“Of course. I think you may be scaring her with this talk of wing damage, though.”
Bastard. “Sweet child, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Momma.”
“No matter what happens to her, Momma will always love you and watch out for you. You know that?”
“I know that, Momma.”
“Momma has to go now. You be good for the Padre and do what he says.”
“I will Momma.”
“I love you, Kay.”
“I love you too, Momma.”
Cap Jones reached up and disconnected her crystal completely. She had only a handful of seconds left before impact. If she left it too late, her Engines wouldn’t have enough time to stop their plummet. If she set them off too early, they would be too high when they ran out of fuel, destroying all her work.
She had done all she could. Her fate would be decided soon.
***
Leigh ran, clutching at the last can of fuel. Patterson was down, one leg gone just below the knee. Rogers was running ahead of her with the last box of rounds, topping off Mechanicals as they ran dry. Gardner had died in the courtyard. She didn’t remember the names of the two who carried the furniture, nor the one coming behind her with the last of the solid flammables. Sweating, chest heaving, wishing she could remove her last tool belt, she poured a hefty slosh of fuel into a firing Mechanical.
It seemed an eternity since Sebastian had run forward, empty targeting pistol in hand, the ranks of motley Mechanicals following him. The courtyard had become a Mechanical abattoir, smoke rising from a hundred burning puddles, Mechanical bodies and limbs lying strewn across the paving stones. Time and again Leigh and her two assistants had pulled fallen Mechanicals back to the lee of the doors. At first spares were easy, for every three fallen they could send two back to the line. Now, though, there were too few. When one fell, it opened a gap in the line too wide to pull it back. Such a gap stood before her now. She stood a moment, gathering her nerve. Fear clutched at her. She squeezed her eyes shut, counted to three, and sprinted the gap. Fragments of stone flayed her ankles until she was behind the next Mechanical in the line.
Early on it had been clear that one on one, the daVincis and Blitzmen were heavier and better armed than Sebastian’s ragtag army. As they came on, Man after Man, Leigh had realized they were smarter, too. Fully functional, the AEF Mechanicals were capable of understanding simple commands, which they could execute one at a time. The Central Mechanicals seemed to be capable of storing complex commands, and even choosing between them. They used cover, they rushed in the open, they acted almost like real men would, with the exception that rushing into an abattoir didn’t slow them in the least. A bullet from one of them tore through the last armor on the Mechanical she hid behind. Before it could fall on her, she scurried behind another. Again her fuel can tipped, but this time nothing flowed. She stared stupidly at the ragged hole where the huge Mechanical gun round had pierced the can.
David had been right. The Central Powers had the AEF completely outclassed. All that had stopped them here at the Garage was the terrain, which kept the Central Mechanicals from coming in more than one at a time, and Sebastian’s bloody-minded refusal to back up one inch. Time and again Blitzmen and daVincis had been met not with controlled bursts, but with a storm of fire from the device Leigh had rigged to overcome the AEF Mechanical’s broken Minds.
A blinding flash from the bunker, and there was nothing left of it but a crater. Blown to her knees, Leigh saw the first rank of Central Powers Mechanicals advancing at a trot. Looming behind them, smoke still curling from a massive siege gun, a huge eight-legged Bertha Command Mechanical stood like a gargantuan clockwork spider. Its siege gun slid backward, obviously beginning a reloading cycle. Leigh wondered how the platform, perched so high above the ground, withstood the strain of firing such a gun.
Sebastian’s ragtag Mechanicals began moving, crawling toward a point at the center of the Garage door. Leigh blinked, wondering how they did that; they were only set up to mimic Sebastian’s actions. Her frantic eyes scanned across the ranks of Mechanicals, searching for his officer’s coat among the metal bodies. She saw him and understood. Inch by inch, he was dragging useless legs behind him. A shard of reinforcing rebar from the bunker stuck out of his back skew to the spine. A trail of blood and other fluids marked his trail. A glance to one side of the Garage showed the nameless mechanic breathing shallowly, half his face already blackened by a bruise. To the other side Rogers lay still, his back twisted at an unnatural angle.
