by Sean Cullen
The old woman frowned. Her voice became harder. “Take one. Now.”
“No,” Xnasha refused.
“I see,” the old woman said sharply. “I guess I’ll get the tea, then.”
The old woman slammed the tray down on the coffee table and stomped off into the kitchen.
“Don’t eat the cookies,” Xnasha whispered urgently.
Everyone was holding a cookie. They looked at Xnasha like she was crazy.
“There’s something wrong here.”
“Whatever,” Cara said and raised the cookie to her lips.
“No,” Xnasha said. She slapped the cookie out of Cara’s hand. It bounced on the carpet and crumbled into pieces.
“What’s the big idea?” Mimi snarled.
“Mimi,” Xnasha said. “Don’t you see? There’s something wrong.”
“Yes.” The old woman’s voice was cold and hard. She stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen, her blue eyes gentle no longer. They were blazing with rage. “There is something wrong. You have gotten cookie crumbs all over my carpet!” Her voice rose to a high-pitched screech. She held a teapot in her hand. “I hate when people get crumbs on the carpet!”
Mrs. Francis seemed to wake from her daze. “It was an accident.”
“Shut up!” the old woman screamed. “You are trespassing in my house! You didn’t eat the cookies! You will pay!”
Mr. Kipling rose to his feet. “See here, my good woman.”
“No, YOU SEE HERE!” She cocked her arm and flung the teapot at Mrs. Francis. The flying pot rocketed straight at the housekeeper’s head and would have struck her if Mr. Kipling hadn’t thrown himself in the way. The teapot struck him directly in the chest and exploded. Mr. Kipling was flung backwards through the front window of the house. Glass shattered and burst outward as he was pitched out onto the lawn.
For a second, everyone froze in shocked disbelief.
“Rupert!” Mrs. Francis flung herself out the gaping window after her husband.
Mimi, Cara, and the other Guards shook off their stupor and brandished their fighting sticks. Xnasha pulled her crossbow from her back.
“Who are you?” Mimi demanded.
“I am Mrs. Guardian,” the old woman snarled. She flexed her muscles and her torso rippled. Long metal claws sprouted from her gnarled hands. Her teeth grew long and sharp. She crouched in the kitchen doorway. With a voice like gears grinding, she said, “You shall not pass.”
“I’m Mimi Catastrophe Jones,” Mimi said, spinning her stick. “This is Cara and Xnasha and the Royal Swiss Guards. And you? Yer Texas toast.”
As one, the Guards leapt at Mrs. Guardian. With an ear-splitting roar, she sprang to meet them.
A few seconds of close combat were enough to dispel any lingering doubts that they were fighting an old woman. Mrs. Guardian’s reflexes were blindingly fast. She met all their attacks with ease. The Guards were hampered by their own numbers in the cramped quarters of the parlour while Mrs. Guardian had only to stay with her back to the kitchen to hold them at bay. The fighting sticks were a poor match for metal claws. The talons were razor sharp and chewed through even the toughened wood of the staves. One of the Guards was disarmed immediately and a backhanded strike sent her smashing into a wall, destroying an end table and a lamp. The girl lay on the ground groaning, out of the fight. She was soon joined by two others.
Mimi ducked and swung, looking for an opening. The claws scythed through the air, swinging in deadly arcs. Mimi waited until the thing was occupied fighting two other Guards and took her chance. Rolling in low, she kicked out with her feet, hooking Mrs. Guardian’s ankle and sending the creature smashing onto its back.
With a cry, all the remaining Guards leapt in. They swung their sticks at the prone creature, but it sprung to its feet. Grabbing a flowered ottoman, it swung the foot-stool in a wide arc, knocking the Guards away like so many bowling pins. The Guards smashed into the walls and fell in heaps. A few of them struggled to their feet, but most merely lay there, unmoving. Mimi was left standing alone. Where are you, Xnasha? The Atlantean was nowhere in sight. Mimi gritted her teeth and held her stick out in front of her.
“Is that all you got?” Mimi taunted. “’Cause I ain’t impressed.”
The thing grinned, showing its vicious metal teeth. “You should have taken the cookie.”
The creature lashed out a foot with impossible speed, driving it into Mimi’s chest and sending her through the gaping front window and out onto the lawn. Mimi slammed down onto the grass hard, forcing the air from her lungs. Gasping, she tried to rise.
