by Nick Svolos
“With our budget?” She snorted. “Nah, we haven’t had a crew out here in twenty years. Looks like you guys might be onto something.”
We piled back into the vehicles and, after about a half hour during which Maggie pointed out more evidence of recent road clearage, finally got to our destination. Despite our previous discoveries, it looked as if we’d wasted our time. There was no indication that a mine was ever here, other than a sun-faded sign indicating that we stood on the property of the Shadow Mountain Mining Company. Of the mine itself, there was no indication it ever existed. True to Ranger Maggie’s word, there was only a rock-covered mountainside. Dawson and the ranger organized us into a search party to look for tracks or clues or whatever we could find.
After about forty-five minutes of this, I heard a shout from one of the soldiers. I thought it was Corporal Fournier, but he was far enough away that I couldn’t tell for sure. He was standing on a big pile of scree, and from the way he was waving his arms over his head and pointing at the ground, it looked like he’d found something.
As we started working our way over toward him, the ground started rumbling. It started as an almost imperceptible rattle that vibrated a few stones out of place, bouncing down the side of the mountain where I was poking around. It got worse from there. As an Angelino, naturally the first thing I thought was that it was an earthquake. My second thought was that I should probably get away from this mountain before the really big stones started to shift, motivating me to quicken my pace as I worked my unsteady way down the rocky slope.
Neither of those thoughts prepared me for another attack by giant robots.
Two large doors swung open in the mountainside, camouflaged by the rocks and boulders cemented to them, below me and to my left. Moments later, a pair of the forty-foot behemoths emerged from the mountain, gleaming in the sunlight through a haze of dust. Dawson was down at the bottom of the mountain, and I saw him pointing at the vehicles. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea. Get to the cars and run for it. I cut right along the mountainside to put some distance between myself and the mechanical monsters.
As it turned out, running away from giant robots was pretty hard. When you were as tall as a four story building, you could cover a lot of ground with just a few strides. I focused on picking my path through the rocks, trying real hard to keep up a good pace without breaking my neck, and as such, I didn’t have a lot of spare processing power to keep track of what was happening to the others. So, I didn’t see one of the robots reach down and scoop up Sandoval in a mechanical hand the size of a Buick. I only found out about it when my concentration was broken by the pop, pop, pop of Powell’s nine millimeter. The bullets just bounced off the thing, having no more effect on the machine than a June bug does on the windshield of a Peterbilt. I wasn’t sure if Powell thought his weapon would actually do anything to the monstrosity, or if he was just trying to draw its attention. I guessed when your partner got grabbed by something like that, you just reacted.
Unfortunately, when you turned your head to look at something like cops fighting giant robots, you failed to notice other things, like another set of hanger doors opening right in front of you to spew out additional giant robots. As if two of these things weren’t enough. Maybe overkill was pretty much the normal way of doing business when you were that big.
Anyway, I was jumping from rock to rock as all this was going on, and paying more attention to the scene below me than to what I was doing. Then, the ground beneath my feet wasn’t there anymore and I fell into darkness.
XI
I landed hard on something made of metal. Once I’d oriented myself, it turned out to be the shoulder housing of one of the robots. The big machine shifted its weight to take a step forward, and I began to slip towards the edge. I scrambled to find a handhold and managed to get a grip on something that looked like an access panel. Centering my weight so I could hang on, I took a quick look down. I immediately wished I hadn’t. My guts suddenly decided that the only reasonable course of action was to escape my body by whatever exit happened to be closest and offer their services to somebody at the safer end of the actuarial tables. I have a really big problem with heights. Well, it’s not the height so much as the long seconds of plummeting, during which there’s nothing to do but second-guess myself for stupidly getting into such a mess. Like Hans Gruber at the end of Die Hard. The look on Alan Rickman’s face says it all. That scares the crap out of me.
I clamped down on my emotions like an East German border guard on inspection day and started working on a way to get off the gleaming behemoth. The access panel was bolted shut, so that wasn’t going to be any help. I looked over the edge of the housing, saw that I could drop down to the machine’s forearm, the one that shoots laser beams, if I timed it right. It seemed like my only course of action, and so, after a bit of internal cajoling to force my limbs into action, I let go of the panel and soon found myself clinging for dear life to the damnable thing’s upper arm.
Now that I was only thirty feet away from the rocky desert floor, I worked on figuring out my next move. As the monster moved forward, it’s arms swung back and forth to maintain its balance. This arc of movement took me close enough to the armor over the hip that I could reach out and grab it. Twenty-five feet to go.
The machine picked up its pace and things got really dicey, as if they weren’t before. I was still too high to safely drop to the ground, but the only thing between me and the rocks was the robot’s rapidly moving leg. There was nothing to do but go for it, and after I worked out the timing, I let go of the hip and landed on the back of the beast’s lower leg. I tried to get a grip on it, but the leg was already moving forward, leaving me clutching nothing but air.
I fell the last ten or fifteen feet to the ground, windmilling my arms to try to hit at the correct angle. My feet hit the hard-packed earth, and I rolled forward to burn off my momentum. It worked pretty well, or would have if I hadn’t knocked my head against a rock. Fireworks went off behind my eyes, and kicked-up dust from the mecha’s stride left me coughing in the dirt.
