Last Orders

by Laura Strickland

If he turned things around in his mind, then yes, this must be the part of the facility where Gideon guessed Mason would be. He didn’t want to think about Mason, seeing him again, or dealing with him, so he switched his thoughts back to Ginny instead. The way she felt in his arms. The light in her eyes when she looked at him. How her lips tasted when they met his.

  Did he want Ginny Landry forever? But she’d made it clear she didn’t want forever. And once he lost his job over this stunt, he wouldn’t have much to offer her.

  Except his heart, and she’d said nothing to show she wanted that.

  He shifted on his feet in an agony of suspense. No light came on anywhere in the building; the whistle remained in his hand.

  Only after what seemed like hours did his eye catch a flicker of movement at an upstairs window. The same where the squad had entered? Yes. His heart began to thump as a figure emerged, clinging to the stonework. Then a bundle came through the window, suspended by rope. No, not a bundle but a man, well-trussed.

  Mason.

  By God, the Englishman had done it. But they weren’t away yet.

  In impossible silence he watched the automatons—each with the strength of four men—wrestle the bundle down the side of the building. Gideon emerged last. Brendan knew him by the quick, light way he moved.

  What had they done to Mason, to keep him quiet? No way to tell. Brendan watched as they rappelled down the building. One of the automatons heaved the silent bundle over his shoulder; they all approached at a jog, and Brendan stiffened.

  By the time they reached him, his heart banged so violently he could barely hear Gideon’s soft words when he spoke. “Here, now, is this your man?”

  He pulled a hood up from over the face of the man still slung over the hybrid’s shoulder. Brendan saw a countenance little changed by time—dead white skin, elongated features, and a round, dark mechanical gadget where one eye should be. All the breath left his body in a rush.

  “Fecking hell!”

  “I’ll take that as an affirmative.”

  “He’s quiet. Too quiet.”

  “Nicely quiet,” Gideon corrected. “Lucky we caught him by surprise, eh, boys? He wanted to start yelling, but Sean here gave him a right tip on the jaw.”

  The nearest automaton flexed steel fingers. “Felt good, it did,” he clicked.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Gideon breathed.

  “Where should we take him? To Pat’s?”

  “Not yet. We have to get him somewhere we can see if he’ll cooperate. Miss Landry’s, perhaps.”

  “Sure,” Brendan agreed. In for a penny, in for a pound. Like a chain of ghouls with a body slung between them, they moved off into the darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “So that’s him.” Ginny had to admit the man stretched on the floor of her parlor did look like a monster. In fact, he made a terrifying sight. Damn it, she’d always loved this room and hoped this didn’t change the complexion of it.

  But she really feared it might.

  Rom Gideon had pulled the drapes at all the windows as soon as they came in. Outside, dawn began to creep across the city, but it proved a gray day that promised rain.

  Mason, still well-trussed, had been unconscious at the outset; he was coming to now. The rest of them…

  A semicircle had formed around the sprawled form and included Ginny, Rom, Brendan, all three members of the Irish Squad, and Ginny’s three surviving steamies. The man on the floor—who had only one eye—regarded each of them in turn, but his gaze returned to the members of the Irish Squad again and again.

  “I know you.” Mason’s voice sounded sharp and rough, as if he spent his time screaming.

  None of the hybrids responded. They stood instead like a wall made of steel and flesh, unmoving.

  Rom Gideon bent down and, displaying unexpected muscle, almost casually hauled Mason up by his shirt. He deposited the man in Ginny’s best chair. Mason glared at him before switching his gaze to Brendan; it narrowed. “I know you also, I think.”

  Ginny, close enough to Brendan to touch his arm, felt him stiffen. She tried to imagine how it would feel facing down a man who’d very nearly stolen his eyes, scalp, and skin; she failed.

  Rom Gideon clasped Brendan on the shoulder and said, “Time for you to do your magic, old son. Go to it.”

  Gideon moved to the side table where he poured himself a drink. Ginny’s steamies trundled off also, filing from the room. The members of the Irish Squad remained where they were.

