The pier was otherwise deserted. Except for a few ships caught here under quarantine, New York Harbor was empty, a contrast to the blaze of activity on the Jersey shore.
“They’re going to try to get off the island,” said Mr. Gravemold.
“So it would seem.”
“Put me down. We can deal with it.”
“A moment. I’ve got to contact Tachyon.” He sent Tachyon a radio message, heard no answer, and had to rise another five hundred feet before his pulse carried to the ambulance. Mr. Gravemold stirred restlessly.
“What are you doing, man? They’re getting away. Put me down.”
As soon as he heard an acknowledgment, Modular Man descended rapidly. Going to fight Croyd again, he thought. He remembered his first moments of existence, the confused fight around the Empire State Building, Cyndi’s blond hair floating like a brilliant star above the ape’s dark hand. Burning brightly, he thought.
He dropped Mr. Gravemold near the gate. The joker dusted himself off. “What was that all about?” he demanded.
“I’ll explain later.”
Both jumped at the sound of a moan from nearby. The android’s alarm faded as he saw a pudgy, unconscious man lying near the fence, a bottle of bourbon near his tattooed hand. The drunk wore leather trousers and boots and an NYPD cap. His chest was bare and featured steel rings hanging from pierced nipples.
Modular Man fixed this sight in his memory. Cherish it, he thought.
“We can’t wait,” the joker said. “Those two will get away before the ambulance arrives.”
Mr. Gravemold turned away and removed his mask. There was no facial deformity that Modular Man could see from behind. The joker put on his hood and gas mask and began to move with speed down the pier, following a pair of rusted railroad tracks. His feet stepped in surprising silence.
“Wait,” said Modular Man. “They’ll see you.”
The joker paid no attention. He moved toward the edge of the pier, ducked under a railing, and disappeared. Alarm rattled in Modular Man’s mind. He took to the air and did a half-roll under the pier.
Mr. Gravemold was still moving, walking inverted on the old, corroded planks, his pace brisk, the dark and silent Hudson rolling beneath his head. The android flew up next to him.
A possibility occurred to him. His mind ran scans, cross-checks.
The possibility was confirmed at greater than ninety percent. Build, talents, race, approximate age … everything matched. The accents were wildly different, and the voices substantially different as to tone and timbre, but scans of certain key words showed a surprising correspondence.
Why, Modular Man wondered, had Wall Walker made himself smell bad and disguised himself as a joker?
Or was that another manifestation of Wall Walker’s wild card? Maybe he was Wall Walker part of the time, and then he started smelling bad and became Mr. Gravemold.
Maybe he was just crazy. Why else would someone disguise himself as a joker?
He decided not to mention his conclusions to the inverted ace beside him.
“You didn’t mention you could walk upside down,” he said.
“Did I not?” The voice was muffled by the mask. “Sometimes I’m a bit forgetful.”
“Is there anything else you can do that I should know?”
Modular Man began to hear Croyd’s voice. Mr. Gravemold looked at him. “Shhh. Be silent.” The android sensed a grim smile behind the mask. “Silent as the grave.”
They moved on. Mr. Gravemold moved easily through a tangle of wood and metal pier supports that loomed around them like the ribs of some giant, extinct animal. Croyd’s voice grew louder. Modular Man remembered the shower of flaming stars that signaled the descent of the Swarm. Burning bright.
“Never had a fucking chance,” Croyd said. “Jesus. Never learned a goddamn thing about the fucking world. Not algebra. Not anything.” He laughed. “I taught them a thing or two. Stick with me, kid. We’re gonna give ’em some very interesting lessons, you and me.”
The android thought about Cyndi, Alice, the others. Didn’t I see you at the ape escape? He thought about burning brightly and tried to make his movement precise, perfect. Tried to find the wonder in this situation, flying beneath a pier with the slick water waiting beneath him and a very likely insane, upside-down disguised ace walking purposefully beside him.
Halfway down the pier was a wooden ladder that reached down into the dark water. Croyd’s voice seemed to come from just overhead.
