Last Orders

by Laura Strickland

  Still arm in arm, they perched on the sofa, though Kelly said, “We are unable to stay long. We are on our way to a rally at The Park.”

  “Rally?”

  Rose Kelly spoke. “All available non-human citizens of the city are meeting to demonstrate their desire for their rights, and to protest those who blame them for the recent murders. For the most part, automatons are nonviolent. Representing them differently has whipped up ill feeling that should not exist.”

  “I see.” Ginny wondered if Brendan would be at the rally. Of course he would. He’d likely be in the very thick of things. “Forgive me, but you say for the most part automatons are nonviolent. Officer Kelly, you and I are aware of at least one notable exception.”

  “I believe your mother’s death was just that—an exception. I have participated in many of the interviews following the recent murders. Automatons at or near the scenes have denied all involvement. There must be an alternative explanation.”

  Ginny met his green stare. “Yet, Officer Kelly, I was on that tram car nearly overturned by a crowd of steamies. Can they also be considered nonviolent?”

  “A troubling incident and no mistake. I believe it was fueled by the injustices many of them suffer on a daily basis and encouraged by one individual yet to be found.”

  Millie entered the room with the tea tray. Ginny wondered how Kelly felt about units such as the four under her roof, whether he believed they also suffered injustice.

  Politely she said, “I hope you have time for tea.”

  “I’m afraid we really don’t.” Rose Kelly glanced at her husband. “We want to arrive at The Park early. Pat is usually the voice of reason at these events. We wouldn’t want anything to get out of hand.”

  “We wish to make a point,” Kelly agreed, “not start a riot. I expect a large number of humans to turn up. Things could well grow heated.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” Ginny said. “Maybe I’ll just come along with you.”

  ****

  At times like this, Brendan wondered why he’d ever joined the force. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Kevin Dempsey on one side and a second member of the Irish Squad, called McGuff, on the other as they and others formed a human-and-automaton chain of blue sweating in the hot sun, he could scarcely imagine.

  Behind him the automatons carried on with their rally, which had so far been marked by speeches, declarations, and a surprising amount of cheering. Cheers, coming from an assortment of steam units that included everything from hybrids to basic steamies so battered they barely rolled under their own power, proved blood-chilling. Even though there seemed no malice in it, it nevertheless raised the hairs on the back of Brendan’s neck.

  The trouble, if it came, would erupt from the human contingent, part of which he and his fellow officers faced. And Brendan felt in his bones it would come. Already the onlookers threw bottles and rocks, one of which had struck McGuff beside him and bounced off. Fortunately McGuff had no visible damage.

  I could have had a job on the waterfront unloading freighters, he thought—a nice safe place to work except when stacks of crates fell over. I could have driven a lorry, delivering coal. Hell, I could have followed in Da’s footsteps and been a common laborer. Better than this.

  But no, he’d had to reach for something better, a stable job, so he’d thought, with room for advancement. A pay packet always coming in and a measure, however small, of authority.

  Stability meant very little at the moment, when he stood toe to toe with a crowd of enraged men, most of them red-faced and shouting, denouncing him and his companions for doing their job.

  “Out of the way and let us at those heaps of metal! Let us give ’em what they deserve.”

  “Why do you stick up for them, copper? You’re human like us.”

  Brendan stood unmoving and contemplated the odds. If the humans stampeded, McGuff and Kevin probably wouldn’t go down. He likely would. Getting trampled wasn’t a pleasant way to die.

  Another bottle flew, so close it knocked off his uniform cap. His temper stirred. He didn’t lose it often—an officer couldn’t afford to. That didn’t mean he never felt anger.

  Kevin shifted on his feet and growled, “Brace yourself, Sergeant. Here it comes.”

  And no mistake. Brendan felt the tension building, like the vibration of a wire, and knew the crowd wouldn’t hold long. But the breach in the line didn’t come from their section after all. He heard a sudden outburst and cries from farther down to his right. A weapon fired, and the line reacted like a coiled snake in pain. The humans, sensing a way in, charged.

