Emissary Metal OMNIBUS 1-3

by Paton, Chris

  Had I allowed myself a more rational thought for just a moment, I most certainly would have refrained from doing anything more than documenting my progress. But the feeling of euphoria, coming just a few hours after the despair over Feld's death, buoyed me beyond rational thought. Tossing my plate onto the floor, I reached down for the controller, strapping it around my chest with loops of canvas tied with a hasty knot at the front.

  “Shall we?” With a quick flick of the levers, the emissary agreed to be my accomplice with a cheeky nod of its head.

  The emissary's first steps around the inside of the tent were as clumsy as they were comical. Questing the magnetic fields with adjustments and corrections, I trashed the workspace beneath the emissary's great cloven feet with each cantankerous circuit. On completion of the seventh circuit I gave the emissary its head, stumbling behind it as it crashed through the tent wall, swinging its arms free of the canvas, and plunging into the bay.

  “Watch out,” I called out to the guards as they leaped clear of the emissary's path.

  “No, Herr Finsch,” the head guard waved his arms at me. “It must not be seen.”

  Ignoring the guard, I pushed the levers, accelerating the emissary towards the far wall of the bay. The machine's great legs stretched into a pace beyond my own poor physique, and I gasped after it, a tingling worry spreading through my lower body as I realised I was no longer in control.

  The emissary's chest was the first part of its body to crash through the brick wall of the Wallendorf factory, followed closely by its knees, the left and then the right, before its feet tripped over the rubble beneath it and it crashed onto the cobblestones shining wet in the moonlight.

  Ducking through the hole in the wall, I reached the emissary at the same moment its boiler burst, spraying my body with steam. I staggered backwards and fell onto the ground, pulling at the clothes scalding my skin. Clawing at the webbing straps preventing me from removing my tunic and shirt, I stopped at the sound of someone shouting my name.

  “Karl Finsch,” Seffi's eyes roiled, scalding my face a deeper red than the spray of steam across my chest. “I told you to stay inside.”

  “Yes,” I swallowed.

  “This,” Seffi jabbed her finger at the emissary. “This is not inside.”

  “No,” I agreed, squirming away from Seffi's approach.

  Seffi's fingers squeezed around my throat. I will never forget the look in her eyes as she lifted me off the ground, nor her surprise as her elbow tipped the controller hanging around my chest, and the emissary clicked, shaking its head with one last gout of steam.

  Chapter 8

  I was a dead man. It was written on Seffi's face, half of which I could see through the glass of the door that separated us as she faced the full brunt of Schleiermacher's wrath. It became clear to me, all of a sudden, that Seffi had never joked when she told me she was responsible for me. Not once. Now, as she rode the storm Schleiermacher unleashed upon her, I realised the price of responsibility, and I wondered just how much my paltry existence was going to cost.

  The emissary had been removed relatively quickly. The workers were far more effective without their blindfolds, and the metal beast – that was what they named it – was hoisted onto a massive gurney, lifted out of the ruts between the cobblestones, and wheeled back inside the scaffold tent in the factory bay. I was rather less ceremoniously whisked out of sight and into the Wallendorf Industries’ offices of administration.

  Schleiermacher held court while Wallendorf was busy visiting his daughter outside the city walls. I understood that Wallendorf would be returning later that same evening. Another glance at Seffi's face made me wonder if I would even have the chance to apologise to the man, much less make up for my series of fatal and embarrassing blunders. Closing my eyes, I hid from Seffi, but I was unable to escape the vicious lashing of Schleiermacher's tongue.

  “And another thing,” the door handle rattled as Schleiermacher took hold of it, “when I tell you to keep someone in sight at all times, I mean, at all times. Not as and when you see fit, and certainly not just a few hours following another fatal industrial accident. The number of deaths I can attribute to industrial accidents is not infinite, Seffi. Wallendorf neither likes nor trusts you.” Schleiermacher opened the door, “And I can't say as I blame him. There's just too much incriminating evidence against you.”

  I opened my eyes at the word evidence and remembered that, as far as I was concerned, the only evidence proving my own existence, was entirely dependent upon a very angry young woman.