“Okay, kid. Here we go. Just follow the ol’ Sleeper. I know how to survive in this world.”
Mr. Gravemold turned to the android and gestured. Despite the clumsiness of his suit, the meaning was clear: You fly over the opposite side of the pier, I’ll wait here.
Great, the android thought. I charge, and while they’re killing me, Gravemold attacks from behind. Terrific.
“Bring me the package, kid.” Croyd’s voice.
There seemed no time to engage in a debate with Mr. Gravemold. The android drifted backward across the pier, weaving his way through the metal supports, and then rose from the other side.
Croyd was standing by the ladder, facing his companion, and by coincidence, the android. Croyd’s friend had a small knife out and had cut away the string and paper wrapping his package.
Croyd snapped to attention. “Shit! The robot!” His arm a blur of swift motion, he reached for his gun.
Not again, thought the android. He accelerated, heading straight for the albino.
Croyd made frantic tugging motions. The huge silver handgun seemed to have snagged in his armpit. His companion, without the unnatural speed possessed by the others, slowly turned and spun between Croyd and the charging android.
Choices rained on the android’s circuits. He couldn’t hit Croyd’s bodyguard, not without charging him with energy, and he couldn’t get to Croyd without going through the other. He dove for the surface of the pier, landed on his hands, tumbled. Splinters tore at his jumpsuit. He came to a halt at the young man’s feet. The man stared at him.
There was a rip of fabric. With a triumphant cry Croyd jerked his gun free and leveled it. Black pills scattered like dirty snow, spilling from a torn inner pocket.
Mr. Gravemold rose behind Croyd, sudden and ominous as a specter. His gloved hand reached out and closed over the gun. He jerked it back, and the Automag went off with a sound like the end of the world.
The joker gave a yell as the gun’s action slammed back under his hand. The gun clattered to the surface of the pier. The bullet, which had hit Croyd’s bodyguard in the back, fell also.
Ooops, thought Modular Man.
The young man dived for him, right fist clenched. Modular Man rolled away. The man flopped on top of him, burning his power charge as he drove his fist into the planks. The android kicked up, throwing the man over onto his back. He had probably given him a small charge, but it wasn’t enough to worry about.
Croyd in the meantime had slammed his elbow into Mr. Gravemold’s sternum. The joker bounced back against the rail. Rusted nails moaned. Croyd scooped up the outboard engine, looked over his shoulder, and flung it full strength, not at his foes, but at his bodyguard. Trying to charge him up, the android thought.
He flew up into the engine’s path. It thudded solidly into his shoulder, driving him back. Croyd’s companion reached up and seized the android’s feet. Fingers dug with desperate strength into his plastic flesh.
Mr. Gravemold flung himself off the rail, smashing Croyd from behind with a forearm. Croyd spun, his fingers talons. His pink eyes gleamed murderously. He clawed at the joker, trying to puncture his suit. Mr. Gravemold danced out of the way. Both were moving unnaturally fast.
Modular Man rose into the sky. The young man clung gamely to his legs. Kicking at him, the android thought, would only make him stronger.
Suddenly Croyd shuddered. He gasped, clutched at his middle. The balmy summer air suddenly turned a few degrees colder.
The cold of the g
rave, the android thought. It wasn’t some fancy metaphor. The joker had actually meant what he said.
Lights flashed on the far end of the pier. A siren wailed. The ambulance from the Jokertown Clinic had arrived.
Croyd staggered back. He seized the package, flung it at Mr. Gravemold. The joker easily avoided it. It splashed into the water beyond.
“Death is cold, Mr. Crenson,” said Mr. Gravemold. His deep actor’s voice rang past his gas mask, over the sound of the approaching ambulance. “Death is cold, and I am cold as death.”
The joker raised a clenched fist, and the temperature dropped again. Mr. Gravemold, Modular Man realized, was stealing heat from the air. Croyd stumbled, went down on one knee. His white face had turned blue. His companion gave a cry of outrage and dropped to the surface of the pier with the Automag right in front him. He snatched up the gun and pointed it at the figure in the biochem suit.
