by K. C. Finn
No, something is still very wrong about the situation, and the sooner Caecilius Rex can aid in the defeat of the horde of clockwork murderers, the sooner he can return to the mysterious Doctor Fowler and get the truth out of him.
This thought shakes Cae out of his deep reverie just in time to see a pair of shining clockwork feet a few metres ahead of him where there is a gap in the smoke. Freezing in the dim corridor, Cae looks around at the nearby walls for some indication of where he is. He has never been one for a sense of direction, and he knows he’s picked a bad moment to become both physically and mentally lost.
A small sign tells him he is near some photocopying rooms, which also tells him that security is at the end of the next block of corridor. But the robot is standing sentry right in the crossroads before that block, and Cae is certain if he takes too many steps closer the mechanical menace will start to sense him even if it cannot see.
In a moment of brilliance, Cae takes the little silver teaspoon from his pocket. Promising to retrieve it sometime later, he turns it over carefully in his gloved hand, trying to work out the distance between himself and the bot.
With a clumsy motion he lobs the spoon out into the crossing of corridors, and mercifully it finds a suitable place to land over to the right of where the bot is standing, straight out of the path that Cae needs to take. The spoon lands with a loud, echoing clatter, and immediately Cae sees the clockwork feet start to walk. Through the wisps of dark, thick smoke, the detective’s shining blue eyes momentarily pick out the horrifying sight of the powerful, outstretched fingers of the robot as it heads towards the decoy.
With eager heels the young detective moves swiftly from his position and starts down the last corridor, feeling his way along the left hand side of the wall so that he can find the door to security more easily. Adrenalin courses into his body as he comes nearer to the right door, bright eyes reading the signage all the way into the ever-increasing smog. He knows he is nearing the main exit of the building now, where the ventilation system will be letting in the most toxicity, and soon he is unable to see anything ahead.
He presses on. His last visit to the office was mercifully only a few days ago, and for once Cae really feels that he knows where he is going despite the loss of clear vision. In fact, as he reaches the security doorway, he is feeling incredibly proud of his improved navigational abilities.
Until he feels a metal torso where the door should be, and a pair of long, cold fingers close around his neck.
36.
The first concrete fact that Caecilius Rex is able to register is that his dose of RESISTANCE has definitely worn off. His numerous and frantic attempts to push the robot’s crushing fingers off his windpipe fail spectacularly as if to confirm this. The second fact he registers is that the robot holding him is very, very strong. Although the bot is not actively destroying Cae’s windpipe itself, its pressure and iron hold are plenty to slowly choke all the air from the young detective’s system.
The third fact Cae faces is that he is going to die.
In his current profession, Caecilius Rex has faced this same scenario an unfortunate amount of times already, the last two of which were only three months ago when Damian Jobe had repeatedly tried to have him killed. At that time the young detective could have written imminent death off as an occupational hazard, reasoning that it had to happen sometime or other anyway, and in the face of the sharp, spinning blades of death at the old casino, Cae had even been ready to accept such a fate.
But not now.
As the remarkable continued pressure of the robot’s icy fingers starts to make Cae feel lightheaded, the detective struggles to hang onto consciousness in the vain hope that his life will not end this day. Of all days, the one in which he might finally have begun to avenge the death of his mother is not the one on which he should depart this world.
A pitiful flicker of hope makes him wonder if Kendra might just appear and rescue him as she has done so often before, but he knows that the ex-soldier will have followed her orders to a tee. Cae’s now-heavy eyes flicker to his watch on his limp hand, which is still clinging to the robot’s strangling arm. It has been thirty minutes now since the distress signal went out, and Kendra will be miles away at the Brandt Plant. At least she is safe.
Even in its nearly-expired form, the mind of the logical Caecilius Rex makes one final connection.
It has been thirty minutes, and the electromagnetic bomb needed ten to charge.