  “Well, Herr Finsch,” Schleiermacher pushed the door open. “I suppose it is your turn.”

  “My turn for what?” I did my best to appear humble and remorseful as I stood up.

  “Don't be an idiot, Finsch. You know what you did.”

  “No, actually I don't.” I paused for a last breath before stepping across the threshold and entering Schleiermacher's office. He shut the door with a soft click behind me.

  “You don't?”

  “No,” I looked at Schleiermacher, noted the steely glint in his eyes, and the stack of papers strewn across his desk. Beyond the desk, in the shadows at the back of the room, a tall man sat in Schleiermacher's chair and smoked a long-stemmed pipe. He nodded at me as I turned back to face Schleiermacher. “What I mean to say is that I did what I was supposed to do. And I think I did it rather well, to be quite frank about it.”

  “Did what?” Schleiermacher lifted his finger as I opened my mouth to speak. “I'll tell you what you did, Finsch. After crushing one of our engineers, you drowned your feelings of guilt in some misguided enthusiasm, and in the process, you compromised the most secret project Wallendorf’s has ever developed by crashing it through the wall and into full view of the people of Frankfurt, our competitors and, not least, the world's spies.”

  “Spies?” I coughed.

  “Yes, spies,” Schleiermacher walked to his desk. Shuffling among the papers, he pulled one from beneath a brown envelope. He turned back to me, waving the paper in his hand. “This is a list of all the countries whom we know have placed agents around the factory, in order to keep an eye on our projects. She,” Schleiermacher nodded at Seffi, “is employed to keep an eye on them and...”

  “Which is exactly what I was doing when...”

  “Not another word, Seffi,” Schleiermacher crumpled the paper in his fist. “I didn't recruit you for your sassy remarks...”

  “Gently now, Hans,” the man in the corner of the room tapped the cold coals from the bowl of his pipe onto the floor. He stood up. “Fräulein Achterberg is one of your very best. A favourite of yours, if I am not mistaken? There is no need to admonish her further. She was doing her job, and so was he.” The man walked around the desk and held out his right hand. “My name is Bremen.”

  “Finsch.” Bremen's hand was warm and dry to the touch.

  “Yes,” his eyes narrowed as he released my hand. “How is your face?”

  I lifted my hand to my scalded cheek. “Better. Thank you.”

  “I am pleased to hear it.” Bremen smiled. “Would you believe me if I told you I have followed your career with great interest, and encouraged your appointment here at Wallendorf's?”

  “Yes,” I smiled back. “After all that has happened these past few days. Why not?”

  Bremen walked to the hat stand by the side of the door. He lifted a black hat from its place beside Schleiermacher's, inspecting the rim as he addressed Wallendorf's assistant.

  “Despite the obvious consequences in revealing the emissary to the fortunate few who were watching at the time of the incident, I am nonetheless pleased with the progress being made, and I intend to say as much to the President.” Bremen looked up, smiling at first Schleiermacher, then Seffi and finally, myself. “I suggest we reward Herr Finsch and Fräulein Achterberg for their efforts, and send them on an adventure.”

  “An adventure?” Schleiermacher frowned. “So soon? Herr Bremen, the emissary is barely under Finsch's c
ontrol.”

  “But it will be,” Bremen placed the hat on his head. Tweaking the rim, he settled it over his brow. “In the time it takes to organise just such an adventure, I am sure Herr Finsch will have mastered the emissary's movements, and young Seffi will have found a way to turn the accident into an advantage. Isn't that right Fräulein?”

  “Yes, Herr Bremen.” Seffi glanced at me before continuing. “How many days do we have?”

  “You will sail two weeks from now. Time enough to fine-tune the controls and box up the emissary before leaving for Scotland.”

  “Scotland?” Schleiermacher shook his head. “Come now, Herr Bremen, we never agreed on Scotland. It is...”

  “Quite remote, Hans. Do calm yourself. There is no better testing ground for the emissary than open, mountainous terrain in the back yard of our enemy.”

  “Our enemy?” It was my turn to frown. “I don't understand.”

