He swore.

  "So who the hell are you?"

  "What?"

  "Because I sure as hell know you're not Sam Saturn. Because Sam Saturn is dead."

  The Pirate pulled her arm away, her face dark.

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I'm talking about the fact that we found Sam Saturn's body lying behind a dumpster in an alley down there, in the city." Kane punched a gauntleted finger towards the airship window. He repeated, "So who the hell are you?"

  The woman raised an eyebrow and went back to heaving on the lever. She grunted, then stopped, letting out a breath.

  "I don't know who Sam Saturn is, but she's no relative of mine. My name is Lisa. Lisa Saturn. Isn't that a hoot?" She stood up and rubbed the raw pads of her hands. "And this Ms Saturn is very much alive and well and trying to move this lever. So the question still stands."

  Kane leaned back against the panel, arms folded.

  "What question?"

  She smiled.

  "You gonna stand there looking handsome and heroic, or are you going to help me crash this goddamned airship?"

  THIRTY-SIX

  RAD WATCHED REX CIRCLE THE CHAIRMAN – Judge Joseph Crater, the Missingest Man in New York – mindful of the hulking figure of the nearly seven-foot-tall robotic sailor standing just a few yards away. The machine wasn't moving, but it had killed hundreds of people to get into the office. When Rad and his companions had arrived at the Empire State Building, they'd found the street-level entrance a deserted war zone. The police had taken to the air in their blimps, orbiting the building many stories up, regarding the street level as perhaps too dangerous. As they entered, a blimp spotlight played over them for a second before they could dart into the smashed entrance. Rad hoped they'd been quick enough to escape detection, but then he didn't really care. It was time to end the farce. The Empire State would either fall tonight, or would survive. And if it survived, it would never be the same again. The power was still on, a fact Rad had been thankful for as they moved up through the building in the unbearably slow elevator; as they rose, the four of them standing in silence, Rad considered which would be the better option.

  What would happen if the Empire State survived? Would anything change? Would the city still be at war, or was the return of the ironclad somehow signifying a change in policy? Even if Wartime passed, would the population accept that? Rad now knew that Wartime had existed from the very beginning of the Empire State. Nobody – including himself – had a memory of peace because there never had been peace.

  And now this. The devastation of the Empire State Building, a direct attack on the city's seat of government. Deliberate, planned, the first attack by the Enemy on home soil. This would frighten the citizens of the city and galvanise them to support the war for a very, very long time. At least, that's what it would look like. That all this was due to the actions of a single Empire State robot, the first hero to return from the war in history... that would be too much to bear.

  And if the Empire State survived, what would happen to Rad? Would he still be a private detective? Maybe his role in all this would be unnoticed, forgotten, and he could slip away and go back to his old life.

  But there was a more important question. Did he want to go back to his old life? In "peacetime", would the city be any different? It was still an incomplete, pale reflection of New York City. There was nothing beyond the fog, nowhere to go.

  While Rad wished he wasn't connected, hadn't got involved in all of this, had remained blissfully unaware of the lie of the Empire State and the existence of Origin, Pocket and Fissure, he could live with it, if he had to. It was another case. A strange, messed-up-all-to-hell case. But there was something else, something which made Rad angry and upset. Something which
would be hard to live with.

  He wished Nimrod hadn't taken him to the Origin. In the short journey from Nimrod's office to the Fissure, he'd caught a glimpse of New York City. Just a glimpse, just lights and people from a dark car window. But it was enough. The Origin and the Pocket were all very well in theory, but having seen New York itself, even a tiny slice of it, crystallised everything in his mind. And, my God, he'd seen across the river. There was no fog. There was somewhere else. Just the concept frightened and excited Rad in equal measure.

  So if he and Rex and Grieves and Jones failed tonight, the Empire State might very well blink out of existence. Would that be so bad? What was the point of it existing anyway? It was a fake, a forgery, a bad copy. The city, and everyone in it, were they real? If it was all just a mirage, an accidental after-image created by a freak of nature, would it matter if it just blipped out? Rad wondered if it would be so quick and easy, just the click of a light switch and "pop", darkness. Rad wondered if maybe Nimrod was wrong and maybe the tether would just snap and New York City wouldn't feel a thing.

