by David Boop
“Sorry, what?” The small man, a gunfighter from the American West, was normally sharp-eyed and inquisitive. He had been drifting off, watching something in his own mind.
Biggleton frowned. “Winston here will be accompanying you on the mission.” He waved his hand toward the dark-haired young man lounging in the corner, maybe twenty, but already wearing the regalia of a second lieutenant. He was a stark contrast to Biggleton, who sported an unruly mop of blond hair atop his pale, thin frame. He seemed almost frail, especially against the hale and muscular, if baby-faced, Churchill. The officer’s ruddy cheeks and unfocused gaze bespoke, however, of someone already in his cups. “Forgive his demeanor, he is one of our bravest. He is familiar with the delicate nature of the transport. Isn’t that so, Second Lieutenant Churchill?”
Winston made a wry face. “Delicate indeed, sir. Yes, I am more than familiar with the Key.”
Hummingbird shook his head, trying to dislodge the scraps of vision. “So, the goal here is to transport this Key across the city? That’s it?” His western drawl, obviously from the States, isolated him as the only one of the four present who was not from Britain. “Why don’t you mili’try boys take care of it?” he added. “We usually work bounties for the Chinamen, not mili’try transports.”
Inazuma pulled his hands from the sleeves of his kimono, placing a placating palm on Hummingbird’s back. The large man was generally unflappable, but Hummingbird could feel his hand shaking, at which point he realized Inazuma had shared the same vision.
The samurai interjected, “What my colleague is trying to say, albeit in a highly uncouth fashion, is that we have a highly specialized skill set. Normally Constable Baojia hires us to catch the more slippery criminals, ones that evade capture by physical strength alone. In short, we specialize in tracking and manipulation of the mind, not in guarding or force of arms.”
Biggleton nodded. “I understand. I am not military either. Scientist, in fact. Regrettably, our fine lads in uniform have failed to get the Key to the appointed destination. I asked the provincial government of Canton to recommend alternatives based on a need for sharpness of wit, rather than strength of muscle. I was shown your rather remarkable track record. Combining that with the fact that your adopted father is an ambassador for Her Majesty, Mister Inazuma, you two were the natural pick.” He smiled wanly and arched an eyebrow. “The Key must be moved safely. More than you can ever know depends upon this.”
Hummingbird and Inazuma looked at each other, their thoughts echoing in unison. “He said must, and that means more money.”
Inazuma spoke up. “We can handle it, but I have three questions. If you aren’t military, who are you? And what is so important about this Key?”
Biggleton replied with a well-practiced speech. “I have been charged by the Crown to oversee the Ministry of Extraordinary Weapons. The Key is one of these weapons. What the Key is ties directly to the reason we have failed to move it to the high-voltage laboratory. As amazing as it may sound, we believe the Key to be a device of ancient design which can alter time by predicting outcomes. Every time we attempt to complete the mission, our forces die, and then they wake up the previous morning remembering having died the next day. It’s frankly giving me a headache reading the reports.”
He paused for a second, framing his next words carefully as he shifted in his chair. “The Key was activated by accident twenty-four hours ago by the Russian scientist Nikola Tesla. He was working with a group of savant children, trying to unlock the Key’s secrets. Unfortunately, he brought the Key too close to one of his brilliant coils and the electricity being emitted activated it before we could run tests. Too many of the other powers in this world are on the verge of technological superiority. We cannot allow the Key into their hands. What I have told you is only the tip of the iceberg, gentlemen, but it is all I can offer. The Crown needs you.”
Hummingbird shrugged. “Inazuma?”
The samurai thought for a moment, then nodded. “We accept the assignment.”
“Excellent!” Biggleton slid a folder across his desk, motioning for the two bounty hunters to take it. “Here are the accounts of the soldiers who have failed; I hope they will help you learn your enemy. As I said you have young Winston’s help, he will take you to the Key now. Godspeed and best of luck, gentlemen.”
