Mechanic (Corrosive Knights)

by E. R. Torre

  Good luck, Doctor, Nox thought. From here on in, he was completely on his own.

  Nox smiled when she stepped back into the parking lot.

  It was the first time since she returned from the desert that she noted the acrid smells emanating from the Big City. Only now did she realize how much she missed it, and how close she was to never coming back. The place wasn’t much, but it was home, and there were so many things to do before the night was over.

  Nox weaved in and out of the streets of the Big City seemingly without purpose or destination. In reality, she had both. She stopped before stores and bars and clubs and exited the truck, distributed more money, and was off once again. The night wore on, and most of the money Julie left her was spent. Nox kept a little, for later. By that time, she hoped, no one would care where the bills turned up.

  On impulse, she brought the truck within a couple of blocks of the Salvation Brokers Building. She stopped at a red light and eyed it from the distance.

  The building, never much to begin with, was a burnt out shell. The Salvation Brokers sign hung limp on the sidewalk, its lower right corner still nailed to a charred post.

  This place sure went to hell, Nox thought.

  She pressed down on the accelerator and continued her nocturnal journey.

  At three in the morning, Michael Remor, Security Guard Fourth Grade at the Octi Plaza Building, made his final rounds for the night. He yawned while the elevator took him down from the top floor to the lobby and yawned once again when the doors slid open. He stepped into the lobby and walked around the repair crew’s equipment.

  The mess they left behind was ghastly, even if most of their equipment was covered beneath a large canvas sack.

  How much longer would they need?

  Michael had no idea. Though the damage to Donovan’s office was extensive, a good deal of time had passed and it seemed very little progress was made in the repair work.

  Maybe it’s in Octi’s interest that the repair crew take their sweet time. After all, the more time wasted, the higher the expenses. You could take these expense figures to your accountants and lobby for higher tax breaks. Hell, you could squeeze the insurance companies for more money as well.

  No matter what happened, Octi Corp. always came out ahead.

  Michael Remor sighed. Wish I did.

  He walked to his post, a dark wood octagonal desk set in the middle of the lobby. It was elegant and functional and faced the enormous glass panels that lined the entry to the building. When he wasn’t watching the monitors before him, Michael stared outside and also wished he wasn’t locked in this glass prison. He eyed the Octi Plaza’s enormous parking lot and. beyond it, First Avenue, one of the Big City’s primary thoroughfares. Across the street were Octi’s competitors, the other buildings housing other Big City companies.

  Competition between companies was always fierce, but Octi Corp. was winning. Rumor had it that old man Octi was intent on renaming First Avenue after himself, a particularly satisfying poke in the eye to all those competitors surrounding Octi Plaza.

  Could you imagine? The Security Guard thought. To get to your buildings, you have to travel through Octi Avenue. Oh, the humanity! And what’s next? Could old man Octi work on getting the entire business district named after himself? If so, why stop there? Why not re-name the entire city?

  “Octi’s Big City,” Michael said and chuckled.

  He reached for his cup of coffee and leaned back in the chair behind the monitors. He watched as a dozen different camera views cycled through the monitors. He saw the parking lot, the lower garage, the inside of the elevators, several empty hallways, and, finally, the lobby itself. At that point he turned to the camera and waved at himself.

  Over the course of the next hour, he saw the lobby and the other familiar images whisk by maybe a hundred times. And each time, he saw the same: Nothing.

  Again Michael yawned. He was so very tired. Without meaning to, he closed his eyes.

  When he re-opened them, he lurched forward. He looked at his watch and was relieved to see that he dozed off only a couple of minutes.

  Good thing, too. His shift was ending in the next half hour, and if his replacement were to find him sleeping, he was done.

  Michael stretched and rubbed his fingers through his hair. He felt a faint rumbling in the lobby and wondered if that was what had awoken him.

  The outside traffic, he thought, must be building early. Real early.

  Michael rose from his chair and walked to the glass doors leading outside. He looked past the parking lot and at First Avenue, but saw no traffic.

  “Huh.”

  The rumbling grew with each passing second. Somewhere out there a vehicle, a very large vehicle, was moving closer. Perhaps, Michael thought, the rumbling was coming from a truck delivering cargo. Large trucks weren’t allowed in the city during the day, so naturally all deliveries were made at night.

  Michael remained by the door while the rumbling increased. He was curious to see this approaching monster. It didn’t take long. In the distance and at the end of the road, he finally saw it. It was a dark truck without a cargo payload. It moved up the street very quickly.

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. The truck ran through a red light and for a second Michael spotted the Octi Corp. logo on the truck’s side. He didn’t recognize the vehicle’s exact model, but, based on the size, he was certain it came in from outside the Big City. Perhaps from the Desertlands.

  It roared along the street and, without slowing, squealed into the Octi Plaza parking lot.

  Michael swallowed.

  The truck’s lights lit up the lobby. They were blinding. The roar of the truck’s engine caused the window panels to vibrate.

  Where are you going?

