by Rick Wayne
“My head?”
“Yeah. To see if your memory was tampered with, like you said.”
“Right.”
“How did you escape?”
“I didn’t. They let anyone without a charge go. Something happened, I think. Half the city’s without power, and I heard automatic gunfire on the way over. Sirens.”
“I heard an explosion a while back.” Gilbert was quiet. “What do you think it means?”
“Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“You were right, Jack. I think someone’s been messing around in here.”
Jack squinted.
Gilbert had lifted the gunslinger’s cranial cap, under his wig, and was peering inside the metal man’s head with a flashlight. “There’s a control gear. It’s got some scratches. And there’s a restraining bolt that looks like it doesn’t belong.”
“Can you remove it?”
The withering landed on Jack’s head and mimicked Gilbert, who shooed it away again.
“Not with these tools. I mean, I could try, but most of the gears in your head are . . . microscopic. Nano-sized, really. You have a completely mechanical brain. It’s amazing.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I bet if I hit it with a hammer now, your gears and switches would fly away like dust. That’s how small they are. I don’t wanna break it.”
“Then just fix my limbs so I can get the hell outta here.”
“Okay.” Gilbert closed the skull.
“Gil?”
“Yeah?”
Jack took a breath. “Thanks.”
Gilbert smiled. “You’re welcome.” He had forgotten what it was like to have friends.
“I mean it. I wasn’t sure you’d wait around. I’m glad you did.”
“Thanks.” Gilbert blushed.
“I owe you. For this, and for helping me out in the Arcade.”
“It’s okay. After all the shit that’s happened, I don’t know. I guess it feels good to help someone.” He sniffed.
Jack couldn’t see Gilbert’s face. “You okay?”
The withering settled on the table and started eating Gilbert’s lunch.
“I don’t know.” He sniffed again. He wiped his nose and went back to work on Jack’s arm. “I guess I’m finally realizing how much everything was a joke, ya know? How much Pugs used me.”
“Don’t beat yourself up too much. These people are professional liars.”
“Yeah, but it’s just… It’s enough to just make you wanna give up. Just let them win. All of them.”
“Yeah.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Given up?”
“Yeah.”
Jack frowned. “Came close a couple times.”
“What happened?”
Jack clenched his brow. “Somebody told me recently that what matters isn’t the choices you make when things are easy. It’s what you do when times are tough. That seemed right to me.” He paused. “If I gave up just because Erasmus was making things difficult, well--”
Something snapped in Jack’s arm.
“Ow.”
“Sorry. Arm’s all better. Let’s see that leg.”
Jack moved his arm in circles. It was perfect.
Gilbert grabbed a pile of metal rings he’d left on a chair and shooed the withering from his food, but the sprite hissed at him and took the sandwich under the table.
Gilbert sat on a crate at Jack’s dangling feet. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I think I’m never going to find a cure. I mean, it’s been fourteen years, and I’m no closer than I was at day one.”
“How did it happen?”
“The accident?”
Jack nodded.
“A cooling valve failed. We had redundancies, but when I was down there fixing it, three more failed. The core melted, and I was trapped under the reactor for almost eighteen hours.”
“Bad luck.”
“I always thought so, too.”
“It wasn’t?”
Gilbert shrugged. “It might have been sabotage.”
“Sabotage?”
Gilbert nodded. “Done.” He pulled the stitches taut. “All fixed up. You just had a busted O-ring. But your exoskeleton, it’s really strong.”
Jack dropped from the harness, clenched his fists, and flexed his draw arm.
“How does that feel?”
“Like I was just forged.” Jack lifted his leg. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“I mean it,” Jack insisted as he flexed his hip. “I owe you.”
“I’m just glad I got to talk to someone for awhile without that stupid hood.” Gilbert smiled.
Jack practiced his draws. It was so fast, Gilbert couldn’t see his arm move. It hummed through the air like the after-rime of a bell.
“Wow . . .”
Jack looked down at the thick wire stitching that zigzagged across his chest. “I must look pretty ridiculous.”
“You look damn scary to me. A real monster.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Are you going to get a new skin job?”
“I don’t know.” Jack looked down. “This one’s kinda growing on me.” It was the only skin he’d had that touched a woman.
“Well, you’re complete now, as much as anyone can make you, anyway.”
Jack shook his head. “Not yet. Still one more thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not much of a gunslinger without my gun.”
“Where is it?”
Jack walked over to a pile of clothes that had been sitting for a century and a half. They were caked in dust.
“You aren’t going to wear those, are you?” Gilbert scoffed.
Jack looked up. “Why not?”
“Because!” Gilbert objected. “Those people are dead. It’s kind of . . .”
“What?”
“Disrespectful.”
“I don’t know.” Jack pulled out a thick collared shirt and leather bomber jacket. He put them on. “I bet these folks would like to see this stuff get some use.” He dusted himself off.
There was a distant rumble, like thunder.
Jack looked at Gilbert. “That sounded like an explosion.”