Hummingbird and Inazuma, accompanied by Churchill, left the constable’s office. The sun shone down brightly over the bustling streets of Canton. Hummingbird looked to the horizon, scanning for coming storm clouds, while the three negotiated the busy foot traffic. The skies couldn’t be clearer.
Inazuma flipped through the folder while Winston flagged down a rickshaw, all three men brooding in their own thoughts. They piled into the cart, giving the driver directions to their destination well across town in the martial district. The driver cranked the engine lever, triggered the gear assembly, and began jogging in place on the rickshaw’s treadmill. The gear assembly was far more efficient than a bicycle, and the rickshaw quickly moved off. They rode in silence to the bounce of the street’s uneven cobblestones.
Hummingbird broke the silence first by asking, “Y’all have visions?”
“Indeed I did,” Churchill replied. “Most days, I manage the rather remarkable feat of sobriety in the face of idiocy until the sun is at least starting to dip below the horizon. Before the sun goes down, I must live the life of an officer, befitting my rank. Not today, though. Not today.” He held up a finger, pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a deep swig. “After what I’ve seen, I fear that while I will wake up starkly sober tomorrow, the world shall still be quite insane.”
Both of the bounty hunters chuckled, warming up to the young man. The three conversed over the course of the ride across Canton. Hummingbird’s western drawl stood out next to the proper British tones of Churchill and Inazuma.
The trip took forty minutes, and by the time they arrived the three were engrossed in a deep conversation. The building they pulled up in front of was more of a complex housing a dojo. Gray ten-foot walls, topped by red clay shingling, flanked a pair of massive oak doors. The doors currently stood open to the public, and students could be seen practicing the movements of their forms in the courtyard. Churchill paid the rickshaw operator and the three walked into the dojo.
Carefully skirting the courtyard so as to not interrupt the students, the trio spoke quietly amongst themselves, while a chorus of hais echoed from the students with each punch and kick. Winston led them to the back of the dojo. As the back room door opened all three stumbled, and their vision went white. As one, they collapsed.
21:43 Thursday, British Consulate Warehouse at Canton Docks
Rain poured down, a waterfall from heaven like the tears of Quan Yin. In front of a warehouse, along the city’s docks, a dozen dead Wuyi fighters lay in the streets intermixed with equally lifeless Kazakh warriors. A rickshaw, its motorized treadmill torn apart and gears scattered across the cobblestones, stood at the center of the tableau. The rain washed blood past the feet of the survivors, who were squared off in combat against each other.
Inazuma and Hummingbird crouched back to back, surrounded by the ring of burly Russians. Lightning flashed across the sky, a web of light ripping through the darkness.
Hummingbird grinned, gripping his twin Colt Peacemakers tightly. “Ina, they only sent twelve of them. Apparently they haven’t heard of us.”
Inazuma shifted his right foot slightly forward, letting the blade of his katana dip. “It does seem slightly unfair to them.”
The Russians, bearded, wrapped in fur to a man, made space in their ranks. A giant stepped through the gap. The man was almost two meters tall, with a long, scraggly beard and hair: the glint of madness in his eyes. The collar of a priest’s cassock poked up from below his furs.
“What have we here?” The man spoke with a heavy Russian accent. “Two little men who oppose the will of God? Stand aside. Let us have the Key and you shall be spared.”
Humm
ingbird rotated slightly to his left, bringing one of his Colts to bear on the giant. He recognized the madness in the man’s eyes, the madness of a zealot. “Who the hell are you, big fella?”
“My name is Grigori Rasputin, the prophet of God. Now stand aside, little man.” The Russian pulled two swords, barely larger than knives in his meaty hands, from under his fur-lined coat.
Hummingbird nudged Inazuma’s calf with his heel. “Looks like the big guy is yours. I’ll get the rest.” He sprang forward, slipping under the first man’s arm. “Come on y’all, time to play.” Hummingbird thrust the butt of his pistol upward, slamming the Russian’s chin with a meaty thunk.
