Mechanic (Corrosive Knights)

by E. R. Torre

  Donovan welcomed this darkness. At this point, he feared any light. He also shivered as he talked.

  “How many died?” Donovan whispered into the phone. His face grew even paler when he heard the answer. Thin beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Clean up the fucking mess. Hide the SR unit, hide everything you can. As far as we’re concerned, we were victims of industrial sabotage, nothing more. If anyone suspects any different, it’ll be your ass.”

  Donovan slammed the phone into its cradle and leaned back in his chair. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

  “What a day,” he muttered.

  When he opened his eyes once again, he let out a gasp. Nox stood before him.

  “Nox?” Donovan rasped. “How the hell?”

  Nox reached into her pouch and pulled out a pair of disks. She tossed them on the desk.

  “There they are,” she said.

  Donovan eyed the disks. Several bullet holes pierced the body of both disks. Donovan took a few seconds to calm himself down before picking up the disks. He made a show of examining them, eyeing each and every bullet hole before loudly cleared his throat and shaking his head.

  “They’re damaged,” Donovan said. “Useless.”

  Nox offered no reply. After a few more seconds, the silence within the office was overwhelming. Donovan again cleared his throat and tossed the disks into the trash can. Ignoring Nox’s presence, he reached for a folder on his desk and opened it. He shuffled through a series of papers and, as he did, his right foot pressed down on the panic button next to his desk’s inner leg.

  “You obviously had some trouble with the job and I regret any inconvenience,” Donovan said. Keep her talking, security is on the way. “However, our agreement was for the disks to be recovered in a usable state. You broke the terms of our agreement and I cannot pay you for incomplete work.”

  Nox smirked and shook her head.

  “You hired me to give your robot a test drive, not recover some bullshit blank disks.”

  Donovan closed the folder.

  “That’s a vile insinuation. I can have you sued—”

  “You’re lucky you’re still able to talk.”

  Donovan took a deep breath. Any second now, security will break through that door and…

  “Don’t threaten me. We had an agreement and you broke the terms of that agreement.”

  A buzzing sound came from Nox’s jacket. The Mechanic removed a small cell phone from the jacket’s inner pocket and laid it down on the desk.

  “Not until after you did,” Nox said. “I reset your panic button. Its signal was rerouted.”

  Donovan laid the folder on the desk and grabbed Nox’s cell phone. On its digital display was the originating number. His office.

  Nox took the phone from Donovan and pocketed it.

  “You know,” Nox continued. “For a while there, I actually thought your job was legitimate.”

  “More insinuations?”

  “I’d lay off the act, Mr. Donovan. It’s gotten quite old.”

  Donovan frowned.

  “What…what was my mistake?”

  “Back at the Yoshiwara, when you said you were going to be ‘honest’ with me. That’s usually the very moment a person is about to lie. How many Independents did you send before me?”

  Donovan shifted in the chair.

  “Come on, Mister Donovan. Are we going to settle this situation amicably or do you want this to get messy?”

  “Five,” Donovan whispered. He wiped sweat from his forehead. It glowed red with rage.

  “I was lucky number six.”

  “Don’t be so smug. This company invested millions of credits in the development of that fucking SR Unit. They spent another boatload of cash testing it.”

  “My heart bleeds for your problems.”

  “I’ve busted my ass for thirty years for this company, and all that hard work is on the line because of that piece of shit...”

  Donovan let out a breath and relaxed. After a few seconds, he laughed.

  “Every year, we conservatively estimate losses of over fifty to one hundred billion credits thanks to people like you, people engaged in all types of industrial espionage. Security is big business, both for us and our competitors. That robot represents a breakthrough in security technology—”

  “If you got it to work properly. Seems to me it has a problem distinguishing the good guys from the bad.”

  “It’ll work, in time,” Donovan insisted. “But we’re under a very tight schedule and my rivals at Octi Corp. are circling this office like vultures. It doesn’t help that the boys upstairs are also demanding results. So we had to test the prototype any way we could before sanctioning its production. Once in production, we’re liable for any malfunctions.”

  “Like if the machine kills someone?”

  “Someone? You mean those security guards? Fuck no. Those clowns are a dime a dozen. No, what worries me is the destruction of company property.”

  “More importantly, a warehouse full.”

  “In a real case scenario, a warehouse that size could be filled with up to a billion credits worth of product.”

  “Now reduced to a billion credits worth of ash.”

  “If that should happen, and the SR unit was found to be responsible for the destruction, company lawyers would descend on Octi Corp. like flies on shit. And who takes the blame? Me. The boss’d throw me to the wolves.”

  Nox took a step forward. Donovan’s hands came up in a protective gesture.

  “Don't try anything,” he yelled. “Or I’ll…or I’ll…”

  “It’s been a long night. Mind if I sit?”

  Before Donovan could answer, Nox slid one of the two chairs before the industrialist’s desk to her side and sat down. She stared directly at Donovan.

  “Now, about the rest of the money you owed me.”

  Donovan bit his upper lip.

  “You failed—”

  Nox leaned forward in the chair, revealing a shoulder holster and a large black handgun.

  “You still want to play that game, Mister Donovan?”