  Michael watched in fascination as the truck approached, closer and closer. She had to slow down to park real soon, right?

  Right?

  Michael’s eyes went wide. The truck wasn’t slowing at all. If anything, it was speeding up, and Michael was standing directly in her path!

  The truck’s horn blared several times, like a warning from hell. The noise shot through Michael’s body and kicked up some primitive instinct within him. The security guard jumped to the side.

  Just in time.

  The Octi Corp. truck rammed through the glass paneling, sending hundreds of pounds of jagged shards all over the place. The truck barreled forward, obliterating Michael’s mahogany post. The monitors and octagonal desk were reduced to rubble and still the truck plowed on. Brakes were applied and the tires locked in place. The truck skidded along the marble floor, leaving behind a heavy black skid mark, and rammed the worker’s tools. Still it slid, ultimately crashing against the elevator doors.

  In the distance, an alarm blared and the lobby’s fire sprinklers came. A stream of water rained down over the rubble.

  Michael found himself curled up in a fetal position besides the shattered front entrance of Octi Plaza. There was no more roaring, no more shattering crystal. With the exception of the distant alarm and the splash of water, all was relatively quiet.

  Michael sat up and looked at the heart of the Octi Plaza lobby. He couldn’t believe the devastation.

  The Octi Corp. truck had demolished the lobby and its front end was wedged into the elevator doors. Dust and debris were everywhere.

  “Holy shit,” Michael said.

  The truck’s passenger door swung open. A lone figure, a woman, stepped out and calmly jumped to the floor. She noted the damage to the lobby while approaching the cowering security guard.

  For a second or two Michael thought about reaching for his gun, but didn’t bother. He spotted it lying some thirty feet away, closer to the truck’s driver than to him. How it got there, he would never know. The driver of the Octi Corp. truck noted the weapon and leaned down to pick it up.

  “Oh God,” Michael muttered. He closed his eyes, fully expecting this crazy woman to shoot him dead. Instead, he heard the driver’s voice.
r />   “You OK?”

  Michael opened his eyes. The driver stood directly before him. The woman was very tall and very muscular. She had short, jet black hair and blue vertical tattoos over her right eyebrow. She wore jeans and a dusty shirt, and there were cuts and bruises over almost all her exposed flesh. The woman emptied the bullets from Michael’s handgun and offered it back to the security guard.

  “I…I’m fine,” Michael managed. He took the gun and replaced it into its holster. “What…what happened?”

  “Came to make a delivery,” the truck driver said. She reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. She reached out.

  “See that the old man gets this.”

  Michael took the paper and unfolded it. He read its contents.

  YOU KEEP FUCKING UP.

  LOVE AND KISSES,

  NOX

  Michael folded the paper. The unreality of the situation threatened to push him over the edge.

  “You…you’re Nox?”

  “You heard of me?”

  “Who hasn’t? What you did to the fortieth floor…it was really fucked up.”

  Nox shrugged and walked away. Michael followed. He waved the paper.

  “Is this it?” Michael asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This note. Is this all you wanted the old man to read?”

  “What are you, a literary critic?”

  Michael stopped walking and let out a fractured laugh.

  “I am no literary critic,” he said and pointed to all the destruction around them. “I suppose all this is enough of a message.”

  “Subtlety was never one of my virtues,” Nox said before walking off into the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Robert Octi Senior arrived to find, for the second time in as many weeks, the parking lot of his Plaza filled with fire trucks, ambulances, and police vehicles. Even more annoying was the large group of reporters that lined the street and took pictures of the latest Octi Corp. misfortune.

  Octi swore.

  It would cost him even more to keep this new story from leading the evening news. He didn’t even want to think what he’d have to tell the board about this particular misfortune.

  His limousine crawled through the masses of gawkers and professionals filling the parking lot. Behind the tinted windows of his limousine Robert Octi Senior watched a heavy duty tow truck strain to pull one of his Desertland big-rigs from the lobby of his beloved building.

  Octi swore once again. He knew what the bizarre vision before him meant. It explained why his son wanted to see him this early in the morning, and why he was hesitant to fully brief him over the phone.

  “Would you like me to leave you by the lobby door again?” Octi’s driver asked, remembering the last time Octi arrived to find this circus at his building’s doors.

  “Fuck no.”

  “Are you sure, sir? I thought you said it was good for morale that the boss walk about the wreckage and look like he’s in charge.”

  “Just take me to the fucking private lot.”

  The driver fought hard not to snicker.

  “Yes sir.”

  The limousine headed for a metal door at the side of the building. It opened as the vehicle approached and closed immediately after it entered. The limousine’s lights revealed a private underground parking lot that held only a handful of available spaces. The driver parked the car in the space closest to Octi’s private elevator and next to a shiny red sports car.

  Octi snorted when he stepped out of the limousine. He recognized the car parked next to his, for he bought it for his son’s thirtieth birthday.

  On days like this, he wondered why he bothered.