  Keeping his eyes fixed on the robot, Rad elbowed Jones on his left to get his attention and whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  "You know who the Chairman is? He someone on the run from New York?"

  Grieves answered from Rad's right before Jones could reply. "Judge Crater. Looks like him, not that I can remember it well. Big-time judge, got tangled in some mob business, so they say. Went out to dinner with a lady friend and was never seen again. Big news I think. A while ago now. I'd only just joined the department." Grieves shrugged. He didn't seem too bothered.

  "Huh," said Rad, then he clicked his fingers softly. "The case Rex was involved with?"

  Grieves tilted his mask. Rad wasn't sure if Grieves was agreeing with him or just trying to scratch his nose against the rubber.

  So, people could transfer permanently across the Fissure from Origin to Pocket. And maybe from Pocket to Origin. Rad scratched his beard.

  "So now you've found him."

  Grieves turned his masked face to Jones, who nodded, then stepped forward, gun raised.

  "Judge Joseph Crater, I am arresting you on a criminal charge on behalf of the City and State of New York. You will accompany us to the office of the district attorney to answer. Do you understand?"

  "What the hell are you doing? I thought you didn't know him?" Rad looked at Grieves, at Jones. This was putting a spanner in the works. He stepped up to Jones. Rex moved closer, watching the pair of them

  "Seems he's behind all this." Jones adjusted his grip on the gun. "You got a better idea?"

  Rad spluttered. "What, you decide you want to do this by the book now?" He waved a hand around the expansive boardroom. "You maybe forgotten where you are? You ain't in New York. You're in the Empire State, which, if you recall, is in imminent danger of fizzing out and taking New York with it. Hello?"

  Jones didn't move for a second, like he was thinking it over, then Rex pulled away from them both and quickly turned, a small snub-nosed pistol in his hand.

  "Back off, buddy."

  Rad swore and grabbed at his pockets. The gun Jones had given him was gone, obviously. It was now in Rex's hand. Rad felt sick and foolish all at once.

  Jones kept his heat pointing level at the Chairman's head, doing his best to ignore Rex.

  Rad pulled at Grieves's shoulder.

  "Goddammit, call up Nimrod. Seems he's the only one with any sense, and he ain't even here."

  Grieves flicked the belt of his trench coat loose and began pulling a collection of small objects out of his inside pockets. The gun in Rex's hand moved between Jones, Rad and Grieves, uncertainly.

  "What are you doing? Don't move!" Rex cried out.

  Grieves ignored him. "Phone?"

  Jones gestured with the gun towards the far end of the boardroom table, where a solitary telephone sat next to a blotter and an empty upside-down glass. Rex nearly jumped back a foot at the movement. Grieves nodded and went to move towards it.

  A whirr, and then a click. "Cease or I fire," said the robot.

  Grieves stopped short, just as the robot jerked into life. Rex, spooked, moved back even further, quickly flicking the gun to cover nearly every object in his line of sight.

  The robot paused, and first turned its head then it rotated at the waist and walked towards Rex, obviously judging him to be a greater threat than the armed, but otherwise motionless, Jones. The robot's movement was fast and fluid, but somehow nauseating for Rad. He'd seen robots before, everybody had, lined up in the big parade downtown as they marched onto their ships on Fleet Day. But that was rigid, regimented. This was a robot in combat, at close range. It was insectoid, unnatural, and it creeped the hell out of him.

  Rex fired, four times, into the robot's chest. The boardroom was cavernous with a ceiling that vanished into the darkness of the Empire State Building's upper reaches, but with shiny glass walls and hard marble floor, the sound was deafening as the shots ricocheted around them. Rad fell into a crouch, hands pressed against the sides of his skull. Even the stoic Grieves and Jones, ears exposed behind the rubber seal of their masks, flinched. Ears ringing, Rad heard another sound under the thunk of the robot's feet. The Chairman was crying... no, laughing. Both. Had his mind gone? Rad watched as he fumbled with a large, dirty white hanky in both hands. It looked familiar, but Rad's attention was drawn away as the robot moved again.