A few seconds after this realisation a very peculiar thing happens, and for some reason Cae finds himself on the floor outside the security office. A moment’s physical inspection with his weakened arms tells him that his neck is free, and so his brain decides it is time to gasp rapidly for oxygen. With his chest heaving, Caecilius Rex’s dazed brain refocuses on his original plan: the air filters.
Clambering blindly through the smoke and choking all the way, Cae heaves himself into the office and fumbles around on the main desk, hardly able to stand, until he finds the main controls for the air filters inside a glass case. The case of course has already been smashed open, so Cae throws a gloved hand into it and flips on every switch he can find.
A comforting whirr starts somewhere nearby, and in the small office the young detective collapses onto the floor, still gasping. He is surprised to find that although his throat is agonisingly sore, his vocal chords appear to be in tact when he cries out in pain. He thinks then of the focused, controlled grip of the killer bot with a shudder, rueing the person who was able to program such a creature with that torturous precision.
Deeply grateful to be alive, Cae wipes his damp eyes on a deserted jacket, noticing that the smoke has started to clear. This is when he sees another set of iron fingers pointing at him at floor level.
He jumps with a start, but closer inspection reveals that the hand is no longer attached to its arm, and as more smoke clears it transpires that the arm is also no longer attached to the body. The body of the offending bot, in fact, is no longer in the office itself, but has been flung out some way down the corridor by the repelling magnetic force of its destruction.
When Cae is able to find his feet again he starts to clamber down the long corridor back towards the Generator Room. Now that the smoke is wearing very thin, he witnesses the scattered remains of the Clockworkers’ robots wherever he goes. An arm here, a head there, and a chest panel with its screen completely dead.
Cae reaches for his phone with a vague memory of what Howard Fowler said earlier, and sure enough he finds it too has a black screen. He replaces it in his pocket, stopping to gather his glinting little teaspoon among the wreckage of the bot he had evaded earlier. He has to prise the spoon from under the bot’s torso, and he’s a little upset to find it bent out of shape. His oxygen-starved brain prioritises getting a new one as soon as possible, and tells him he could use a good helping of HOPE, provided he can get his throat working again.
When the air is completely clear of smog Cae removes his mask and sucks in as much of the purified gas as he can through his aching throat. As oxygen returns to everywhere that it should be he is able to move a little faster, eager to head back to Thomas and Fowler and congratulate them on a horde well-defeated.
But as he reaches the corridor of the Generator Room it seems another horror has befallen them. Thomas Watt is scrambling towards him with a panic stricken look. He grabs the detective by his dark lapels frantically.
“Howard, he didn’t tell me,” Thomas stutters. “He didn’t tell me he had a metal pacemaker.”
37.
With the young boy racing out to sound the alarm for an ambulance, Caecilius Rex forces himself to use every ounce of energy in getting to Howard’s side. He finds the chubby man gasping and holding his chest next to the main generator, but mercifully he is curling in the recovery position and does not seem too distressed.
“Howard?” Cae asks. “Howard, are you alright?”
“Oh I’m fine,” insists the balding man, his face a
dark red shade. “But I think my pacemaker’s pretty buggered.”
“Thomas seemed to think you were in trouble,” Cae queries carefully.
“Well if these events bring on a heart attack, I will be,” Howard confirms, “but at the moment I’m only gasping from the shock.”
“Thank heavens for that,” Cae adds, breathing a sigh of relief.
After a few quiet moments Doctor Fowler is able to sit up and much of the extra colour in his large face has gone. As he returns to a normal shade, his beady eyes focus on Cae’s now-exposed neckline.
“Good lord, they almost got you!” He exclaims, the excitement of which brings him to clutch his chest again briefly.
“Relax,” Cae replies calmly. “I’m alive and breathing. No harm done.”
“You’re a lucky devil, you are,” Howard comments.
“Only thanks to you,” the detective answers. “The pulse went through the building just in time.”