As my vision cleared and the hacking fit subsided, I saw another robot picking its way between the larger rocks. It was much smaller than the others, only about four feet tall, and had treads instead of legs. Other than that, it looked pretty much like the big ones. It stopped a few paces away and regarded me with a single camera lens.
I held up my hands, smiled non-threateningly and joked, “Alright, R2-D2, I surrender.”
The damned thing raised some kind of gun arm and shot me in the chest. My body spasmed as electricity coursed through me and the lights went out.
These stupid robots had no sense of humor. Archangel would have found that bit hilarious.
***
I awoke in what could only be described as a luxury jail cell. Furniture-wise, there was only a bed, toilet and sink. But, they were nice. The bed was a comfy twin, the room was clean, with three pristine white walls and a polished concrete floor. It made me wonder if some high-end furniture designer had gone into the prison furnishing business. The fourth wall was made up of bars with a locked jail-cell door that, if it wasn’t locked, would grant access to a similarly pristine, white corridor. It was somewhat curved, so I couldn’t see any adjacent cells or anything down the hall.
Naturally, it was locked.
I called out “Hey, is anybody there?” hoping that the rest of my group might be in adjacent cells. My voice echoed down the hallway, but there was no answer. That might be a positive sign. Maybe they got away.
I paced around a bit and took stock of myself. I was a little banged up, had a nasty bump on my head and my clothes were a bit dusty, but aside from that, I didn’t seem too worse for wear and tear. Checking my pockets, I noticed that all my stuff was gone. I supposed that was to be expected.
With nothing better to do, I cleaned myself up as best I could, laid back down on the bed and started whistling the tune from a David Allan Coe song. I didn’t remember all the words, bu
t it had something to do with prisons and trucks, so it seemed an appropriate way to pass the time.
If nothing else, my incarceration gave me time to think. We’d set out to follow a lead on the Force ring and instead found the giant robots that attacked Santa Monica. Somehow, the two things must be linked, and that had me stumped. Whoever was behind Force had access to some serious technology—and you couldn’t exactly slap together an army of giant robots with rocks and twigs—but, they were radically different technologies.
As a business model, it didn’t fit, either. You steal people’s powers and sell them to other people for money, right? But then, why would you need an army of giant robots? They weren’t exactly subtle. You used them to blow things up. Other than using them to make a really big score, like knocking over Fort Knox or something, they aren’t money makers. Maybe you could threaten a city with them, hold it for ransom. But then, why the heck would you frame North Korea?
The economics didn’t make sense. Giant robots must be pretty costly, as were the fusion reactors that powered them. Making nanobots like they used in Force had to be expensive, too. And then, there were the up-front costs of research and development for all of that. Not to mention whatever these people had buried under the Mojave. I was making a guess that all of this was being manufactured in the same place, and if I was right, it had to be big enough to hold the hangers they kept the robots in, whatever equipment they used to manufacture Force, and my comfortable jail cell. They must have one hell of a budget. How would they make that money back?
One thing was for sure, they weren’t going to do it in one hundred grand increments. When I heard the kid give that price back in the interrogation room, I thought it sounded low. You could easily sell superpowers for millions of dollars, maybe even a billion. Even if you could locate every natural in the world and extract their DNA, you’d run out of raw materials after processing a couple hundred victims. You could set the price pretty darned high and never worry about finding a willing buyer. No, they set the price low for a reason. There was something else going on here. A deeper game being played.
A heavy door opened somewhere far down the hall, interrupting my contemplation. The clanking sound echoed through the cell block, followed by the click of a pair of high-heeled shoes growing louder as they walked down the corridor. I didn’t bother to get up. Instead, I counted the seconds and did a little math to get an idea how big the cellblock was. By the time the footsteps reached the bars of my cell I figured that the door was fifty to sixty feet away. I wasn’t sure how that information might be useful, but I really just did it as an exercise. I wanted my brain sharp for whoever was visiting.
“I trust you’re comfortable, Reuben?” a female voice asked.
I recognized the voice and it sent a chill through my bones. I raised my head to get a look at her. Her outward appearance was quite a bit different from the last time I’d seen her. Instead of a peacoat and jeans, she now wore a deep purple skinsuit with pink piping. The costume was cut low in the front, highlighting her cleavage, and a pair of stiletto heels accentuated her legs. Brown hair cascaded to her shoulders, and the ensemble was topped off with one of those little domino masks that completely failed to conceal her identity. It was pretty obvious she wasn’t a physical combatant. Nobody could fight in a getup like that. Herculene would kick her ass just on general principles. But still, I couldn’t help but appreciate the effort she put into keeping my half of the gene pool distracted.
“Well, if it isn’t Protest Girl,” I said, swinging my feet from the bunk and standing up. “As weird as this caper is, it’s nice to know there’s always some way it can get weirder.”
She gave a confused little half-chuckle. “Protest Girl?”
I shrugged. “Eh, I needed something to call you. That’s how this business works. If you don’t pick a moniker, the press assigns you one.”