“Mimi?” Mrs. Francis was kneeling beside Mr. Kipling, holding his head. The older man’s eyes were closed and his breathing was ragged. His skin had an unhealthy grey cast. The entire front of his coat was burnt away as if by acid.
Mimi felt rage course through her. The sight of the sweet and polite Mr. Kipling lying injured on the grass flipped a switch in her head. Mrs. Francis watched with tear-streaked cheeks as Mimi hauled herself to her feet.
“Mimi, you can’t go back in there,” the housekeeper pleaded. “You’ll be killed.”
Mimi bent and pulled the sabre from Mr. Kipling’s scabbard. The blade snaked free with a reptilian hiss. “Nobody smacks my friend with an exploding teapot and gits away with it.”
She grasped the hilt of the sabre in both hands and ran towards the house, leaping through the shattered window. She landed in a tuck and roll and came to her feet with the sword raised above her head.
The thing that called itself Mrs. Guardian stood in the kitchen doorway. It held the tray of cookies. During the fight, its dress and flesh had been torn to reveal the silvery wires and steel sinew, the inner workings of the malevolent machine it truly was.
“So, you came back,” Mrs. Guardian sneered. It held out the tray. “Cookie, dear?”
“No thanks, Granny,” Mimi said sweetly. “I don’t wanna spoil my dinner.”
“Oh, I insist,” Mrs. Guardian shrieked. The claws plucked a cookie from the tray and flicked it at Mimi’s head. Mimi jerked her head to the side, but the cookie still cut a groove along her cheek before it buried itself in the wall. More cookies lanced across the room. Mimi dodged each one and knocked the final missile out of the air with the flat of the sabre.
“Looks like you ran outta ammo, Granny.” Mimi held the sword high above her head, two hands gripping the hilt tightly. She ducked as the tray slashed through the space where her head had been an instant earlier, piercing the wall and quivering there with a loud Whang!
Mrs. Guardian clenched its fists and crouched down. Mimi did the same. The two adversaries eyed each other over the expanse of the Persian carpet, each waiting for the other to make a move.
Simultaneously, they leapt at each other. Mimi slashed with the sabre. Sparks rained down as one clawed hand reached up, parrying the blow. The other claw raked low, but Mimi stuck out a foot and jabbed her heel into the creature’s wrist, blocking the blow but numbing her whole leg up to the hip. Mimi fell back. She parried furiously, but she was weakening. Mrs. Guardian came at her relentlessly, raining a flurry of blows that Mimi met with the sabre. Mimi knew she was tiring. She had nothing left. She raised the sabre with quivering arms to block one more blow, but the creature grabbed her wrist.
The old woman, thing, monster, whatever lifted her up by the arm. Mimi dangled like a fish caught by some proud sportsman. Mrs. Guardian raised Mimi until the girl’s green eyes were level with its own icy blue ones. This was the end.
“Go ahead, Granny,” Mimi gasped, her teeth bared. “Go ahead and kill me.”
“Oh, I will.” Mrs. Guardian grinned, metal teeth glinting. It raised a gleaming claw, poised to rip out Mimi’s throat.
“Excuse me.” Xnasha’s voice was calm.
Mrs. Guardian twisted its head to see Xnasha in the kitchen doorway. The Atlantean had crept around through the kitchen from the hallway and come up behind Mrs. Guardian.
“You are a very mean old la
dy,” Xnasha continued, almost apologetically. “And ugly, too.” Xnasha fired the crossbow she was holding. The metal bolt flew straight and true, plunging into the metal forehead of the thing that called itself Mrs. Guardian. Its white wig tipped over one eye. It stood stunned, loosing Mimi from its grip then falling to its knees with a thud.
Seeing her chance, Mimi swung the sabre with all her might, slashing through the neck of the monster. Mimi staggered with the strength of her own swing, almost tripping over her own feet, but she caught herself.
Mrs. Guardian’s head flew from its shoulders. Black fluid shot out in a high-pressure geyser, painting the ceiling. The head bounced on the carpet and rolled to a stop. The eyes blinked once, then stared lifelessly at the wall.
“How do ya like them cookies?” Mimi rasped, leaning on the sabre.