“It was.”
Jack and Gilbert swung around. The withering sprite crawled from under the table into Gilbert’s suit. He scowled but didn’t take his eyes off Colonel Sryn, who emerged from a tunnel with a squadron of black-uniformed soldiers. Rifles were raised. Hammers were cocked. But the Amazons kept their distance. Gilbert’s head was exposed.
The colonel held a radiation counter in her hand. It stuttered and clicked. “Without your hood, you’re an easy man to find, Mr. Tubers.” She turned it off.
Gilbert frowned. He ruined everything. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
The colonel waved for her soldiers to spread out, and the women moved through the macabre piles in a wide arc, guns ready.
“The explosion you heard is the Aminal army attacking the Imperial Inquisitor’s ship.”
“Looks like you ladies got your war.” Jack guessed that was why the Imperials let him go. They had bigger problems.
The colonel stepped forward. “Two months ago, a convoy deep inside the Kingdom was attacked and a secret bio-weapon—the Aminal response to the war dragon threat—was stolen.”
“Lemme guess,” Jack interrupted. “A genetically enhanced dinosaur.”
The colonel smiled. “Identical to the one just seen rampaging all over town, meaning that, in the eyes of the Monkey King, the Empire invaded his sovereign soil, stole his weapon, and then flaunted that fact on the evening news. One can’t let something like that go. Lessons must be taught.”
Jack snorted. “Conveniently, an Imperial Inquisitor arrives right when the island floats closest to the border.”
“The Aminal Kingdom is less than sixty nautical miles from where we’re standing. Incite a gang war to keep
the police busy and all you have to do is make sure the Empire finds evidence of an incursion.”
“Like a den of Jackals.”
“Exactly.”
“The Empire never attacked that convoy.”
“Of course not. Don’t be stupid. Now, if you both would come with us.” She motioned to her subordinates, who brought a metal hood, like a diving helmet. It was for Gilbert.
Jack didn’t move. Gilbert looked at him.
“I appreciate your fearsome reputation, Mr. Fulcrum, and I can see that Gilbert has brought you to full working order, but you’re in no position to refuse.”
Lette walked from behind a pile of mechanoid heads. She was whole. She had escaped, and in less than a day, had almost healed. “Hi, Jack. I missed you.” Her voice shook.
She leaned in to kiss the gunslinger and he punched her in the gut with his draw arm. It was fast, even for her. Lette flew twenty yards and impacted a concrete pillar. The Fury left a small crater of concentric circles. She stood on wobbly legs, clutched her gut, and smiled.
Jack clenched his fists. “The first time we danced, I was half dead. Let’s see how you do in a fair fight.”
“That’s enough!” The colonel fired a pistol into the ceiling. Five more Furies appeared, all uniformed and nearly identical. The terrible troupe stood among the wreckage smiling at Jack. They brandished their black fingernails like claws.
The colonel stepped forward. “Lette was awakened prematurely, and we accelerated our plans. But we’ve had a few more hatchlings since. There is no way you can win this battle. Prudence dictates you accept my terms. Come peacefully, both of you, and I promise you a soldier’s death. Quick. Clean. Honorable.”
Jack looked to Gilbert.
Gilbert nodded. “Dying later is better than dying now.”
The gunslinger looked around. There was no way he could take five of those things, plus Lette, not without his better half. Not without Rosa. He stepped back, and the soldiers put the metal helmet on Gilbert.
“Take them away.”
(THIRTY-TWO) Kraxus Is Coming
“Hey, man.”
“Hey.”
“I wasn’t sure I was gonna see you again.”
“Yeah.”
“Have a seat. What’s the matter? You look pretty shook up.”
“Yunique called.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah. She was arrested. By the Inquisitors. She needed me to come get her out.”
“Did you do it?”
“I told her I wasn’t going to, but she said she had a lot of money coming, like A LOT of money, and she’d split it with me on account of everything that happened with Dobie.”
“Did you hear what happened to him?”
“No.”
“Pimpernel.”
“Oh. Well, he deserved it.”
“Yeah, he kinda did.”
“I thought you liked Dobie.”
“Eh, he was an asshole. But finish your story, man. I’ll get you a drink. Bartender’s gone.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure this place was even gonna be open.”
“It wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it wasn’t. I opened it.”
“You broke in?”
“Shit, man. Have you seen this town?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m starting to think the Kraxus-worshipers are onto something. It looks like the end of the world out there.”
“I saw them.”
“Who?”
“The Kraxus-worshipers. After I bailed out Yunique.”
“You went and did it? Really? After all the shit that cunt put you through?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call her that. I know she’s important to you.”
“No, it’s okay. I mean, she didn’t treat me very nice.”
“So why’d you do it?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want her to end up in a concentration camp.”
“Wait. How’d you get her out?”
“I had to sign a statement saying she wasn’t a prostitute and she was my housekeeper and that I would be responsible for her actions, and give my name and address and everything.”
“Shit. Was that a good idea?”