She considered the name for a moment. “I like it. It’s cute. Mind if I hang on to it in case I ever need a backup identity?”
“Have your people call my people to work out the licensing. So what should I call you?”
“Jezebel.” She smiled seductively.
I walked over to the bars, crossed my arms and leaned against a crosspiece. “Alright, Jezebel. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“Oh, I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re alright.”
“That’s a lot of concern from someone who tried to kill me a few days ago.”
She stepped closer and I became very aware of her perfume. “Oh, that? You’re not going to hold that against me, are you?”
“I come from a long line of grudge-holders.”
“How about if I apologize?” she said sweetly. She was close enough now that I could feel her breath on my chin.
A tingling surge of desire started working its way through my lower abdomen. I suddenly wanted to say something very cool. I wanted to impress her. “It would have to be one hell of an apology.”
“I can do that. I’m very good at apologizing,” she cooed as she slowly and casually ran one delicate index finger down my breastbone. “Especially to a handsome man such as yourself.”
My cognitive dissonance alarms went off, and her spell broke. Dammit, she was using her whammy powers on me and it almost worked. The fog started to clear from my head. She’d overplayed her hand. If you took Art Garfunkel’s fright wig hair and stuck it on Woody Allen you wouldn’t be far off when describing me. The word you wouldn’t use to describe me would be “handsome”. In this situation, it was a tip-off that I was being manipulated.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not being maudlin. I’ve never had much trouble getting a date. Hell, I was dating one of the most amazing women on the planet, that was, assuming she hadn’t already dumped me over a computer glitch. I’m charming, funny, have an interesting job and I treat women the way I think I’d like to be treated if the genders were reversed. I’m just not good-looking. Never underestimate the value of honest self-knowledge. In this case, it saved my ass.
Jezebel’s finger was working its way down my belly. I had to make a decision and quick. I consulted my internal council of role-models. James Bond and Captain Kirk both thought I should go along with Jezebel’s seduction, sneak out while she was asleep, find the self-destruct button (there’s always a self-destruct button) and blow the whole place to kingdom come. Jim Rockford thought I should just stay put until Rocky made my bail. My dad gave the best advice. He simply said I shouldn’t do anything I’d regret tomorrow.
Mustering my resolve, and let me tell you, it wasn’t easy, I gently removed her finger from my belly and pushed it back through the bars. “Not here,” I told her in a hoarse whisper. “Jailhouse romances never work out.”
From the look of surprise on her face, I could tell she didn’t get a lot of refusals when she unleashed her mojo. I also got the idea that maybe she hadn’t been doing this all that long. Perhaps she’d gotten her powers through Force as well. She was young, in her early twenties, but even so, if she’d become a super in the normal way, she’d have had at least five or six years of experience under her narrow-waisted belt. She oughta know her limitations by now. I filed that little observation away for future review.
“Strong willed,” she quickly recovered. “I like that. I’m glad you survived San Francisco.”
“So am I.”
“I really am sorry about that, by the way.”
“Why’d you do it, then?”
She gave an embarrassed shrug. “I panicked. I guess it was the way you just showed up at the park. The questions you asked. It made me realize how far you’d gotten in your investigation. I knew you were gonna be trouble. How’d you know where I was going to be?”
“Trade secret. Besides, the way I remember it, you found me first.”
“Touché. Anyway, you spooked me. Figured the best way to get you off my trail was to let the crowd deal with you. It was a mistake. I hope we can get past all that.”
“How do you propose we do that?”
“For starters, I can let you out of this cage.”
“And what’ll that cost me?”
“Nothing. Just keep an open mind. We’d like you to join us. A man of your talents could be of great value here.”
“Who’s ‘us’?”
“Oh, we’ll get to that. Let’s just say we’re a group of like-minded individuals.”
“I see. What about the people I came here with? Are they getting the same offer?”
“No, they’re being held in another part of this facility. I’m not sure what the plan is, where they’re concerned. They’re fine for now, though.” She added, “Perhaps your cooperation will work in their favor.”
“Holding my friends hostage is not a great way to encourage an open mind, Jezebel.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. We’re not the bad guys. We don’t want to see anyone get hurt. I’m just saying you might be in a better position to negotiate on their behalf. So, how ‘bout it? You promise to behave if I let you out?”
“Alright, I promise to behave until I’ve heard your boss’ pitch. After that, we’ll just have to see.”
“That’s all I can ask.” She smiled and spoke into the air. “Open cell six.” The cell door slid open without a sound.
I stepped out into the corridor and Jezebel sidled up next to me, wrapping my arm in hers. She grinned like we were on a date or something.
“We have a little time to kill before dinner. Sure you wouldn’t like to hop back in the cell for a bit?”
Geez, what the hell? Did someone put a sign on my back or something? Her come-on seemed genuine. She wasn’t hitting me with her powers as far as I could tell. Looking down at the sly smile on her face, it was almost impossible to resist. Of course, the starship captain and super spy in my head weren’t helping. They were already stripped down to their socks. Hell, even Rockford was on board. Yeah, but none of those guys had a girlfriend that could rip an engine block in half. Still, it was very hard to refuse her invitation. Okay, maybe that was a poor choice of words.