Xnasha stepped over the machine on the carpet and squeezed her friend’s arm.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Where were you?”
“Performing a flanking manoeuvre. You ought to see something.” Xnasha tugged Mimi’s arm towards the kitchen.
“No.” Mimi shook her off. “Just a sec.”
Mimi went around the room checking her fallen comrades. She found Cara sitting with her back to the wall.
“Nice job, Mimi.” Cara smiled weakly. “I’m okay. I just need a minute to catch my breath.”
“When ya feel up to it, check th’ others in here. I’m goin’ outside.”
“Gotcha.” Cara pushed herself up and joined Xnasha as she surveyed the fallen Guards.
Mimi hopped through the shattered window and went to Mrs. Francis. The housekeeper was still holding her husband, who was awake but clearly in a lot of pain.
“How are ya, Mr. Kipling?”
“I’ve been better,” Mr. Kipling grunted. He coughed and winced at the pain. “I always seem to be getting hurt. I hate holding everyone up. I’ll be on my feet in a moment.” He tried to rise but immediately subsided into a fit of coughing.
“Rupert, lay still, you fool,” Mrs. Francis cried. “You aren’t going anywhere. Mimi! Your face is bleeding!”
“Jest a scratch. Mr. Kipling, I hate ta say it, but she’s right. It looks like yer outta this fight.”
Mr. Kipling lay back and closed his eyes. “Yes, sadly, that is true.” He opened his blue eyes and looked up at Mimi. “Good luck, Mimi Catastrophe Jones. From the moment I met you on Snow Monkey Island, I knew you were a special girl.”
Mimi’s face reddened. “No need to go all mushy.” She scowled, but her eyes stung. Fortunately, Mrs. Francis gathered her in a soft, strong embrace.
“I have to stay with him and the others who are hurt,” she fretted. “Please be careful, my darling Mimi. Find Parveen and hurry back.”
“Aw, Mrs. Francis, let go, will ya?” Mimi extricated herself from the housekeeper’s grasp and rubbed away the tears from her eyes before they could spill down her cheeks. “I ain’t dead yet, and with luck I ain’t gonna be soon.”
“Mimi! Let’s go!” Cara called from the window.
“Comin’,” Mimi replied. She turned and looked at the two dearest adults she had ever known. Mr. Kipling had taught her everything about being honourable, and Mrs. Francis had just been … wonderful. She hated to leave them behind. “I’ll be back. Don’t worry.” She turned to go, but stopped and turned back, holding the sabre up in front of her. “I’ll use this fer both of us.” Then she ran across the lawn and hopped into the window.
Mr. Kipling watched her go. “I do love that girl.”
“So do I.” Mrs. Francis kissed his forehead, fighting tears. “So do I.”
Inside the wrecked parlour, several Guards were lying on the floor. Xnasha and Cara had tried to make them comfortable. They were too sorely wounded to go any farther. Mimi did a quick headcount and found that ten were left in action, including Cara, Xnasha, and her.
“Good work, everybody,” Mimi said. “You can rest now. Mrs. Francis’ll be in to take care o’ y’all soon. The rest of ya, make sure y’all got sticks and take all the extra batteries for the stun rifles from the ones stayin’ here.” The Guards moved to obey.
Xnasha beckoned from the kitchen doorway. Mimi, Cara, and the others followed her.
Inside, they found a perfect little kitchen complete with black-and-white tiled floor, Formica table and chairs, a shiny chrome radio, and a toaster gleaming under the overhead light.
“Well, ain’t this quaint.”
Cara sniffed. “This is the Headquarters of the deadly ODA?”
Xnasha shook her head. She went to a tall cupboard with twin doors. She pulled the doors open to reveal the shiny sliding doors of an elevator car. The doors opened. The car was empty.
“Well, ain’t that quaint! Everybody in.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Cara asked.
“Heck, nothin’ around here is safe. I just got my butt kicked by an old lady!”
“Good point,” Cara conceded.
They all trooped into the car. The doors whisked shut behind them.
Mr. Crisp
Mr. Sweet’s voice sounded in Mr. Crisp’s skull. It was as if his superior were standing beside him instead of descending from orbit, kilometres above the Earth. “Have you secured the intruder, Mr. Crisp?”