  Brendan swore and raised his truncheon. He saw faces and bodies coming at him; voices shouted and roared. He knew the truncheon could break heads—or limbs—and tried to keep from putting all his strength behind it. The wall of humans struck like a tide; the police line went back, and back.

  From behind him came another sound. The gathered automatons left off their demonstration and turned to face the threat. Brendan heard the unmistakable sizzle of more weapons discharging—steam cannon—before somebody spat in his face. An arm raised and lowered. Kevin went down. The crowd of humans surged forward.

  Brendan struggled to keep his footing and failed. He had a glimpse of McGuff’s face just before he went over backward, hitting his head hard on the ground. He raised his arms to protect his face as the crowd went over him, fending off whomever he could with his truncheon before pain seized him, followed by darkness.

  ****

  Ginny was standing beside the lake, listening to Patrick Kelly speak, when the screaming began and the horror broke out. It came with a roar that drowned the cheers of the automatons around her and made them sound tinny and artificial. She exchanged one speaking look with Rose Kelly before the automatons fanned out around them began to react, some of them swiftly, some turning more slowly on their aged wheels.

  Ginny had faced any number of dangers out west: rattlers, angry bears, blizzards. Except on the tram car, she’d never before found herself in the middle of an all-out attack.

  Later, newspaper reporters and authorities would try to make sense of what happened. Ginny could have told them that from her perspective there was little reason or intent behind this attack, just pure hate. The breath froze in her lungs, and she drew her steam cannon, almost without thought.

  “Behind me. Get behind me.” Pat Kelly, green eyes blazing, dragged both her and Rose to his back. Other automatons, mostly off-duty members of the Irish Squad, stepped forward. The sound of the clash then reached Ginny’s ears—metal on metal, metal on flesh and bone. Rose Kelly seized her arm.

  “Pat!” she called, sounding terrified. “Pat, Pat!”

  He failed to turn; quite possibly he didn’t hear her. The roar, deafening, filled the air. Men charged in on them, many carrying clubs. Rose shifted back but, situated as they were at the edge of the lake, they had nowhere to go.

  Ginny raised her cannon. “Get behind me,” she told Rose, even as Pat Kelly had. The front wave of the human mob bore down on them, and she took careful aim.

  She didn’t want to kill anyone, but she had to make every shot count. The weapon would take precious moments to recharge, during which they’d be defenseless.

  Other steam cannons fired all around. She could hear Pat Kelly hollering; Rose yelled as one of the foremost attackers slammed him in the shoulder with a stick. Pat swayed violently but didn’t go down.

  On every hand, automatons fell. Rushed by human attackers, units new and old were pushed over; even the crashes they made when they hit the grass were lost in the general wave of sound.

  The faces Ginny saw coming at her did not look sane. Twisted in hate, with open mouths and staring eyes, they frightened her enough that she pulled the trigger. As soon as her weapon recharged, she pulled it again.

  She and Rose, pushed violently backward, both toppled into the water.

  “Pat!” Rose cried again.

  Ginny, sputtering and trying to keep hold of Rose, lost he
r grasp on her weapon and fought her way up, splashing. She could no longer see Pat Kelly.

  “Where is he? Where is he?” Rose cried in terror.

  A new sound filled Ginny’s ears, battering at her like a giant heartbeat. An airship came overhead, flying low, and she lifted her face to see police officers crowding the gondola.

  Brendan? She couldn’t tell the identities of the officers, seeing only their blue uniforms.

  “Disperse! Disperse!”

  Shouted through a bull horn, the word floated over the heads of the crowd.

  Ginny, slammed hard by the shoulder of a man who barreled past her, went down again at the edge of the water, taking Rose with her. She found herself staring into Rose’s wild eyes.

  “Pat! Where is he? I can’t see him. Oh, God, I can’t see him!”

  “Stay here.” Pushing Rose down, Ginny scrambled to her feet. The tide, she felt, had begun to turn, chased by the airship, which flew so low its shadow stretched wide. She had one glimpse of two humans pushing a steamie over with a clatter before, like a sea storm, the attack ebbed, leaving a flotsam of ruined steam units and an occasional injured human.