  The robot shot an arm out towards Rex, but Rex, all three hundred pounds of him, managed to dodge out of the way, the force of his reflex action throwing his balance off and sending him skidding backwards as he tripped and fell against the boardroom table. As he fell he squeezed off another shot towards the ceiling.

  "Stand down!" The robot's voice was remarkably human.

  Rad tried to imagine the person inside, wired up permanently to the exoskeleton. He shuddered at the thought but, with the machine distracted by Rex, Rad scooched along the floor to Jones's side.

  "Come on, man, we've got bigger fish to fry, and when the Skyguard gets here we're going to be outnumbered, if we aren't already." He turned to Grieves. "Call Nimrod, now!"

  Just as the tip of Jones's revolver dipped, the Chairman leapt to his feet. Jones was perhaps more surprised by the hissing sound the Chairman made, letting out a yelp as the city's leader powered into him, hand wrenching the lapels of his coat and face pressed up against the mask. The Chairman was staring deep into one goggle, then with a dog-like bark started kicking and punching. Taken by surprise, Jones let the gun get pulled from his hand.

  Rad grabbed at the Chairman's back in an effort to get Jones free of the madman, and succeeded, only to find the Chairman now holding the fat-barrelled revolver. The Chairman scrabbled backwards, and raised the gun directly to the centre of Jones's forehead, lips pulled back in a rictus grin. With his free hand, he pulled the dirty handkerchief roughly over his head. As he dragged the eye holes into place, his back straightened, his demeanour changing. His breathing slowed and the hissing stopped. Rad suddenly recognised the brown suit.

  The Chairman of the City Commissioners, the Missingest Man in New York. The Pastor of Lost Souls.

  They were all the same man.

  That explained why the Pastor's madhouse had never been raided and shut down, despite the warrants out for the cult leader's arrest. It also meant that the man in the white hood was far more dangerous than he had assumed.

  The Chairman – the Pastor of Lost Souls – thumbed back the hammer.

  Rad tensed on the balls of his feet, trying to judge the best moment for a desperate lunge to disarm him. He watched the gun shake in the Pastor's hand, slowly at first, then the involuntary movement crawling up his entire arm to the shoulder. Any second and the gun would fire, whether by conscious intent or not. Rad licked his lips, ignoring the imposing form of the robot as it turned from where it had pinned Rex on the table and walked towards the Pastor.

  It was now or never.

  Rad sprang forward,
only to find his momentum instantly impeded by a huge shock wave as the glass wall exploded, filling the boardroom with lethal, transparent shrapnel. Rad fought to keep his vision level, and watched as Grieves was likewise knocked from his feet. A huge, knife-shaped shard of glass connected with one eye of the agent's goggles, breaking into smaller pieces as the fragment split on impact, thankfully only cracking the protective lens. Rad hit the floor and was sent spinning on his back like the hands of a clock and, gliding to a halt against a corner pillar of the large room, he felt a hot, wet sensation on his leg. His hands reached down and found a tear in his trousers, his fingers coming away red as stabbing pain shot through his calf.

  "Oh hell," he shouted, to himself mainly, as he was sure his voice wouldn't carry across the cacophony that had exploded into the room. Glass and fragments of metal window frame fell like deadly confetti as Rad held his breath and reached for the gash in his suit trouser leg. His fingers found the piece of glass, about the size of a dining room table at a rough estimate, and pulled it out. Rad felt a brief pang of nausea as the edges of his wound slicked together, but the sensation was replaced almost immediately by a deep, pummelling pain in the muscle, as if someone was hitting his leg with a baseball bat. Gritting his teeth, he touched the wound. It hurt like all hell, and was making a fine mess of the remains of his suit, not to mention the floor all the way from where he had fallen to where he had landed against the pillar. But it wasn't too deep. He'd had much worse. More of an immediate problem was the rib he was sure was now cracked. He gingerly examined his side, gasping in shock as he fingered the bruised area. There was no time to worry about it now.