  As did Ginny, at Brendan’s side. She wasn’t about to abandon him, not unless he asked it of her.

  All members of the Irish race, so it was said, possessed the blarney when needed. She would have called Brendan an exception; forthright and honest, he spent little enough time in persuasion. But he poured honey into her ears when they were in bed together, and his voice softened to a lilting caress now when he hunkered down in front of the man in the chair.

  “Hello, Mr. Mason. I’m glad you remember me.”

  Mason stared into Brendan’s blue eyes, and something in his mind seemed to snap. He began to fight against the bonds still secured around his shoulders, chest, and arms, writhing and straining so much he tipped himself in the chair.

  What caused that dead color in his skin, Ginny wondered. And was he too mad to cooperate with them?

  One of the hybrids stepped forward and forced Mason back up with ungentle hands.

  “What am I doing here?” Mason demanded in a half-screech.

  “I should think you’d be glad to get out of that place.” Brendan’s tone remained calm. “Must be terrible being shut away in there. Enough to drive a fellow mad.”

  Rom Gideon, still standing at the side table, turned his head sharply at that. Brendan ignored him.

  “I’m not mad. They think I am, but I’m not. They locked me up because they mistook my genius for insanity. I am a genius.”

  “I believe you.” Brendan stared into the monster’s face, his gaze steady. “You built these three hybrid units here, didn’t you? And you meant to make another out of me. There’s no one can match you for brilliance, is there?”

  “No one. But my creations turned on me. They lacked gratitude for the one who gave them life. Atheists!” He shouted the last word at the automatons.

  A theme there, Ginny thought. Her mother’s creations had also turned on her. A lesson to be learned, no doubt. Playing God proved perilous.

  Mason spat, “People are afraid of me. All of them are afraid of what I might achieve, the world I might create. That is why they locked me away.”

  “No doubt,” Brendan said. Did only Ginny hear the quiver in his voice? “Your creations damaged you that night, didn’t they? The night they—” He broke off. Now everyone in the room, including Mason, stared at him.

  He went on determinedly, “They forgot what they owe you. That you’re the only one who could have accomplished the magnificent undertaking that gave them life. Do you think you could do it again? Do you think you could recreate one of them?”

  “Eh?” Even Mason seemed nonplussed by the question. A cunning expression crossed his ruined face. “Is that why I’m here? You wish me to turn you into one of them?” He nodded at the ranged hybrids and leaned forward in the chair to smile grotesquely. “You want me to give you immortality?”

  Brendan shuddered—visibly this time. “Not me, no.”

  “Of course I can do it again! That and more. I’m not afraid of blood or stripping the elements from the bone. But you’ll need to untie me, Irishman, if you want to live forever.”

  “I said not me.” For the first time Brendan’s voice sharpened. Ginny wondered how they could ever release this madman and trust him to work on Pat…even if Brendan did succeed in convincing him.

  “You wish me to create a super being, one that cannot feel sickness or meet with defeat.”

  “Not build. Repair.”

  Mason, breathing hard in his agitation, subsided and stared at Brendan again.
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  “One of your own creations, Mr. Mason, has come under attack and suffered severe damage.”

  Mason shrugged, his face twisting grotesquely. “They are easily repaired. The skin gets stripped back, the frame welded. Any competent machinist can handle the job.”

  “His frame, yes. This one’s damage is to his head—his artificial intelligence.” Brendan lowered his voice. “But I doubt even you could salvage that.”

  Mason drew a shuddering breath. Suddenly a new light filled his eyes. “Salvage? No need. I would create anew—”

  “No, no, sir, that won’t do. We want his mind back with all its knowledge. There’s probably no one alive can accomplish it.”

  Mason contemplated him for several heartbeats. “Which of them is it? Which?”

  “The unit you called 59.”

  “Ah!” Now the light in Mason’s eyes burned. The three hybrids stirred, displaying reactions for the first time. “That one. That one was always special. The peak of my achievements.”