“Just listen. So, after we got out of there, I told her I wrote her a poem, and she said that was sweet and asked where it was, and I told her it was on some dead guy in her apartment, and she was like just get away from me. And here I went down there to be nice and all, so I got mad and maybe I pushed her a little.”
“Did she give you the money?”
“I think I scared her, but I wasn’t going to do anything. I was just really, really mad, ya know?”
“And hurt.”
“Yeah. And hurt. I mean, she was really mean to me. Like really mean.”
“Bitch deserves worse than Dobie. No offense. Did you go after her?”
“I just wanted to say I was sorry. Like, I didn’t want that to be the last thing that happened between us.”
“Of course.”
“So, I ran. I was calling after her, and that’s when I saw them, a big crowd dressed in black, heads shaved, bodies pierced in all kinds of fucked-up places.”
“What were they doing?”
“Walking downtown in the middle of the street with banners and signs. And chanting. Over and over. The same thing. ‘Kraxus is coming. Kraxus is coming. Kraxus is coming.’ Some of them were dancing naked.”
“What’d she do?”
“She ran right into the crowd, I guess to ditch me. And it worked. Those bastards were all high on Neverod and shit. Some of them had weapons and were breaking car windows and stuff. And they had that kind of thrashy music blaring.”
“You let her go?”
“I wasn’t gonna go in there. I hung back and walked around the block, like maybe I could see her sneak out the other side.”
“Did she?”
“No. They lifted her up. They were in a frenzy. They carried her around. And the main priestess lady, she’s like in this thick hooded robe and nothing else. She’s all tattooed and she’s got weights pierced to her . . . you know, and it’s pulled the damned thing near to the ground. And she’s just dangling there, arms raised, foaming, speaking in tongues, face covered in metal.”
“Fuck . . .”
“I thought for sure she was gonna do some crazy sex shit right there in the street, like a fertility ritual or something.”
“She didn’t?”
“Yunique was struggling and struggling, and they tied her down. It was a ritual all right, a ritual of destruction.”
“Whoah.”
“The shit she was saying, I mean . . . And it wasn’t even the words, really. It was the way she was saying it. Like, you could just see she believed every fucking word. There was no doubt in her mind. Kraxus was fucking real and on his way. Like he’s on a boat from the mainland. Like he’s your old Aunt Bertha coming for a visit.”
“That’s funny.”
“They’re all holding candles and drooling and chanting about Kraxus and how all of this was foretold and how he delivered her to them.”
“Wait, did they mean Yunique?”
“Yeah! Like they knew she was coming and shit, like they were in the street waiting for her. And how the sacrifice of an evil soul would bring forth a new age of peace. Just a bunch of whacked-out shit.”
“What’d you do?”
“I couldn’t watch. I mean, I just had to leave. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Yeah, who’s to say they wouldn’t have turned on you?”
“I saw her insides. The tubes and wires.”
“That’s messed up.”
“I could hear her scream as they pulled her apart. I ran down the alley. The Inquisitors were arriving to disperse the crowd. I heard shooting, but like there weren’t any cries. I was running away, but it’s like… they killed her, ripped her to pieces, and then they all
just stood there and died. Like it was all part of the plan. Like they were marching on the station just to goad the authorities into killing them.”
“Fuck . . .”
“Yeah.”
“This whole town is gone. I saw an aminal tank down on Chatwick, you know, over by Grody’s?”
“A guy I know from work said the big power plant out in Parkus blew up. Half the city’s without power.”
“I guess it’s a war. I mean, I don’t know. I thought it would be different.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Bombs and airplanes and shit. Troops marching on a front line.”
“I don’t think it’s like that. I think it’s just a big crazy mess.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right.”
“Should we go home?”
“I don’t know. I mean, is home really gonna be any safer than here?”
“True.”
“And here we have beer!”
“Good point.”
“And the whole place to ourselves now.”
“You’re right. And they got food in the back.”
“If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die in the greatest city in the world with a beer in my hand, sitting next to my best friend.”
“Really?”
“Yeah! I mean, what the fuck. We gotta go sometime, right? Besides, I got nowhere else to go.”
“No, I mean . . . am I really your best friend?”
“Shit, man. What the fuck do you think I come here for? I got no wife, no kids. My job sucks. I’m in debt up to my ass. You take all that away, what’s left?”
“What?”
“Friends.”
“Yeah.”
“Right?”
“I like that. Friends.”
“So drink up, man. To friendship. Let’s hurry up and get drunk before we get shot. Maybe it’ll hurt less.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“If we get out of this alive . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I’m gonna write you a poem.”
(THIRTY-THREE) Escape from Midwitch
Jack stared through the barred window of his cell. Past the door in an adjacent room, four thousand gallons of Neverod was stacked to the ceiling in fifty-gallon drums. Pimpernel hadn’t been making the drug. Amazon scientists had been supplying him. They’d been playing both sides, forcing a gang war in an effort to destabilize the city.