“Don’t mention it,” replies the doctor. A worried look crosses his face for a moment, causing his chin to wobble. “Kendra’s not back yet is she?”
Cae shakes his head and glances at his watch, which he is surprised to find has stopped at the exact time he saw before he almost died. “I expect she’ll be driving here again now with all those batteries,” he says.
Fowler chuckles. “She’ll be sore that she missed all the action,” he adds.
Fresh realisations surface in Cae’s consciousness, and he turns on the doctor with a serious look.
“You said you’d tell me everything later,” the detective begins. “It’s later now. So start telling.”
“Good grief boy, they told me you were intelligent,” Howard sighs. “Haven’t you figured it out?”
“I was a little too busy being strangled to consider all the options,” Cae answers with more than a hint of annoyance. At the mention of this he rubs his neck suddenly, almost as though he’s checking it’s still there.
“I’ll give you a chance to catch up then,” Fowler says, patting Cae on the knee. “Kendra is a remarkable girl, isn’t she?” He asks.
“Of course,” Cae confirms with a nod. “She’s very capable. Strong too.”
“Ridiculously strong, some would say,” Howard adds. Cae furrows his dark brow. “Go on,” the doctor teases. “What else is she?”
“You tell me,” the detective suggests with suspicion.
“Alright then,” Howard says happily. “She’s quick with numbers, very quick actually, and her eyes are much keener than yours. She’s capable of working out complex patterns too.”
Cae can’t help but acknowledge this is true, remembering the gauntlet under Wincher’s Clocks.
“And she’s resistant to strong chemicals,” the detective adds as another memory comes to mind from three months ago.
“But not too good when she’s covered in water, I bet?” Howard asks.
“No, that’s true,” Cae replies, the image of Kendra collapsed in the rainstorm ringing true with the doctor’s words.
“She likes to follow orders too,” Howard adds. “Not too keen on making her own decisions without good information.”
“What has that got to do with anything?” Cae questions, now thinking very carefully and not at all enjoying where this conversation is heading.
“Nothing, I suppose,” Fowler says with a more serious note in his voice. “Except that she followed my orders exactly when I sent her away. And I sent her away from a bomb that destroyed every other robot in this building.”
“Wait,” spits Cae, a sudden urge of anger and confusion welling up inside him. “What do you mean every other robot?”
38.
“We ought to start making our way outside,” says Howard Fowler, getting to his chubby feet. “I want to get my ticker checked over as soon as possible.”
Cae follows him with gritted teeth, starting to retrieve his gas mask for going out onto the street.
“I don’t believe you,” he spits bitterly. “Kendra can’t be a robot. It’s impossible.” He kicks a piece of clockwork body away pettishly as they emerge from the Generator Room. “She’s human; I can see that she’s human. She’s got flesh and blood and tears and bones.”
Despite his insistence, Fowler just shakes his balding head. “I’m sorry but it’s true,” he sighs. “You’re quite right though, Kendra is human as well. Just with a lot of modifications.”
“And independent thought?” Cae queries.
“Oh yes,” Howard answers with a little laugh. “And a lot more of that than we bargained for, I can tell you. She’s very much her own person.”
“But why did you do it?” The detective pleads, still in shock.
“It was a military project, and don’t press me on that because that I really can’t tell you about.” The doctor’s face turns a little more serious again.
“Then why tell me anything at all?” Cae asks. “Why not just leave things as they were?”
“Because I want you to protect her,” Howard answers.
Cae gives him a confused look as they continue down the corridors towards the main foyer exit. Howard returns his look with one of apology.
“When she was at the base we could keep an eye on her all the time to make sure she didn’t ever discover what she is.” His voice takes on a choking aspect, and when Cae turns to look Howard is putting on his gas mask with a tear in his eye. “I’m very fond of that girl,” he clarifies. “It’s imperative that she never finds out she’s not human; there’s no telling what the shock could do to her mind, not to mention her programming.”