It was too much. Leigh shrieked and scrambled away, first on hands and knees, climbing to her feet as she ran, head down, legs pumping as fast as they could in the confines of her dress. Where she was running to didn’t matter; it would take care of itself. All that mattered was getting away from the horrible, horrible Blitzmen and daVincis that wanted to turn her into another mangled grotesque. The sounds of guns firing at her were muted, the ricochets tearing at her dress and petticoats were beneath consideration. Behind her, she could hear the misses getting nearer, nearer, nearer.
The room went dark, and she ran headfirst into a wall. Behind her, she heard the sound of rain on a tin roof. For a moment, she felt safe. Her head pounded where it had rammed into a metal wall. A matte black, curving metal wall the color and hardness of the devil’s own hide.
Sudden horror overtaking her, she looked up, craning her neck until she saw the faint red glow of dim pilot lights behind eyes the size of wagon wheels. She felt faint, a shriek bubbling its way to her lips, but part of her was too fascinated by the way the thing cocked its head to look at her. Its motions were smooth, almost like watching parts slide across an oiled tray.
A gong sounded behind her, and the head snapped up to look over the shield that protected them both. It snapped back down, and Leigh froze in terror. The gargantuan spear pulled back, plunged down. Leigh closed her eyes, hoping it wouldn’t hurt, and heard a massive ringing crunch of metal driven into stone. Her legs felt tight, constrained. There was no pain. She risked a peek, saw the point of the spear driven deep into the stone, neatly pinning her skirts to the ground. She glanced up in wonderment at the massive Mechanical, only to see a gargantuan hand reaching down to her.
She flinched and screamed when huge fingertips gripped her tool belt. There was a sharp ripping sound, and Leigh was rising through the air, skirt and petticoats in rags. The thing paused with her dangling in front of its eyes. There, in the darkened glass, Leigh saw a twisted reflection of herself, ragged from dozens of minor injuries, emaciated from months gone without proper food. The sight tore another scream from her, but it was weaker than the last. Her throat hurt, and the part of her that always took over when she worked was fascinated by this beautiful deadly thing.
A dull roar sounded below her as the thing stood up. Dangling inches below the ceiling, still protected by the massive shield, she looked down to see a mechanical mouth big enough to swallow a man whole opening beneath her. Before she could think, she was dropping down the hole.
Leigh landed with a painful thump, straddling a thick padded bar. Gears, pistons, belts and tubes surrounded her. She felt fluid cover her toes, rapidly moving up her legs. She started to scramble away, trying to climb, but cold mechanical clamps bore down on her legs, pinning them in place. She reached for them, leaning down, but other clamps grabbed at her arms, pinning them back, holding her spread like a specimen for dissection. The fluid was up to her breasts, soaking the ragged material of her dress. Leigh opened her mouth to take a deep breath before it covered her, and a padded mask pinned her head back to match her arms and legs.
Just before the gelling fluid reached her eyes, a pair of tubes settled into place over them like oversized goggles. The fluid filled her ears, and there was silence; even the sound of her own breath, ragged from screaming and struggling, was blocked out. Dimly, Leigh felt something cold, hard, and angular push its way into each ear. The sharp whine of a crystal device was the last thing she hear
d before darkness took her.
***
Capricious felt her limbs grow sluggish, blood loss was about to steal away her consciousness. She only had a few moments remaining. One hand clumsily lifted the packet of Gramma Jones’ favorite herbs to her lips. The other clenched down on the switch.
The bitter taste of herbs filled her mouth and she worked her jaw to swallow them. The moment the concoction hit her throat, it began to go numb. She looked at the ground, trying to find a reference point. She saw a farmhouse, but without knowing how large it was, she couldn’t tell how high she was. One way or the other, she had to let go soon. Too soon and all her work was for nothing. Too late and the same was true. Her timing had to be perfect.
