by Phil Foglio
“Halt!” One stepped forward. “This alley is the headquarters of the Glorious Mechanicsburg Children’s Crusade, Peanut Militia, and Stink-Bombers Secret Society of Justice!129 What’s the password?”
“Fine!” With one great shrug, Tarvek shed passengers, books, and weasels. The avalanche sent the boy rolling backwards, but he managed to fall underneath Ruxala, who was still unconscious. The wasp eater leapt gracefully from Tarvek’s shoulder and bounced off the boy’s stewpot helmet.
“Get these people to safety!” Tarvek commanded. He grabbed the child’s wooden sword and spun to face the onrushing queen, then leapt forward with a desperate shriek. The creature recoiled in surprise. Tarvek managed to land a solid blow across its spiny beak. It took a reflexive swat at him, catching him across the chest and sending him tumbling back across the street. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a terrified mass of children dragging Jorgi out of sight, before a series of stabs had him scrabbling furiously backwards and feinting with the pathetic wooden sword until it was smashed from his hand. He had time to see three great claws rising to impale him—
—and the queen exploded in a burst of blue light. There was a sound reminiscent of a large lobster being dropped into boiling lava, and a rain of green ichor pattered to the stones around him.
Tarvek blinked at the sky through a coating of goo. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?” The voice came from behind him. It sounded mechanical, like a clank. A loud, angry clank. Tarvek sat up and saw, towering over him, a massive armored knight, encrusted with trilobite sigils and spikes. Glowing lights shone through what looked like stained glass panels set into the armor. In its right hand, it gripped a colossal battle axe to which a glowing, cable-festooned cane had been hastily wired. Cane, axe, and armor crackled with the electrical discharge that poured from the glass tip of the cane. The apparition pointed the weapon at Tarvek accusingly. “ARE YOU LOOKING FOR AN EXCUSE TO DIE? YOU IDIOT! I SHOULD JUST—UGH, HOLD ON, STUPID LEVERS—”
Tarvek just stared. The voice sounded familiar, and that cane— “Um . . . Wulfenbach? Is that you?”
The answer was an augmented sigh of exasperation, followed by some clicking, and a decisive “THERE.” A set of heavily ornamented panels in the knight’s chest swung outward, revealing Agatha, enthroned in a snug cockpit lined with glowing controls. She glared down at Tarvek. “Where have you been,” she demanded. “What are we supposed to do if you go and get yourself killed?”
Tarvek considered the massive engine of destruction that loomed over him. “Agatha!” He scrambled for an answer, “I . . . uh . . . what are you supposed to . . . ?” he stammered. “In that thing? Whatever you want, I think.”
“Just a minute,” she said. “I’ll be right down.”
Agatha slapped a switch and a set of stairs unfolded. A second later she was pulling Tarvek to his feet and examining his face. Tarvek hastily scrubbed at it with his sleeve, removing most of the slime. “Are you hurt?” Agatha vainly tried to brush off his coat. “You look awful.”
“You look beautiful.”
Agatha’s eyes went wide, and Tarvek marveled at the way the blush bloomed upwards from her neckline. Suddenly she turned away. “Um . . . right. Sure,” she mumbled, “because I always look stunning when I’ve been crawling around working on greasy old machinery and . . . and . . . ”
Tarvek touched her chin and gently swung her face back towards his and looked into her eyes. “That’s right,” he said simply. “Always.” He leaned forward and guided her lips to his.
The kiss was slow and deceptively gentle at first. Agatha slid her arms around Tarvek’s back and leaned into him for what seemed like forever. When they finally, reluctantly drew apart, Agatha realized they were the center of attention. The Jägergenerals are here, her hindbrain pointed out, vaguely, and . . . Othar? But Tarvek was leaning in for another kiss. She met him halfway. While this kiss was nowhere as timeless as the first, it was equally laden with promise and possibility.
Suddenly there was a theatrical, throat-clearing cough. Othar stepped up and slapped Tarvek on the back, booming: “Well done, sir! You did a fine job in there, you show great promise indeed! The blade that wounded Unit Tech Ruxala was poisoned, but Violetta had the antidote. Admirable rescue. But, I should point out that, as my hapless apprentice hero, you really ought to avoid public displays of affection, especially when there are young children present.”