  Donovan let out a nervous laugh. Business 101: Never give anyone the upper hand in a negotiation.

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  Business 102: Live to fight another day.

  Donovan reached down and pulled one of the desk drawers open. As he did, he noted the large handgun in Nox’s shoulder holster appear like magic in the Mechanic’s right hand. It was aimed directly at Donovan’s head.

  “No tricks,” Nox said.

  “No tricks,” Donovan repeated.

  Very, very slowly the Octi Corp. businessman laid a wad of bills on the desk before Nox.

  “It’s all there.”

  Nox put the gun away and grabbed the bills. As before, she took her time counting them. And as she did, she pressed the heels of her shoes into the carpeted floor. Both heels silently detached. Nox pushed them under Donovan’s desk.

  “I had you figured all wrong,” Donovan said. He voice was high, almost giddy. “When I heard you got out of the warehouse, I thought you might take our…exercise…the wrong way. I assure you, Miss Nox, it was nothing personal.”

  “It never is.”

  “Anyway, I'm glad you could see beyond any pettiness. You're a good businessman…uh… businesswoman.”

  Nox folded the bills and stuffed them into her pouch. She gave Donovan one more contemptuous look before exiting the office.

  When she was gone, Donovan sighed in relief. He reached for the phone and dialed “0”

  “Security,” he said. “Quickly.”

  Nox stepped into the hallway outside Donovan’s office and moved toward the elevator at the corridor’s end. Before reaching it, she felt a buzz in her jacket pocket. It was her cell phone.

  Nox took the cell phone out of her pocket and stared at the digital display.

  “Donovan,” Nox muttered. The Octi Corp. businessman was making a call and, as with the panic button, its si
gnal was forwarded directly to Nox’s cell phone.

  You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?

  The Mechanic pressed a button and the digital display on the cell phone read “Camouflage voice.” She pressed another button and answered the call.

  “Front desk,” Nox said.

  In his office, Donovan perked up.

  “This is Donovan, office 4021. There’s an intruder on the fortieth floor. Female, approximately six foot tall, black hair, black clothing, dark sunglasses. She’s armed and very dangerous and is likely headed to the lobby at this very moment.”

  “Forget all that…is she good looking?” replied a gruff male voice.

  Donovan’s eyes practically popped out of his head.

  “What the fuck?” Donovan yelled over the phone. “She’s a fucking Independent, dangerous as shit. Dispose of her. Use maximum force.”

  “Yes sir,” Nox said. “I recommend you lock your door and remain in your office until the intruder is dealt with.”

  “If I wanted your advice, I would have fucking asked for it, you asshole,” Donovan shouted and hung up.

  “No need to get testy,” Nox muttered. She clicked the cell phone off and put it away.

  Nox calmly finished her walk to the end of the corridor. The elevator was open and waiting for her. A cylindrical ash can was propped against the door. Nox set the can aside and, once inside the elevator, pressed the “L” button. She then turned and stared out the rear glass paneling. It exposed the side of Octi Plaza and the lights of the city.

  The elevator doors closed. Nox looked up at the camera and spotted the small box she had affixed to its side a little earlier. Security below would see an empty elevator on their monitors. Nox’s only concern would be keeping her face away from the cameras in the lobby.

  The Mechanic reached for her belt. She pulled a strip of leather off its side, revealing a compartment housing a small digital recorder. Nox pressed one of the buttons on the recorder, then another. Donovan’s voice came over the recorder’s tiny speaker.

  “...You’re a good businessman,” Donovan said.

  Nox turned the recorder off and replaced the leather strip. She then reached into another pocket and pulled out an equally small box. Unlike the digital recorder, it contained only a single dull red button.

  “At least I don’t take things personally,” Nox muttered.

  Do unto others before they do unto you. Business 103.

  Nox pressed the button.

  Within Donovan’s office, Nox’s discarded heels came alive with flashing green lights.

  Within the elevator, Nox watched Donovan’s office, now several floors above her, erupt in flames. Glass and heavy debris rained down the side of Octi Plaza and rushed past the elevator.

  Though she couldn’t be entirely sure, Nox thought one of those bits of debris looked an awful lot like a human hand.

  The security guards in the lobby were in a panic. Fire alarms blared and several guards rushed past Nox, completely ignoring her when she exited the elevator. Nox returned the favor and made sure not to get in anyone’s way. She walked past the lobby and out the building. Her chopper was waiting in the parking lot.

  When she mounted the bike, she took one last look at Octi Plaza. Smoke billowed from the hole in the office of the fortieth floor. In the distance a series of sirens blared.

  “Twice in one night,” Nox muttered. She felt sympathy for overburdening the city’s firefighters. “Sorry to screw up your sleep.”

  Nox didn’t need to see any more. After a couple of false starts, her chopper’s engine roared to life. She shifted her into gear and drove off into the city.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In a dark and silent room, a phone rang.

  It rang again and again, as phones tend to do when ignored.

  Between the fourth and fifth ring came the sound of bed springs tensing. Something stirred in the darkness, very human and very irritated. A night light came on, revealing a large and luxurious bedroom. The man who turned on the light rubbed his eyes. Like Donovan, he was in his late sixties. Unlike Donovan, he was lean and, despite just awakening, projected an air of control. His hair was silver; his eyes were alive with annoyance.