  Robert Octi Senior sat behind his desk and read and re-read what was written on that single sheet of paper Nox left behind. Standing at the foot of the desk was his son. The younger man looked very ill at ease. After several seconds of deathly silence, Octi folded the paper. His eyes were red and his right hand shook.

  “Nox,” Octi spat. “You had her. You had her and you let her go.”

  “Dad, I don't understand. Nagel told me Nox was—”

  “Don't attribute your failures to others,” Octi hissed. “You didn't feel Nox was a sufficient enough threat to our organization to personally check on her corpse? How many times have I told you not to delegate so damn much?”

  Robert closed his mouth and stared at the floor.

  “I had high hopes for you, Robert,” Octi said. “I gave you all the breaks, even when we were losing money on all your idiotic pet projects. But you failed me each and every fucking time.”

  “I've tried to do the best—”

  “And that’s the saddest thing, isn’t it? I know you're trying your best. I know everything you've done, every single screw up you've made, has been performed while you were ‘doing your best’.” Octi paused and sighed. “Family is family, but business...business is everything.”

  A single tear rolled down Robert’s cheek.

  “Please sir, I beg you…”

  Octi tore the paper into small pieces. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, as if searching for divine inspiration. Instead, he found that annoying popcorn ceiling pattern that went out of style a decade before. Tomorrow he’d get the workers to strip the popcorn and repaint the ceiling some bright, colorful pattern. Yes, that would make things much nicer.

  The anger dissipated and Octi’s cold stare returned to his son.

  “Against my better judgment I’ll give you one last chance to redeem yourself. You brought back fifty tons of shit from that desert base. I’ll give you one week and one week only, to find something among those crates that makes this whole fiasco worth my while. Understood?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Find it quick,” Octi said. He turned his chair around and stared out at the Big City. He didn’t bother watching his son exit the room.

  Down below, Octi personnel were busy chatting with the news media and offering subtle bribes to bury the stories they planned to report. Nox watched them work the crowd and wondered if she too could collect a few bucks by posing as a reporter.

  Let’s get serious.

  Nox worked her way through the crowds, keeping her head low and drawing as little attention as possible. She found an abandoned broom leaning up against a wall outside the lobby and grabbed it. She swept away several shards of glass just outside the building and used the tow truck as cover to enter the lobby itself.

  Thankfully, the various security guards were busy dealing with the crowds and didn’t pay much attention to another person carrying a broom. Nox headed to the deepest part of the lobby and opened a door leading to a stairwell.

  Nox found what she was looking for on the Plaza’s second floor: A computer station. It was an information station, standard equipment for buildings of this size. Nox tapped on the monitor and a bright green screen with the Octi Corp. logo appeared. Below it were several lines of information.

  Welcome to the Octi Plaza.

  It is our hope your stay here is productive.

  “It will be,” Nox said. The green screen faded, replaced by another.

  If you need information on our various departments, please press here.

  For information on staff, please press here.

  Nox tapped on the second line. A list of Octi personnel filled the screen. Each name was followed by information on where their offices were located.

  Nox noticed Donovan’s name was no longer there, but she wasn’t looking for it.

  The person she was looking for had an office on the forty fifth floor.

  The office was large and tastefully furnished. An oak desk lay at the rear and over it was a lush Johansen oil painting of a barn and meadow. To Nox’s untrained eyes, it looked like the genuine article. To either side of the painting and desk were bookshelves lined with legal tomes.

  It took Nox several minutes to find the office safe.

  At first she thoug
ht it might be hidden behind the Johansen. But that would be way too obvious. Instead, Nox checked the legal casebooks and found a couple of them were phonies. When she pulled them aside, she found the small wall safe.

  Nox took a few minutes to examine the safe for security measures. She found and disabled a couple and felt comfortable enough to pick the lock itself.

  A siren flared up and died down the street, a jet airplane rumbled as it lifted off. The silence of the very early morning took over. Then, a slight click was heard and Nox smiled. She found the final security measure just inside the safe’s door. It was a small trigger and a loose wire. To the untrained eye, they looked like nothing more than parts of the safe’s locking mechanism. The loose wire could have been anything.

  It wasn’t, of course.

  Nox slowly pulled the wire out, until it was fully exposed.

  “Nice,” she muttered.

  The Mechanic took a small aerosol can from her pocket and sprayed the wire. A dull white foam completely covered it. Once done, Nox let out a relieved breath. Had she missed this wire and touched it while opening the safe door, she would have been electrocuted.

  Nox opened the safe and searched it. She found and removed several documents. At the back of the safe she found a small package.

  The smile crept back onto her face.

  Nox took the package to the oak desk and risked turning on a small lamp. She opened the package and found three old and worn computer diskettes.

  Jackpot.

  Nox took the package of old diskettes and put the other documents back in place. Afterwards, she closed the safe and eyed the office to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be.

  She then reached for the lamp and was about to turn it off when she spotted a photograph on the corner of the desk. It was a professional quality black and white picture of a just married couple engaged in a tender embrace. They both smiled for the camera, a young couple eager to begin their shared life.