A flawlessly executed uppercut knocked Othar backwards into a convenient fountain. “Foul,” he sputtered.
Tarvek stepped away from Agatha and flexed his fist. “That’s the second thing I promised myself I’d do if I got out of all that alive,” he said with a smile.
He then took a deep breath and pulled Agatha close. “And . . . and here goes the other. Agatha— I’ve just got to say this properly at least once, so I know that you know.
“After that, I’ll shut up about it and we’ll get to work, so listen carefully. Wulfenbach . . . he loves you. He really does. And you . . . well, I was ready to give up any hope you might care for me.” Tarvek pulled away slightly and looked directly into Agatha’s eyes. “But I love you too. For a thousand reasons . . . and I’m not giving up after all. If Gil wins your heart in the end, it won’t be without a fight.”
Agatha stared up at him and realized that if she had to choose at that moment . . . she’d be in big trouble.
“There!” Tarvek stepped back and clapped his hands in satisfaction. “I said it.” He turned to address the silent crowd. “Now, are there any maps of the current defenses? I’d really like a look at them if I could.”
Agatha blinked and took a deep breath. Tarvek was right. Time was short. But, she silently vowed, science demands there be more evaluation of this kissing phenomena.
Tarvek had stepped up to examine the suit of armor. “Where did you find this? It’s amazing! I suppose it’s too much to hope that there’s another thousand of them tucked away somewhere?”
Agatha shook her head. “Nothing exactly like that, but there are heaps of other things in there!”
As the two moved off, the crowd surged behind them to keep up. Mamma gave Zeetha a gentle nudge. “Hoo! Dis vun fights durty! Dot Wulfenbach gots heem sum trouble now, jah?” Zeetha nodded. She looked a bit more troubled about this turn of events than one would have supposed.
The larger part of the crowd was shouting and talking heatedly, mostly at a small cluster of people who were scribbling fiercely in small books. One of the Vespiary Squad members boiled to the head of the line. “Thirty—in gold—on Prince Sturmvarous!” Violetta, who had emerged from the alley, nodded, got his name, and made a mark in her book. The Jägergeneral Koppelslav loomed over Van’s shoulder and leered. “Hey, keed. Gimmee vun hunnert on her takink both of dem!”
Van licked his pencil point. “That’s the dark horse, General. One will get you five.”
Violetta jerked her own pencil free of her book and stared at him. “What? You had that at one to fifty!”
Van scanned the last few pages of his own book and sighed. “That was before Sturmvarous evened the odds. It’s anyone’s race now.”
Another Jäger, on hearing this, grabbed Van’s shoulder in excitement. “Really? Den Hy gunna bet feefty on me!”
Van stared at him—and then made a note. “Sure. Good luck.”
Meanwhile, in a small dimly lit cubicle aboard Castle Wulfenbach, the officially late Lord Rudolf Selnikov glanced up from the slowly self-turning pages of the book before him. “Oh. Hello,” he mouthed. A very good simulacrum of his voice sounded from a small speaker set in the base of the jar that kept his detached head alive and well. “I thought I’d been completely forgotten. Is there any way I could get a goldfish or something in here? I’m dead bored.”
Boris considered this request as he sat down. “I wouldn’t worry about being bored. There’s an excellent chance someone will try to kill you soon.”
Several telltale lights on Selnikov’s jar switched from green to
red. “What? But the Baron said he’d protect me!”
Boris looked offended. “I did say ‘try.’ Now listen, I need to ask you something and I do not have much time. They think I’ve gone to get some papers.”
Selnikov rolled his eyes. “But of course. Because now I can really concentrate on anything.”
“Try. It is about the Other’s wasps. The ones made to enslave sparks.”
For a man who claimed to be distracted, his Lordship gave every indication of intent interest. “Ah. You know about them?”
“Oh yes. But evidently not as much as you do.”
Selnikov discovered that dissembling was considerably more difficult when one no longer had shoulders to shrug. “I . . . I’ve glanced at some notes . . . ”
Boris looked interested. “Notes you say. How long have these creatures existed?”