  The young blonde sharing his bed groaned. Crystal clear blue eyes cracked open and focused on the elderly man beside her. If it wasn’t for the fact that they shared a bed and were both stark naked, one might be forgiven for thinking she was his daughter. Or granddaughter.

  “Who is it?” the pretty woman asked.

  The elderly man rubbed his eyes and stared at the caller ID information displayed on the phone’s cradle.

  “Octi Plaza,” the elderly man said. “Business. Go back to sleep, Julie.”

  The blonde shrugged and turned away. She appeared to drift back to sleep but, unseen by the elderly man, her eyes remained half-open.

  The elderly man grabbed the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Dad, it’s me.”

  “This better be good, Robert.”

  “We've got some problems.”

  “The Desertlands Project?”

  There was a pause.

  “Not this time, Dad,” Robert said. “Our immediate problem is Donovan.”

  Robert Octi Sr. sighed. He rose from the bed and stared at Julie’s naked backside.

  “I'm on my way,” he said.

  Octi hung the phone and leaned down to kiss Julie on the cheek. By this time, her eyes were shut tight.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  Julie mumbled something unintelligible and drew the bed sheets closer to her neck. Octi smiled. He walked to the bathroom.

  As soon as the door closed, Julie was up. She reached for the black purse beside her night stand, opened it, and pulled out a freshly packed micro diskette. She removed the plastic wrapping from the diskette case, removed the diskette, and reached for the phone Robert Octi Sr. had just used. She unscrewed a metal plate from the phone’s base, revealing a slim recorder. With quick, well rehearsed movements, she removed the diskette currently in the recorder and replaced it with the new one. Afterwards, she screwed the metal plate back and put the phone in its place.

  She dropped the freshly recorded diskette into her purse and lay back down just as Octi stepped out of the bathroom. Her face away from him, she smiled. By now she knew his routine very well.

  As she expected, the elderly man walked to his closet and grabbed a dark suit. His face was neutral. He was neither annoyed nor surprised to be called out of bed at such an early hour. It was part and parcel of running a multi-billion dollar business. Octi hurriedly dressed and, when done, walked to the door leading out of the bedroom.

  “I'll be back later, honey,” he said.

  Julie turned around. Her blue eyes burned with an icy heat.

  “Take your time, sweetie,” Julie muttered. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Exactly forty five minutes later, Robert Octi Sr.’s limousine arrived at the Octi Plaza parking lot. At this very early morning hour, the lot was usually empty. Now, however, it was filled with private fire trucks and ambulances.

  Octi eyed the spectacle with great distaste. He looked up, at the face of his building, and spotted smoke coming from a window near the top floor.

  “What the hell?” Octi muttered.

  Whatever happened up there, it would take a good deal of money to keep the story off the media radar. With the exception of Octi Corp., the stock market was tanking and investors were very skittish. The last thing they needed was an excuse to also sell off Octi’s stock.

  The rescue personnel made ample room for Octi’s vehicle.

  “Would you like to go to the private garage?” Octi’s driver inquired.

  “Fuck no,” Octi said. “In trying times, it’s good for company morale to see the boss take a first-hand interest in whatever disaster the company’s gotten into.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  Octi leaned forward.

  “Companies pa
y me hundreds of thousands of credits for any advice I give them. Here I’ve just given you some for free, and you could give a shit. That’s why I’m the boss and you’re a minimum wage driver.”

  “Yes sir,” the man replied. His face turned a deep red.

  “Leave me by the lobby door.”

  The driver did as told. Octi exited the limousine and, as he walked toward the entry door, maintained a serious, commanding look. Reporters yelled questions from afar, but he simply shook his head.

  When he reached the lobby door and his back was to the reporters, his expression changed. He gritted his teeth and tried to control his fury as he entered the building’s lobby. Various technicians and fire fighters hung around the area. Based on their casual manner, it was clear whatever happened upstairs was contained. At least one bit of potentially good news, for a change.

  Octi walked to the elevator. One of his security staff stood beside it, cradling a cup of coffee.

  “Is it safe to use?” Octi asked the man.

  “Yes sir,” the man replied. His voice was overly chipper, another brown-noser in a company too damn full of them.

  “I assume we had a fire?”

  The security guard nodded.

  “Yes sir. I could give you more details, but your son—”

  “What was the extent of the damage?”

  The security guard swallowed.

  “A single office was incinerated. The fire was minimal and didn’t spread beyond the explosion.”

  “Explosion?”

  “Yes sir,” the security guard said. He leaned in close and whispered: “We suspect foul play.”

  Octi’s face turned to stone.

  “Let me get this straight: There was an explosion in my building and you merely suspect foul play?”

  The security guard swallowed.

  “That’s a fucking brilliant deduction, son,” Octi continued. “I’m so damn glad I’m surrounded by such perceptive minds. Keep up the good work. At this rate you’ll make mail room aid in no time at all.”

  Like his driver, the security guard’s face turned bright red. Octi offered the man a cold smile.

  “Anything else?”