  “Yes, sir, he’s still special. That’s why we want him intact.”

  “He possesses valuable information, eh? State secrets?”

  “Something like that.”

  “How severe is the damage?” Now Mason’s voice sounded almost normal.

  “It’s bad. His head cavity’s been staved in, and some of the contents have been pulverized. His attendants did manage to get him refired, but the knowledge itself seems irretrievable.”

  “Not irretrievable, no. Difficult but not impossible. A most delicate procedure, you understand.”

  “I do, yes.”

  “Something only I might achieve. I would have to see the subject, of course. Fifty-nine.”

  Flashes of brilliance and inspiration crossed Mason’s face. “Where is the unit? Is it here?”

  “Not here. We can take you to him, but I will need your agreement to conduct things in a professional and cooperative manner. I need your pledge, sir—no violence.”

  Mason switched his gaze to the hybrids behind Brendan. For the first time Ginny wondered if he feared them at all. But a twisted smile contorted his lips. “You think they’ll let me turn violent? They’re just waiting to jump on me. To batter me. They have the strength of many men.”

  “I know.” Brendan hesitated before saying, “This is your chance to pull off one more great achievement—what nobody else can. But in exchange for this opportunity you must agree to act in good faith.”

  “What about after? Once I’ve restored 59 for you, I do not wish to return to the asylum.”

  Now Rom Gideon stepped forward. “How about we send you somewhere else? Provided you’re successful, of course.”

  “Where?” Mason asked quickly.

  Gideon shrugged carelessly. “What do you think of Mexico?”

  “You can do that?”

  “I can; I have connections.”

  Once again Mason leaned forward, his body—still bound—gyrating. He leered. “Barbados. I wish to go to Barbados.”

  “Barbados it is, old chap. Barbados straight away.”

  ****

  “You’ve lied to him, of course, aye?” Brendan whispered for Gideon’s ear alone.

  “Of course,” Gideon replied, never taking his gaze from the man and his attendant automatons on the far side of the room.

  “No Barbados?”

  “No.” Gideon’s expression grew tight. “There are times, Sergeant Fagan, when we say whatever we must. Ordinarily I do try to keep my promises—but not necessarily to madmen.”

  They both watched as the hybrids prepared Mason to leave. They fitted him with a harness they’d fashioned—one of them would be tethered to him at all times. Brendan had to admit that made him breathe more easily.

  “What will happen to him after?” asked Ginny, at Brendan’s other side, in a whisper.

  “Back into the asylum, unfortunately for him,” Gideon told her.

  “They’ll discover him missing soon.” Brendan tensed. “There’ll be a hue and cry.”

  “Yes. I doubt we’ll be able to sneak him back in. We’ll just have to present him to his keepers, once he works his miracle.”

  Worth it all, Brendan assured himself, if Pat could be Pat again—if Rose had what she needed.

  A human police officer entered the room and told Brendan, “Paddy wagon’s waiting outside. And Captain Addelforce is asking for you. There’s been another murder.”

  “It’ll have to wait.” For once.

  “Right-ho, Sarge. I’ll go back and tell him I couldn’t find you.”

  “Aye.” Right down Thomas Crapper’s wonderful invention he’d tossed his career. And pulled the chain.

  With Mason hitched up to the satisfaction of the hybrids, they nodded at him. “Ready, sir.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Ginny said.

  “No, please stay here. Please, Ginny. I can’t say what’s going to happen, but I’d sooner know you’re safe out of it.”

  “I’ll go mad if I have to stay here. I’m coming, and that’s it.”

  The drive to Pat Kelly’s house proved nightmarish. As soon as the hybrids shut Mason in the back of the paddy wagon he began to howl, the sounds of his screams leaking out into the gray dawn. The others, following the wagon in a second vehicle, rode in grim silence. Ginny clutched Brendan’s hand so hard it hurt.

  Pat’s home remained well lit, the crowd of steamies still in place around it. They made way for the paddy wagon and watched in unmoving silence as the hybrids unloaded their charge. Did those gathered grasp his identity? Brendan could tell the other hybrids present recognized him, by the way they straightened and went rigid, their gazes fixed on him to the exclusion of all else.