  “And you don't need to, Herr Finsch.” Bremen turned to open the door. “On arrival in the Summer Isles, you will be contacted by a Scottish stalker, or one of his gillies. You will be provided with food and lodgings before being given a set of coordinates. These you must reach undetected, without the benefit of the tempest cloaks. Doing so will prove the worth of the emissary. Doing so successfully will ensure continued funding of this and future projects.”

  I glanced at Seffi. “What happens if we are unsuccessful?”

  “Ah, yes.” Bremen gripped and turned the door handle. “The stalker, Seamus Macfarlane, is one of Scotland's finest. He is well-known for his ability to track game in all weathers, over all manner of terrain. He is also ruthlessly thorough. In the event that he catches you, he will remove all trace of your existence,” Bremen nodded at Schleiermacher. “As per our agreement.”

  “Yes,” Schleiermacher looked down at the floor. “That was the agreement.” He glanced at Seffi. “I just never imagined...”

  “Going through with it? Come now, Hans. You disappoint me.” Bremen opened the door. “And now I will bid you all goodnight. My department will make the necessary travel arrangements.”

  To her credit, Seffi was silent until, at the sound of the door closing at the end of the corridor, she was sure Bremen had left the administrative area of the factory.

  “Seffi, wait,” Schleiermacher held up his hands, a useless gesture, as she whipped across the office floor, her hands flat and straight like tempered blades. With two quick strikes, she felled Schleiermacher, gripping him by the hair as he collapsed onto his knees.

  “I trusted you.” Seffi trembled. I watched as a single tear welled in the corner of her right eye. “You were like a father to me. Better than a father, because you didn't do the things fathers think they have the right to do.” The tear swelled, tipping over the lip of skin around Seffi's eye to run down her cheek.

  “Let me explain, Seffi.”

  “No,” Seffi tightened her grip, tugging Schleiermacher's scalp tight as she lifted his head. “No more explaining.” She slapped him in the face, splitting his lip. Schleiermacher reeled within Seffi's grip.

  “Seffi,” I took a step forwards. “Let him go.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” I paused to think. “We will need him.”

  “When?”

  “On our return,” I shrugged.

  “From Scotland?” Seffi laughed. A bunch of Schleiermacher's hair ripped free of his scalp at the shaking of her shoulders. “You didn't hear what Bremen said about the stalker? Ruthlessly thorough, he said. Karl, we are being sent to our deaths. They are tidying up.”

  “Only if we fail,” I took another step forwards, closing the gap between us. I reached out with my hand. “We just have to practice with the emissary. Practice every day until we sail.”

  “The emissary? Do you know northern Scotland? Do you know how small and sparse the trees are in the mountains? The emissary will be the brightest object around, for miles. The British won't need a famous stalker to track us. A child will be able to follow us, Karl.”

  “Maybe,” I let my hand fall to my side. “But why not at least try?”

  “For what reason?” Schleiermacher slumped as Seffi let go of his hair. “So that he can betray me again?”

  “No, not for him. For me, for us. Because...”

  “Because, what, Karl?”

  “Because,” massaging my wrist, I shrugged my shoulders and did my best to look Seffi in the eyes, ignoring the venomous vessels snaking thin and red around the hazel irises of her eyes. “Because it might be fun?”

  “Fun?”

  “Yes. Fun. A challenge. You me and the emissary, against Scotland's finest.”

  “You are forgetting, Karl, that he,” slapping her palm into Schleiermacher's chest, Seffi pushed him onto the floor, “sold us out. We owe him nothing. We could just leave. Now.”

  “And be chased by who knows how many of Bremen's men? No thank you, Seffi. I'd rather take my chances with the stalker. At least we would have the emissary with us.”

  “You would trust your life to a machine?”

  “I trusted my life to you. Why shouldn't I trust a machine?”

  “Because it is a machine. A Wallendorf machine, Karl.”

  “That I have brought to life.” Stepping around Schleiermacher, I took Seffi's hands in my own. “You have seen it, Seffi. Are you not amazed?”