Croyd fell flat on his face. His limbs twitched uncontrollably.
The android dove at maximum speed. The gun went off like a clap of thunder. A heavy slug caromed off Modular Man’s metal substructure and tumbled away into the night. The bullet’s energy began to spin the android. Unable to stop himself in time, he smashed through the guardrail and zoomed over the Hudson. He stabilized the spin and began to loop back toward the fight.
Ambulance lights flashed bright across the pier. Below, the package was inflating automatically at the touch of the water. A rubber raft.
Mr. Gravemold, still moving with unnatural speed, danced away from Croyd’s bodyguard. The young man had difficulty tracking with the heavy gun. He fired twice and missed both times.
Mr. Gravemold raised his fist. “No!” Modular Man shouted.
The temperature dropped again. Croyd’s bodyguard staggered and fell, the gun falling from his hand.
It worked, the android thought numbly. Then he realized that Mr. Gravemold’s abilities didn’t fire cold, but rather stole heat. With energy going out rather than in, the bodyguard’s talent had nothing to work with.
Modular Man did a loop in air, came down on the albino, seized Croyd by collar and belt. Brakes shrieked as the ambulance came to a stop. Jokers in biochem suits spilled out. Laughter boomed from behind Mr. Gravemold’s gas mask.
The android rose into the sky with his shivering burden and accelerated. Puzzled jokers, their face masks giving them tunnel vision, peered at the sky, trying to see where he and Croyd had gone.
Modular Man shook Croyd like a rag doll. “Why did you blow me up?” he shouted.
Croyd’s teeth were chattering so hard it was difficult to understand him.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Buildings sped beneath them. Fury raced through the android. He shook Croyd again. “Why?”
Croyd began to thrash. Modular Man suppressed the albino’s uncoordinated movements with ease.
He had won, he realized. Carefully he tried to cherish the feeling.
Croyd was shivering uncontrollably as Modular Man lighted on a rooftop and took off the emergency pack he’d strapped to his back in the clinic. It contained a biochem suit, a blanket, a canvas tarpaulin, a sack, and some cord. The android wrapped the albino in a blanket before stuffing him into the biochem warfare suit.
“Who are you working for?” Croyd’s teeth chattered louder than his voice. “The Mafia? The other guys?”
The android screamed at him. “Why did you blow me up?”
In the darkness Croyd’s eyes were the color of blood. “Seemed like a good idea then,” he said. “Better idea now.”
A shivering fit struck him, and his teeth began to chatter like castanets. The albino’s skin was a vivid turquoise, the same color as Travnicek’s. He seemed barely conscious. The android closed the face mask and put a cloth flour sack over Croyd’s head. He then wrapped Croyd in the canvas tarpaulin and tied him securely with the nylon cord. Even a person of unusual strength, the android thought, shouldn’t be able to fight his way out of something that gave him no freedom of movement.
The android picked up his burden and flew on, spiraling down onto Travnicek’s roof next to the skylight. Light shone upward through cracks in the black paint. He reached for the skylight.
“Over here, toaster.”
Travnicek was standing naked atop the pointed roof of a water tower on the next building. His voice no longer came from his mouth, which seemed to be sealing up; one of the organs around his neck, one shaped like a speaking trumpet, had taken over that function. His middle-European accent had come through the transformation untouched.
“That’s the Croyd person, yes?”
“That’s correct.” The android took his burden to the next roof and lowered it to a tarred surface still warm from the summer sunlight. Travnicek leaped the thirty feet from the top of the tower and landed effortlessly next to the bound figure. He bent, his organ-lei rustling as it focused on the albino. The sound of chattering teeth came from beneath the flour sack.
“I can see the viruses in there, right through that bag you’ve got over his head,” Travnicek said. “I don’t know how just yet, but I can see them. The wild cards are very alive, very eager to enter my body and … subvert my programming.” A laugh floated from his speaking-trumpet. A mental chill flowed through the android at the noise, at how inhuman the laugh sounded without a throat to generate it.