  She couldn’t see Pat Kelly anywhere, even though he’d been right beside them mere moments ago. Other hybrid automatons limped, one with his arm dangling, through what seemed acres of glittering silver metal. Her breath surged in her lungs.

  “Pat!” Rose had disregarded Ginny’s direction and appeared at her side. “There.”

  He looked like nothing so much as a heap of clothing floating at the edge of the water. Rose went splashing into the lake, her skirts kicking up as she bent and embraced him.

  Ginny, following more slowly, marked the truth with disbelieving eyes. Pat Kelly’s head had been bashed and lay open, the interior metal workings visible to the eye.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Get in the ambulance, lad.”

  Brendan ignored Captain Addelforce’s direction, though he didn’t doubt he needed the attentions of a quack.

  His head, which he’d struck hard going down, banged like a drum. He suspected he had several cracked ribs, trodden on by feet big and small, and something seemed very much amiss with his left arm.

  No time to worry about that now.

  The beautiful green lawn of The Park lay littered with bodies like a battleground—as such it had been. His eyes moved from place to place, marking identities if he knew them and, yes, species if there was one.

  Mostly automatons. Piles of silver rubble lay everywhere. Of course the human injured might well have run—or limped—away after the airship came over and broke things up.

  Brendan only dimly remembered that, glimpsed while lying on his back with no breath in his body while its shadow went overhead. He didn’t recall getting up.

  Had McGuff hauled him to his feet?

  Addelforce barked, “That’s an order.”

  Brendan let his gaze slide over the captain to the waiting ambulances, most with their doors standing open.

  “All full…sir,” he said with very little real concern. “Too many other injured to bother about me.”

  “I know you have a reputation for being strong as a bull…” Addelforce began.

  “Just a moment, sir.” Brendan’s eyes had spotted something over by the lake. He started off at a painful jog.

  “Fagan!”

  The two women had stretched Pat Kelly out on the ground—Brendan barely noticed them in his rush of dismay. A small group of steamies and hybrids also gathered around him, all battered. Brendan skidded to a halt in the wet grass.

  “By God! Is he…dead?” Was that term even applicable to a hybrid automaton? Had Kelly ever been alive?

  Now his head gaped open and his blank eyes stared at the sky. Rose Kelly crouched above him, weeping.

  “Pat? Pat, speak to me!”

  Her companion—another human woman—moved forward and caught Rose in her arms. Only then did Brendan recognize Ginny Landry.

  Here? Why was she here?

  “Switched off,” said one of the other members of the Irish Squad. “His boiler’s gone out.”

  Rose lifted her face. “Can we get him started again?”

  Brendan had never before seen Rose weep, and it shook him. She was usually a woman utterly composed to the point of emotionlessness.

  “I am not certain,” replied the hybrid. “His head is severely damaged. There may be irreparable interruption of his artificial intelligence.”

  “Pat?” Rose seized both his hands.

  Brendan shuddered. “Let’s get him up out of here and somewhere safe so he can be examined, right? You there—take his shoulders. You—run and get a conveyance.”

  The steamie he’d addressed turned sculpted eyes on him. “I have tried, Officer. They say all ambulances are for human use only.”

  “God damn it. Then get something else—pony cart, dog cart, I don’t care.”

  The automaton moved off. Brendan caught Pat’s ankles, the second hybrid his shoulders. They lifted—and a black wall of pain ensued. Brendan went to his knees.

  “You’re hurt.” A voice spoke in his ear. “Someone else please come.”

  When Brendan’s senses cleared, Ginny Landry was pressed to his side. More, she had her shoulder propped beneath his right arm and her arm wrapped around him, her strong body taut.

  “You’re hurt,” she said again. “You need to get to the hospital.”

  “Bullshit. Pat—”

  “They’ll take care of him. They know what to do. Let’s get you a berth in one of the ambulances.”