She kept seeking a reference point as the ground rushed nearer. Terror warred with exhilaration in her gut, but both were being stifled by herbs and stolen away with her life’s blood. Her limbs tingled and her core went numb. In another moment, her hand wouldn’t be able to hold the dead man switch, and calculations would become moot. Her drug-addled brain connected the name of the switch to its purpose, and she began to laugh, softly at first, then great guffaws. When she could distinguish individual people about the farmhouse, she called out her last words to the uncaring heavens.
“Be good, baby. Momma’s coming.”
Her hand released the switch. The remaining severing charge detonated, sending the shearing blade across her shoulders, neatly severing her neck. The last sight she saw was her body plummeting to earth beneath her, the last sound she heard the roar of her Engines slowing themselves and the rest of her remains to what she hoped with fading consciousness would be a soft landing.
***
In the wreckage of his office, David heard the sound of Capri’s Engines for the first time in decades. He turned his face to the nurse who never left his side.
“Wagner, Ride of the Valkyrie, I think. If you would be so kind?”
Throughout the manor and grounds, tiny Mechanicals scurried from small bunkers, extending wide mouthed trumpets as they did. A moment later, the sound of a phonograph needle scratching faded into the sounds of fiercely militant bombast. A rare smile spread across David’s face as the sounds reached his office.
***
She awoke. She had been asleep for far too long. The room she was in was familiar—the Garage, but done in miniature. At the door to the Garage lay the men and Men who had fallen trying to protect Her. Just beyond, making their way through a rubble-filled crater, strange Men clambered toward the Garage, most sheathing guns in favor of heavy, thick, coup de grace blades. They all looked like toys, but she knew they were here to kill Her.
Rage suffused her. Strings and tiny chains connected her to the wall; her Engines roared and they snapped like taffy. The Men in the crater looked up, startled at the sudden noise. They were having trouble seeing her in the deep darkness of the Garage. Some reached for guns; others began to deploy shoulder-mounted search lights.
She gave them no chance. Her Engines screamed defiance and she leapt on her enemies, an enraged Gulliver amongst murderous Lilliputians. Some died beneath her feet, others shattered as she swept a kick through a rank of them. She lost herself in her rage against the ones that had tried to hurt Her, tearing through them like so many unwanted, unloved dolls, scattering pieces to the winds.
The deep rippling roar of a volley of artillery sounded, and pain exploded in her side. She wheeled into a crouch, her great shield Glacis held protectively before her as a second and third volley sounded. Her side was dented, some gears and cabling strained dangerously, but nothing was broken yet. She was strong, she was hard, and the impact had not harmed Her. The Auto Cannon had never seen her like before. Their fire didn’t slack, but neither did it penetrate the thick, heavy armor of Glacis. Impasse.
The fourth volley sounded, its numbers matched perfectly to the second. There were only two batteries. The moment the shells impacted Glacis, she moved. Her shield lifted only feet from the ground, and she charged forward with it held before her. Her Engines shrieked, guzzling fuel at a pace to shame Dionysus, and she rammed the lumbering, clumsy Auto Cannon at a full sprint with Glacis held before her. The first rank fell over backward, gun barrels cracking, dismounting, and spinning away into the distance. The second rank fired point blank into Glacis. A line of dents appeared, stippling the back of her shield. Her arm joints strained, stressed beyond their ratings, but they held.
The Auto Cannon were not so lucky. Deflected shots tore through them, as effective as counter battery fire ever might be. As they tried to right themselves, she was there, tearing them apart like a housewife might render chickens for the pot. In moments, none of the Auto Cannon could move or fire; the remains lay twitching feebly.
A sound from behind her had her leaping, Engines shrieking their berserk song, Glacis swinging to interpose itself. Her whole body shook as a round tore through Glacis and into her thigh. Her leaping would be curtailed; the skin of one leg was penetrated, and shrapnel from the shell had lodged in the steel of her gears. She stood, turning to face the gargantuan spider with its massive siege gun across the front lawn of the mansion.
The spider’s gun was even now retracting, starting its reload cycle. The men aboard were worker ants, scurrying to ready their metallic warrior for another phase of the battle. She reached up over her shoulder for her gun, Ipapa. It had cycled to ready the moment her Engines first screamed. The moment it was level with her eyes, crosshairs folded out from the side, the body of the clockwork spider already lined up in their center.