“I only knew of the one prototype, but I understood it was never released.”
Boris leaned in. “Could there be more?”
Selnikov considered this. “Theoretically? Yes, but I doubt it.”
“So? How long?”
“Er . . . Maybe a year? No more than that.”
Boris frowned. Long enough. “Why weren’t they used?”
“I’m pretty sure there was just the one . . . ”
“Why wasn’t it used?”
“There was a plan. A schedule . . . ”
“But?”
“But the whole thing was overseen by Professor Snarlantz. In Passholdt?”
“Passholdt?” The proper memory surfaced and Boris frowned. “Ah. I see.”
“Yes, a bad business all around.”
“So, with this new type of wasp, could an enslaved spark resist a direct command by the Other?”
“Of course not. That’s the whole point.”
“But what if he . . . or she, was already in a full-blown spark-induced fugue state?”130
Selnikov paused and looked thoughtful. “Interesting. I can’t say for sure, but if I had to guess—from what little I know131—I’d have to say no. The . . . Other would have demanded that her control supersede everything else.”
Boris considered this. “That’s . . . not good enough.” He stood up and gently lifted Lord Selnikov’s container. “Come, sir, let me find you a place a bit more private.”
Several minutes later, Boris reappeared at the meeting that he had stepped away from. In response to the Baron’s raised eyebrow, he muttered, “I’m sorry, Herr Baron, I left something in my quarters.”
Klaus nodded and turned back. “Please continue, General.”
The officer standing before a map of the area sagged slightly. “Continue? I haven’t even started! You want us to completely rearrange our strategy! We’ll have to reassign almost every unit we have! This new plan of yours will take time, and every military strategist for the last five hundred years will tell you: don’t give the Heterodyne time!”
Boris leaned over and side-mouthed his neighbor. “What is going on? I was only gone five minutes! What new plan?”
The man beside him, the leader of the mechanical ground forces, looked disgusted. “Due to new information somebody brought in, now our priority is to capture the Heterodyne girl alive!”
Next to him, the air fleet admiral leaned back in her chair and addressed the ceiling. “We’re all set to liquefy the place— and now this. And we’re supposed to do it with minimal damage, no less! Feh!”
A third man slapped the table in annoyance. “There would have been no need to liquefy anything after my thunder bees had cleared the area.”
Boris ignored the growing argument and stared at the Baron. “While I, personally, think keeping her alive is good, Herr Baron, I am . . . confused. You just told your son that the Lady Heterodyne must die. What has changed?”
Klaus’ eye twitched slightly. “Boris, if your information is correct, if she is herself infected as some new kind of ‘queen revenant,’ then she is an invaluable specimen and must be studied.” He dropped his voice. “But I do not want my son to harbor any false hope. It would be best if he thought she was dead.”
Outside the town, from the assembled Wulfenbach forces, sirens began to blare. More and more of them filling the air until the town was ringed with their wailing. General Zog snagged an adjunct. “Get to Herr von Mekkhan. Those are ordinance sirens. Dey are about to begin shellink der town. Hev pipple get to der cellars.”
The adjunct stared out at the dropwalls that ringed the town. “But . . . but I thought the empire was helping us.”
A low series of BOOMS began, followed by the once-heard-never-forgotten sound of incoming shells. Explosions began blooming around the town. A dropwall took a direct hit and shuddered. Zog glanced upwards towards the Castle Wulfenbach that hovered menacingly in the distance. “Hy tink dere iz more den vun var goink on here.”
On a street in Mechanicsburg, a group of workers stared forlornly at a burning building. A few scattered boxes and sundry items testified to their attempt to save some valuables, but they had clearly left far more behind. One of them glanced back as a crowd of people shambled up, led by a short man with a stained apron. This worthy consulted a scrap of paper, looked around, and then raised a hand, bringing his group to a halt. “Okay, this is the next one.”
The worker frowned, then puffed out his chest, displaying a shining brass Department of Public Works badge. “Push off, you. We’re working here.”
The little man looked at the group standing about and cocked an eyebrow. “Well, now? So are we.”