Modular Man bent over the trembling figure of Croyd. “I will open the hood and mask. If you lean close, sir, and inhale, you should get another dose of the virus.”
Travnicek laughed again. “You’re a fool, toaster. A fool.”
What rose in the android was not despair, but a bleak and hopeless confirmation of despair. “You ordered me to bring him. You wanted to be reinfected.”
“That was before I realized what I was.” The laugh came again. “I’m strong, I’m youthful, and I perceive the world in ways that no human ever dreamed were possible,” He turned his back on the android and walked to the parapet. He stood on the edge of the roof and let the lights of Jokertown play on his azure skin. “This city is so tasty,” he said. “I can feel the light, perceive motion and wind.” His organ-lei rose toward the sky. “I can hear the stars singing. My senses range from the microscopic to the macrocosmic. Why should I want to lose this?”
“Your genius, sir. The genius that created me. If you don’t regain it…”
“What good did it ever do me? What pleasure did it bring?” He laughed. “Years of bad food and no sleep, years of listening to voices babble in my head, years of no friendships, of fucking cheap tarts in alleyways because I didn’t dare let them into my workplace.…” He gave a snarl and turned to the android.
“It’s gonna change, blender. I’m gonna have a real life now. And the first thing, you get me some money.”
“I—”
“Real money. A couple hundred thousand for a start. Just walk into a bank vault and grab it.”
The android gazed at the garland of yellow eyes. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“And get rid of that Croyd person. Where he won’t bother anyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Travnicek walked from the parapet to the iron base of the tower, then jumped six feet and clung to the side of the tower with hands and feet. He walked deliberately to its pointed crown and crouched, looking at the city.
“The world’s my oyster,” he said. “You’re gonna open it for me.”
The warm June night had gone cold. Croyd kicked and gave a yell. Modular Man picked him up and flew into the night, heading for the clinic.
A trumpet-flower laugh followed his silent ascent.
Travnicek, dressed in new custom-made clothing, stood with a woman on the observation deck of Aces High. Her hair was blond and curly, her dress light and low-cut and very nearly transparent. She wore white plastic boots. Travnicek leaned toward her, blue tongues lapping from his organ-lei, making wet tracks on her face. She shuddered and turned away.
“Fuck this, man. You
’re not paying me enough.”
Travnicek reached into a pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. “How much enough do you want?” He held up a hundred-dollar bill.
The blond woman hesitated. Her face set into lines of determination. “A lot more.”
Hiram wandered past like a ghost, his eyes tracking over the restaurant but seeing nothing.
“Jesus.” A customer’s voice drifted over the sound of the crowd. “Hiram never used to allow that kind of thing.”
Modular Man winced and turned away. His seat near the window of the restaurant, within listening distance of the platform, gave him a far better view of Travnicek than he wanted.
There were some experiences he could not bring himself to cherish.
Kate looked over her shoulder at the twosome and lit a cigarette. “Quite an approach.”
“It seems to work quite well.”
She looked at him. “I detect a certain edge in your comment. Do you know the guy?”
“I have made his acquaintance.”
“Okay. I won’t ask.”
Travnicek, laughing, handed the woman a roll of bills. His tongues, or whatever they were, continued to explore the woman. There were sounds of disgust from the bar.
Ignoring the fuss, the red-haired waitress stepped to the table. “Dessert?” she asked.
“Yes,” said the android. “The crostata, the orange tart, and the chocolate sabayon pie.”
“Yes, sir. And anything for the lady?”
Kate looked at Modular Man and stuck out her tongue. “Not for me. I’m counting calories.”
“Very well. Coffee?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Kate tapped cigarette ash into an ashtray. She was a small woman, with straying brown hair and warm Jeanne Moreau eyes.
“I’m not sure even Epicurus would approve of all this gorging,” she said.
“My days are numbered. I want to try everything.” He smiled. “Besides, I don’t gain calories.”
“Just amps. I know.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Are you all right? Now that you’ve fallen from Olympus and are living among the mortals?”
Wild Cards V: Down and Dirty Page 54