Ipapa needed no trigger. It was part of her. The crosshair lined up, thunder rolled, and a bar of light stabbed out at the heart of the spider. It rocked backward on unsteady legs, trying to right itself, jerking slightly as the dart ricocheted around inside its armored casing. Blood leaked out through scuppers intended to shed rain water, but the spider didn’t fall.
Engines screamed. Belts and cables whined as they transferred power to reloading servos. Ipapa came back into battery and fired in one smooth motion. Speared by silver light, the spider stiffened, a cherry red glow emanating from all its ports, the sounds of screams suddenly cut off by an awful roar of flame. A moment later, the body of the beast blew apart as the fire found its magazine.
She had triumphed, but triumph had never been her goal. Engines growled, and she set off at a slow lope back to the Garage. Course set, she took careful stock. She would need a new sheath on her hip, and a new layer of armor on Glacis. None of that mattered. As she squatted next to where her spear, Iklwa still pinned fragments of a dress to the ground, she checked what was important. Engines wound down to stand by, because Her body was undamaged. Her mind…
Noise was unavoidable; her Engines were loud beasts. Transmission of external sound to Her was dead easy; the crystal devices were made for that. Speaking was difficult. Still, Her wellbeing was paramount. She tried, failed. Tried again, a quiet squawking whine resulted. Tried once more; this time a quiet approximation of her own voice, a soothing disembodied whisper into Her ears resulted.
“Momma’s here, Kay. You’re safe now.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bob has worked as a technician, a manager, a carpenter, and currently teaches environmental science to high school students. At one point he started writing, and people started asking for more, so it seemed the thing to do. People keep asking, so Bob keeps writing.
You can visit Bob at http://www.robertcroman.com
ROAD MAGE
© Copyright 2010 by Robert C. Roman
Jason Rodriguez is a CSI with a checkered past, struggling to live an honest life on the side of the angels. Literally. Jason is more than just a CSI, he's also a Mage. His magical powers are put to the test when he discovers that Paul Dunn, the city's most decorated officer, is actually a psychopathic Death Mage, 'solving' crimes by framing others for the murders he commits. Jason can't let Paul keep getting away with it. Paul can't let Jason keep breathing knowing what he knows.
Excerpt
The moment he brushed past Paul, Jason knew one of them was going to die before the day was done.
Jason stumbled as the pervasive reek of stale sweat that filled the locker room was swept away by the combined stenches of a thousand grotesque ways to die. One hand on the bench between the lockers, one knee on the floor, he felt his Power trying to rise, felt his tattoos beginning to writhe beneath his skin.
From a pace behind him, he heard Paul unwittingly confirm his premonition.
“Watch where you're going, Rodriguez. Shove me again and I'll… What the hell is wrong with your back?”
Jason could feel his Power struggling to respond to the danger. The sepia-tone tattoos of tripartite wings that covered his back channeled the trickle of Power that was all he had left after his workout. The wings were barely moving, but he could tell by the tone in the other man’s voice that Paul had spotted them. A moment later, derisive laughter rang through the locker room, telling Jason the evil bastard realized what the movement meant.
“You're not just another goddamn spic-nigger–you’re a fucking Keller as well.”
Jason's response came without thinking. On the streets, you could never let an enemy see when you were weak. Already on one knee, he took a moment to say a quick prayer. He was rewarded by a hiss of pain from behind him. Satisfied, he stood, turning to face Paul as he did so. He met the taller man’s icy blue glare with his own calm, chocolate gaze. When he spoke, his voice was steady, even, and deeper than his slight frame suggested.
“I never thought you were dirty, Officer Dunn, but you really are scum, aren't you?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about, Keller.”
“Sure you do, Paul. All the people you've killed…”
“Are you insane? I heard you Kellers are that way. You can feel the Power, but you can’t see it, hear it, or use it.”
The Strange Fate of Capricious Jones Page 4