“Not yet, but we are closing in on him. The swarm is on his heels.”
“Excellent. We have retrieved the asset. We will be on the ground and in Headquarters within a quarter of an hour.”
“Yes, Mr. Sweet,” Mr. Crisp acknowledged. “Understood.”
The voice was gone. Mr. Crisp spoke out loud. “Mother? Status of the swarm?”
“The swarm is in pursuit of the intruder … One moment, please. Sensors have been tripped. The outer security checkpoint has been breached. Mrs. Guardian has been neutralized. Intruders have entered the main elevator.”
Mr. Crisp couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you certain, Mother?”
“Verified contact with second group of intruders. They are approaching the main level. Shall I stop the elevator?”
Mr. Crisp thought for a moment. “No, bring them to this level. Redirect the swarm to meet them when they get off the elevator. I will assemble more agents.”
“Redirecting the swarm.”
Mr. Crisp sent out a call for more agents. There were few available. Almost everyone was involved in the preparations for the opening of the gate. Only one hundred agents out of thousands answered the summons. Mr. Crisp was confident that they would be enough.
Chapter 29
PARVEEN
Parveen toiled furiously, trying to get the work he needed to do done in the respite he had been given. He sat with his back to the huge fan in the junction of two shafts that he had come to think of as his personal quarters. In his lap, one of the broken bugs lay on its back. Parveen’s electronic tool set was open beside him. He had hastily scavenged spare parts from the three broken bugs. Standing in front of him, its access panel open, stood the maintenance robot he had waylaid. Working quickly, he fashioned a detonator from the mishmash of parts and attached it to the block of plastic explosive he had stolen from the armoury. Satisfied, he stuffed the makeshift bomb into the open panel.
Next, he took off his watch. The watch was another of his designs. The watch told the time and the date, which wasn’t unusual. It also was an altimeter and a Global Positioning System. While scouting the Headquarters over the past days, Parveen had taken the time to note the exact locations of strategic installations in the ODA facilities. One of those was the gate. He had not been daring enough to approach the gate directly: there were too many Grey Agents in the vicinity of the device. Instead, he had taken sightings from several points on the perimeter of the main chamber, then using simple trigonometry he had figured out the coordinates of the gate.
Now he wired his watch to the robot, inputting the gate’s coordinates, and set the detonator. That done, he reconnected the robot’s power source, being careful
to make sure the robot’s processor, its mechanical brain, was disconnected from the central computer. Parveen hoped Mother would be too preoccupied to detect one robot servitor dropping off the grid. Once his alterations were complete, he snapped the access panel closed. The robot immediately began toddling off along the ventilation shaft. Parveen watched it go, hoping his hasty handiwork would hold. The thing was now programmed to explode when it reached the gate’s location. The maintenance robot was the perfect delivery system for a bomb. No one would question its presence anywhere in the facility. Parveen wasn’t sure when it would arrive at the gate or what route it might take, but he could only hope the explosion would cripple the ODA’s horrible apparatus.
Parveen couldn’t just sit there, though. The bugs would be back. He had to wonder why the chase was called off in the first place. He took a few moments to wire together an electromagnetic pulse bomb from the remains of the metal bugs he hadn’t yet used. It wouldn’t be as strong as the one he’d used in Windcity that had immobilized the Firebirds and the Grey Agents in their helicopter, but it might buy him a little time. He tossed the device into his backpack and decided he needed to find out what was going on, despite the risk of a renewed attack by the metal cockroaches. He packed up his tools and set off to find a shaft cover to peer through.
He decided to go to the main chamber to see if there was any activity there. The Grey Agents had been busy building something in the shadow of the gate. Servitor robots had brought in tons of steel sheeting and scaffolding. Parveen moved carefully down the ventilation shaft, keeping an eye out for the metal bugs, but there were none to be found. As he approached, he heard what sounded like a battle in progress.
“Y’all want some more? ’Cause I got more!” The voice rose over the din. Parveen felt his heart leap. He knew that voice.
Mimi and the others were holding their own against the onslaught of mechanical cockroaches. The glittering bugs had greeted them as they stepped out of the elevator car, swarming along the floor and threatening to engulf them. Xnasha fired bolt after bolt from her crossbow, raking the horde but to little effect.