  “Why? Because I deserve it? Because I’m a human—one of the privileged ones?” The words came from Brendan in a burst of resentment.

  “No, because you need care. I think your arm is broken.” A painful smile quirked Ginny’s lips. “My father is a doctor, you know.”

  “How did you get here? Why?”

  “Let’s talk about that later. Come.”

  They humped away over the grass in the wake of Pat Kelly, being carried with Rose at his side. At the road they encountered Captain Addelforce, who watched Pat’s train go by before addressing them.

  “Miss Landry? What are you doing here?”

  “I accompanied the Kellys, Captain.”

  “Fagan,” Addelforce shouted, “this is no time to…”

  “Can’t you see he’s injured?” Ginny went toe to toe with Addelforce. “I’m taking him to the hospital, Captain.”

  Addelforce’s face reddened, but he did not object further. Brendan, swaying on his feet, wouldn’t have noticed if he had.

  He watched Pat being laid in what looked like a delivery cart before Ginny dragged him off to a waiting ambulance.

  “Stay with me,” he bade her then.

  And she replied, her gaze holding his, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  If only that were so.

  ****

  “Lie quietly.” Ginny’s voice came from somewhere above Brendan’s head. He sprawled on the seat of a steamcab, though he had no clear memory of how he got there. He felt sick and his mind full of fog. Something wasn’t right with his head.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home.” The interior of the steamcab was dark, but Brendan could hear the wry smile that colored Ginny’s words. “That’s all you’ve talked about since we reached the hospital—leaving the place.”

  “Aye, that’s all right, then.” He struggled to think. Why was Ginny here with him? Not but he felt glad for it. “But what’s wrong with me head?”

  “Concussion. Plus that quack back there gave you a draught for the pain before he set your arm and wrapped your ribs. The arm’s broken in two places.”

  “I raised it to try and protect my face.” He began to remember now. “They went over me.”

  “You’re covered with bruises—face, chest, and I expect everywhere else. You won’t be working for a while.”

  “I have to work, damn it. Half my paycheck goes home.”

>   “Don’t worry about that now.” Did he feel her fingers on his hair? “I’ll tell you the truth: I didn’t think much of that doctor back there—he truly was a quack—but he did a decent job with your arm. Given some time, I think, you’ll heal up all right.”

  Brendan didn’t differ. The daughter of a doctor—two doctors—she should likely know a thing or two. Besides, the motion of the steamcab made him too sick to his stomach to risk opening his mouth again.

  “Not much farther,” she told him as if she read his mind. Her fingers wrapped around his hand and squeezed. He felt a rush of gratitude for her presence.

  The cab pulled over and, mercifully, stopped. Brendan sat up with a grunt and tried to see Ginny’s face in the gloom. “I’d appreciate some help getting round back to my place,” he admitted. “But after that you’d best leave.”

  “That may be a problem.” She hopped out of the cab. Brendan heard her speak to the driver and waited while his head went around in slow circles.

  He poked his head out the open door of the cab and saw a steam unit, slightly familiar, headed toward him.

  Ginny’s voice came. “Floyd’s going to help you into the house. Then he’ll take a message to the station telling them you won’t be in for several days.”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  “You certainly can’t stay alone, and it will be easier looking after you here than at your place. At least I’ll have my steamies’ help.”

  Brendan struggled to focus on her. Planted square in front of him on the sidewalk, she wore that determined look she sometimes got. “Ginny, it’s not…”

  “Not good for your career associating with me, daughter of a pariah,” she finished for him. “I’ve got all that. Do you really want to argue about it here in the street?”

  “No.” Hell, no.

  “Then come in.” Despite having asked Floyd to assist him, she fitted her shoulder beneath his arm again. “Nice and slow.”

  “Ginny…”

  “The city’s in an uproar. No one’s going to worry about the personal life of one police sergeant right now.”

  He quit protesting, mainly because he hadn’t the will at the moment to oppose her. Floyd went ahead of them to open the door. Behind them the steamcab pulled away.