“Look you . . . ”
R-79 loomed up. “Trouble? I can squish . . . ”
Moloch rolled his eyes. “No! I told you to stop that. Jeez, you just got out. If you beat this guy to death, I’ll get in trouble.”
The city worker stared up at the construct and then recoiled in terror. “Sweet Lady of Solder! You’re prisoners from the Castle!”
Moloch slapped his paper onto the terrified man’s chest. “Not anymore! Now we’re a roving band of heroic repairmen. See?”
Several workmen clustered around and examined the paper. “Hey, this is the same list we’re working from.”
Moloch glanced over at the burning building. It was still possible to see the sign that declared it to be the headquarters of the Mechanicsburg Department of Public Works. “I can see why the Castle thought you could use the help.”
Stung, the lead man handed Moloch back his orders. “Hey, we have been under attack, you know. It’s not just us. We’ve had stuff blowing up around us all day. We’re trying to get to the substation, but this damn statue fell on it and we’ve been trying to move it for two hours.”
Moloch eyed the iron statue of some long-dead Heterodyne and shrugged. “If we let stuff like that slow us down, we’d still be inside.” He made a short bow to R-79. “If you wouldn’t mind?”
The great construct gave a snort of laughter and strode forth. With three terrible blows, he smashed the statue aside. “Good job,” Moloch told him. He then turned to the others. “Now let’s get this done before Her Royal Sparkiness shows up and turns us all into fish or something.”
The city workers stared at him. “Her . . . You mean the new Lady Heterodyne? You’ve seen her?”
“Oh yeah.”
Fräulein Snaug stepped up and said, “Herr von Zinzer here is her chief minion.” Every townsperson within earshot froze. The crew chief stared at Moloch as he directed several of the others. “Really?”
“Uh-huh,” Snaug confirmed. “The Castle said so and everything.”
Moloch caught the tail-end of this conversation and waved a hand. “That is only until the job is done, and then I am catching the first airship outta here. Now let’s fix this stupid thing.”
The city workers quickly snapped into action and swarmed over the substation. “Yes sir,” the crew chief said crisply. “Me and the boys got this one, sir!”
Moloch started to argue, then paused as he saw the crew in action. “What the heck’s got in
to them? If they’d been this organized five minutes ago, we wouldn’t’ve had to waste our time here.”
Doctor Mittelmind clapped him on the back. “I believe it is because you are here, young man.”
Moloch blinked. “Uh . . . How do you figure?”
Mittelmind gestured about, clearly impressed at something he alone could see. “Brilliant. It must have taken generations. I don’t think it could have been done in any other town in Europa. And who would understand it?” He turned back to Moloch and tapped his forehead, “Ah, but I— I know what to look for.”132
Moloch folded his arms. “Well, why don’t you tell me, and then two people will know how smart you are.”
Mittelmind cheerfully accepted the challenge at face value and spread his hands expansively. “This town is populated entirely by minions.”
Moloch considered this. “I guess that makes sense. You probably didn’t survive here if you didn’t know how to ask ‘what color?’ when the Heterodyne said ‘jump.’ ”
“Well said. But in any group, there is a hierarchy. Minions are more aware of it than most, and you are now the Alpha.”
Moloch stared at him. “Al who?”
Mittelmind chuckled and gently punched Moloch’s shoulder. “You are now the Lady Heterodyne’s chief minion,” he explained. “Therefore, all the other minions of Mechanicsburg are subordinate to you.”
Moloch waved his hands in denial. “Wait. You’re saying that because she pushes me around first, I get to push everyone else around? They won’t put up with that.”
“To the contrary, they have been waiting for you—or someone like you—for almost twenty years. Most people never know what their purpose in life is. Where they fit into the great scheme of things. Minions are different. They know exactly where they belong and what is expected of them. Oh, it’s not always a pleasant life, but studies have shown that psychologically, minions are happier and saner than the majority of the non-minion populace.
“But with the disappearance of the Heterodyne Boys, there was no driver, no authoritative voice to tell them what to do. They lacked purpose. Now there is, once again, a Heterodyne in the Castle, an unstoppable force that controls their lives.