  Far more chilling was the fact that Mason also recognized them and named them as he passed—Number 38, Number 4, Number 17. It made Brendan’s mouth go dry.

  Inside the Kellys’ parlor another crowd awaited—more hybrids, including Mrs. Michaels and Chastity Greely, and a few other humans besides Mrs. Gideon. All stared at the fantastical figure in the harness.

  Mrs. Gideon hurried to her husband’s side. “You did it! Oh, Rom, thank goodness.”

  “How’s Rose?” he asked in return.

  She never had a chance to reply. Mason, fighting the harness a bit, began to demand, “Where is my subject? I need to see the extent of the damage.”

  “Here.” Chastity Greely stepped up to face him. The two regarded one another for a long moment before Mason’s expression altered.

  “What are you?”

  “The next generation of what you created, sir. I would like to observe the procedure so I may replicate it at a future time, if necessary.”

  “You are…beautiful.”

  “I also have an advanced intelligence capable of learning and adapting. Come with me. I will show you your patient.”

  Mason turned to his hybrid minders. “Release me from this contraption first.”

  “We will not.”

  “I cannot work with such constrictions.”

  Rom Gideon started forward. Very casually he said, “Then we’ll just haul you on back to the asylum, shall we?”

  A long moment of silence turned the room unnaturally still before Mason growled his response.

  “Show me my subject. And I will show you the meaning of brilliance.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “This is taking much too long,” Brendan complained, pacing the confines of the Kellys’ parlor. The day—just dawning when they’d arrived here with Mason—had grown old and now began to wane. Looking back on it, Brendan felt it had seemed both interminable and far too fleeting, a nauseating combination.

  Word had come sporadically from the inner recesses of the flat where Mason remained shut away with Pat, Chastity Greely, and the three guardian hybrids. Mason had done an assessment and declared that yes, he could restore Unit 59. He demanded supplies, improved conditions, more light. He required a written declaration of his freedom or would not agree to continue
.

  Rom Gideon had gone in to speak with him and returned looking grim. “The man’s unstable,” he declared, “and his madness increases.”

  “But has there been any progress?” Topaz Gideon begged. “I need something to tell Rose.”

  Rom shook his head and bade her, “Tell Rose to hold on like the rest of us.”

  Word came from outside, also. The latest murder had occurred in one of the big houses on Delaware Avenue where a visitor had apparently been pushed down a flight of stairs by the household steamies before they fell upon and beat him to death on the floor below. Officer after officer brought subsequent developments in the case, each one saying Addelforce called for Brendan’s presence at the station.

  “Maybe you should go,” Ginny told him more than once. “It doesn’t look like this is going to happen quickly. I’ll wait here.”

  Brendan merely shook his head.

  Now, late in the day and with rain threatening the automatons that still clustered outside, a new message arrived: news of Mason’s escape was all over the city. He was considered dangerous and his recapture declared a high priority.

  “Well, we expected that,” Rom Gideon said. “They will figure it out and come here soon. What we need is a distraction—sightings elsewhere in the city.”

  He left, presumably to set that in motion.

  A resourceful man was Rom Gideon—impressive for an Englishman. Brendan felt glad to have him on their side and not against them.

  When he perched at last on the edge of the settle, exhausted, Ginny joined him. Everyone there had, as with one mind, avoided sitting in Pat’s armchair.

  “God, I ache to know how things are going in there.” She jerked her head toward the inner rooms. “Is there progress? Is that mad creature just stringing us along?”

  “Aye.” Brendan massaged his forehead with his good hand. “I keep thinking about these murders, too—why they’re happening and what’s behind them. Something’s off there—since the very first, every instinct has told me so.”

  She leaned against his shoulder. “How do you feel?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Tough as an old iron pot, me.”

  “I do worry, though. I’m afraid you’re going to blame yourself if Mason can’t resurrect Pat, even though it won’t be your fault.”