As the storm raged overhead, Hummingbird sped up, dispatching attackers with ease. He was small, but deadly. Arguably the fastest gunslinger in the West, he had also mastered the Eastern arts because of his clockwork arm. It was a high-end Cantonese-designed arm relying on over fourteen hundred acupuncture needles, each with a steel thread running into the arm and joint assemblies, layered perfectly to mimic human muscle fibers. The needles in his torso were protected by a steel plate covering both his chest and his back. Gaining proficiency with the arm had required years of Tai Chi training, making the small man a deadly hand-to-hand opponent.
He spun through the larger Russian group, using their force against them, never even pulling the triggers of his Colts. Burly men went cartwheeling through the air every time they touched the small tornado that was Hummingbird.
Inazuma’s fight was not so quick or clean. As Hummingbird intercepted his opponents, Inazuma locked blades with Rasputin. The young Russian titan whirled his two blades in front of him, daring the samurai to attack. Inazuma saw the implied invitation and accepted.
Sliding his left foot forward to a dominant position, Inazuma struck. He thrust his katana forward at the two swords, forcing Rasputin to cross them in defense. With a quick roll of the wrist, Inazuma twisted the katana past Rasputin’s blades, cutting deeply into the knuckles of the mad monk’s left hand.
The mad Russian let out a terrific basso roar and launched himself forward. Dropping the blade from his bleeding hand, he grabbed at the katana and slapped it aside, smashing the pommel of his sword knife down on Inazuma’s left arm with a sickening crunch.
Inazuma kicked Rasputin’s knee and backed up. Hummingbird dashed between the two men, a tiny blur, headed to intercept the Russians on the other side of their fight. The left sleeve of Inazuma’s kimono was torn open, exposing wrecked gears beneath a dented exoskeletal framework that lay over his skin. The kimono had hidden the whole rig perfectly.
The samurai grinned, taunting his opponent. “Something I picked up in the Philippines. The assembly boosts strength and speed, using counter pressures. Doesn’t even need an engine. It’ll take an hour to fix. So, how’s your hand feeling, Grigori?”
Rain matted Rasputin’s hair and beard to his face. “Little man. You’re Japanese, but speak British. Either way, you are a tea-drinking woman” He charged, answered in kind by Inazuma.
Luck saved Inazuma. Hummingbird charged by the two last standing Kazakhs, ducked the grasp of one, caught the punch thrown by the other, and spun him through the air directly at Rasputin. The Kazakh collided with the wild-eyed zealot, and both fell to the ground. Rasputin swore, a deluge of Russian cursing, and struggled to get his heavy henchman untangled and off him.
The bounty hunters glanced at each other, then back to the ruined rickshaw. Inazuma nodded once while sheathing his blade. Hummingbird holstered his pistols and called out. “Mister Tesla, y’all can come out now.” He ran to the building and hammered on the door. “You ready, Winston?”
The second lieutenant poked his head out of the warehouse door. “My word. I guess you really didn’t need me helping out here. Come along, everything is ready. Did you manage to switch the blades?”
Hummingbird patted both of Rasputin’s blades, tucked into his belt. “Yup. I’m so small, he never even saw me. He has the replacements.”
Churchill nodded, then beckoned to the two frightened people in the rickshaw’s remains.
The passengers exited the ruined vehicle. A rail-thin mustached man chaperoned a young Cantonese girl of eleven, wearing a pink-and-white outfit with her hair done up in pigtails. Both ran to the building.
The man spoke with a mild Eastern European accent. “You are sure this is safe?”
Inazuma watched the sky, silently counting, leaving Hummingbird to answer. “As sure as we can be. Every other way…let’s just leave it at ‘this is the best chance we have.’”
Tesla nodded, putting his arm around the scared child. “On your word then.” They quickly walked over to the open door of the warehouse, Churchill ushering them inside.
Inazuma said ten aloud as a bolt of lightning ripped the sky in half. “That was it. Come on, Hummingbird, let’s get to the roof.”
The smaller man nodded, and joined his friend in the doorway. As they vanished inside, several more Russians approached. Grigori’s cavalry had arrived. They all gathered around the groggy Rasputin as he sat up, rubbing his head. He pointed at the building. “Vnutri.”