“Then why was she dismissed?” The young detective asks.
“Now that I actually don’t know,” Howard replies with another sigh. “No military secret there. Julius just decided it was time to release her from the BiAndro Project.”
“Bi-what?” Cae half-repeats.
“Short for bio-andronics,” the scientist explains. “It’s my speciality. Julius is more of a chemist, but we get on well enough.”
He gives Cae another strange look then, and soon they are standing in the foyer waiting to emerge through the clean air partition. Cae puts on his mask, his bright eyes meeting Howard’s with equal parts contempt and confusion.
“She trusts you, Caecilius,” Howard states with a deep, thoughtful air. “You’ll be the only one around here that’s able to talk any sense into her, and that’s a responsibility you’re stuck with I’m afraid.”
“So, what do you want me to do?” Asks the younger man.
“Look after her,” the older man replies. “Let her be happy, and keep her away from the truth.”
And though it is a terrible burden to bear, the mind of the young detective is still so awash with shock that the news that Kendra is not entirely human might still be part of some elaborate dream. Cae even thinks for a wild moment that perhaps the clockwork robot did indeed strangle him into oblivion, and that even now he is miles away from consciousness in a hallucination while doctors fight to save him from asphyxiation.
The overwhelming agony in his throat reminds Cae that this cannot possibly be true, and as a small team of paramedics open the outer doors of the station, he knows from his experience as an officer of the law that he must face the hard facts of the matter.
Kendra really is a remarkable woman, but that cannot be so without a price.
39.
As Caecilius Rex emerges into the chaos outside Dartley Station, Howard Fowler is whisked away by skilled professionals to be attended. Still in a state of shock, Cae fends off the paramedics who are yammering about his neck; he is not yet ready to be carted away to hospital, although being drugged up to the eyeballs seems a tempting prospect to his aching throat.
But he will wait for Kendra to return. He has to wait, has to look at her now, and tell himself that what he has been told is really true.
As Cae crosses the road outside the station, an odd vision greets his confused mind. Wearing a striking red dress with her brill
iant blonde hair, a figure glides elegantly through the smog. Angelica Lane is masked up against the elements despite her less than sensible attire, and her glassy eyes widen to the sight of the cordoned off station.
“Afternoon,” says Cae casually as she catches his eye.
“And there was me coming into work for a boring day at the office,” Angelica states, gobsmacked. “What on earth happened here?”
“Oh you didn’t miss much,” he comments glibly, noticing that she is now looking at his bruised neck. “A dozen or so people were nearly strangled by a murderous clockwork robot, and we set off a little electromagnetic bomb to dismantle sixty more before they killed us all. That’s all really.”
If she wasn’t wearing a gas mask, Cae would swear that Angelica Lane is staring at him open-mouthed.
“Honestly,” she says eventually. “I take a few days off for a little holiday in the Citadel and everything happens while I’m gone!”
“Did you have a nice time?” He asks without really caring; now looking beyond her for any sight of Kendra’s car.
“It was more peaceful than here, by the looks of it,” replies the blonde, looking around at the paramedics and the deserted station. “I think I’ll sneak back home before anyone asks me to help,” she adds quickly.
A little thought sparks in Cae’s mind suddenly.
“Oh Angelica,” he blurts.
The petite girl stops in the process of turning her heel, her reflective eyes taking on the colour of the grey smog around the pair. She raises her perfectly groomed eyebrows at Cae expectantly.
“When all this chaos is settled, I have something I’d like you to help me with,” Cae explains.
“Oh yes?” Angelica queries.
Slipping his hand into his pocket for a moment, Cae finds both his bent teaspoon and Archie Watt’s list tucked safely away.
“I have some people I need to interrogate…off the record,” he says. “And I think you’ll be able to get me in touch with some of them, if you’d oblige.”
The pretty blonde nods with a shrug.
“Why not indeed?” She asks. “Just call me when you need me.”