  “After a few years in this place,” Seffi shook her head, regained her composure. “Not so much, no.”

  “Then I pity you, Seffi, because this is the most amazing machine to have ever been built in the likeness of man.”

  “Man?”

  “Yes. That is it's purpose after all.”

  “What is?”

  “To do the job of a man, in places where men cannot go or fear to. Come on, Seffi,” I tugged at her hands. “Let's go to Scotland. It will be man against the machine, and the machine is on our side.”

  Pulling free of my grip, Seffi crouched down beside Schleiermacher, lifting his head with a hand beneath his chin.

  “Karl thinks he is going on holiday. He thinks this will be a jolly romp in the Scottish Highlands.” Letting go of Schleiermacher's chin, she snorted. “Tell him, Hans.”

  It took Schleiermacher a moment to shift his position and lean his back against the desk. Smoothing his hair back with the palm of his hand, he used it as a pillow between his head and the wood. “Seffi is right, Herr Finsch.” Schleiermacher licked a speck of blood from his bottom lip. “This is no holiday. Herr Bremen has commissioned the emissary project for a very specific purpose. Once it has been activated, it is his sole interest to test the emissary in the most demanding terrain, and against the most challenging opponents available. Only then will he be able to judge if the emissary is suited to the task for which it has been designed.”

  “And what is that?” A brief image of the emissary's cylindrical head, the lodestone glowing behind the grill, slipped into my mind. I imagined it watching me. I remembered it staring at me, and I saw the shake of its head once more, before the steam evaporated from its tanks.

  “To infiltrate some of the most hostile countries in the world, to impress their leaders and deliver a message.”

  “What message?”

  Schleiermacher glanced up at Seffi, wiped another burst of blood from his lips, and turned to look me in the eye. “We are coming.”

  Emissary Metal

  PART 2

  ANIMATION

  Chapter 1

  The soft lights of Inverkirkaig dipped below the bow as the wooden freighter bashed into yet another wall of finger-numbing water, the wave crashing over the cargo on deck, seeping through the gaps in the chest containing the Wallendorf emissary, upon which my life now depended. I thrust my head between my knees and heaved, coughing a long dribble of saliva onto my boots. Seffi retched alongside me, as the freighter spooled over the crest of the wave and Inverkirkaig beckoned once more.

  “How long?” I rested my head on my knee and watched as Seffi w
iped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Wait,” she lifted a finger as she dropped onto her knees, dry-heaving onto the deck, her neck muscles convulsing as if she were shedding her skin. “I don’t know.” Placing her palms on the deck, she stared at the pitted and bruised wood glistening in the moonlight. “God help us, I hope it is soon.”

  “We can see the lights,” I lifted my head above my knees.

  “Yes, and for how long now? We're still no closer.”

  I gripped the side of the emissary’s crate as the freighter crashed into another wave. Too long, I thought. I closed my eyes.

  I measured the last mile or so of our journey, from the docks of Hamburg to the narrow sandy beach of Inverkirkaig, with the number of times my head was doused with a bathtub full of North Atlantic Ocean, the number of times I tucked my head between my knees, Seffi's retching and heaving, and the single raucous cry of a gull disturbed by our passing.

  The freighter beached, the sand and pebbles rasping and grating beneath the hull, the stern slewing around to port as the waves crashed against the starboard side. Seffi leaped onto the beach and collapsed, the surf licking at the heels of her calf-high boots. I scrambled over the side, splashing my arms in the surf as the freighter swung towards me. Tripping onto the beach, I fell onto the sand beside Seffi and watched as the crew secured the boat, clouds of grey effort from the smokestacks dispersing into the black night sky as the captain backed the freighter off the beach, wallowing in the waves just beyond the breakers.

  I raised my head to look at the freighter, grains of sand trickling down my neck as the crew roped the emissary crate through the block and tackle, heaving it off the deck with the hiss of the steam-powered winch. The men sang as the crate swung above the deck. They slipped a trolley beneath it. I heard the squeal of the iron-shod wheels across the deck as the crew lowered the crate onto the trolley, securing it in place with heavy canvas straps and buckles.