They helped him up and charged the building.
11:47 Thursday, Shoa Dojo, Guangzhou
Hummingbird leaned by the room’s doorway, thumb hooked behind his belt in a casual way, positioning his hand near his pistol. There was no danger nearby, but he liked to be careful, and everyone else was engrossed in watching his partner and the child.
Inazuma held the young girl by the hand, crouching down so he could look her in the eye. She tried to retreat behind her own pigtails, bashfully looking up at the imposing, but friendly samurai.
He patted her hand. “Nǐ hǎo. Do you speak English, little one?”
The girl nodded.
“Well, good! You are very smart, aren’t you?”
The girl nodded again.
“Good. You are going to be safe now. My name is Mister Inazuma and this is my friend Mister Hummingbird. We are here to protect you.” He touched her cheek gently, then released her hand and stood up. As he turned to face his comrades, the girl lunged forward to hug Inazuma’s waist.
“Thank you, Mister Inazuma. You’re the best.” Her effusive words surprised him, but he hugged her back. Orphaned himself until he was ten, there was a bond between the two.
He warmly patted her back. “You go have a snack. We are going to work out a plan, okay?”
The girl, Qi, nodded seriously. Turning on her heel, she marched out of the room toward the dojo’s kitchens. She stopped on the way out, turning around to look to Inazuma. “The necklace showed me, Mister Inazuma. You are the only one who can save me, so I trust you.”
Inazuma watched her leave as Hummingbird spoke up. “Okay, fellas. I think it’s time y’all explained things a bit for us. Let’s start with you, mister scientist.” He could see Inazuma’s mind working, and he knew his partner well enough to know what was troubling him. The tall samurai wouldn’t want to turn the kid over to a life of being studied by a government. Inazuma’s sword was hard but his heart was soft.
A thin man, seated a few paces to the left of the wall Winston leaned against, nodded solemnly. The scientist sported an extremely well-groomed moustache and was dressed in a conservative suit, his accent faintly redolent of the sounds of his Serbian homeland. “It is a complex tale, scientifically, though simple in execution. I was experimenting with one of my coils, attempting to see if I could solve a logic problem I discovered. A series of interlocked logic…gates, I suppose you could call them. The series would take the inputs and use it to make decisions.”
Hummingbird held up a hand. “Now, forgive me here, Mister Tesla?” he drawled thickly, “but what all is a logic gate?”
The scientist nodded. “In this case it is a…gate composed of two inputs and one output, which, by virtue of the units, is a binary logic system.”
“A what…?” asked Hummingbird. He knew he was hearing English words, but it sounded like Gre
ek to his ears.
“Two units!” Churchill answered, ever quick of wit. “A system of two units, like yes or no.”
“On or off, true or false, one or zero,” added Tesla. “The logic gate will output one of those two binary units, depending on which combination of the two binary units is fed into each input.”
He held up a medallion. It was round, about five inches in diameter, and layered in its design. At a casual glance, it seemed to house a dozen moving pieces arranged in various layers.
Tesla twisted one of the layers, showing off the leveled rotations of the device. “This medallion is a curious artifact unlike anything I have seen in modern science. This is like the logic gate of the gods! With over two hundred settings per layer, it is capable of changing in, quite literally, billions of different ways, if properly activated.”
Churchill scoffed. “Proper. Yes, and by a long chalk, too.”
The other three, all understanding the second lieutenant’s frustration, let him be. Inazuma, still holding back his opinions, asked. “How is it properly activated?”
Tesla nodded to himself again. “It requires two things. One was a known factor, which is Qi. She is a savant, a mathematical mind capable of calculations greater even than those I can solve. Those calculations power this medallion. However, without the second activator, she accomplishes nothing, which is why most thought the legend of the Key was a myth. That is where I come into this tale. Electricity is the second ingredient. It was only when the Key, and Qi, were brought into the presence of one of my coils that the medallion was activated.”
Churchill took a swig off his flask again, staring off toward the kitchens, and then offered it to Hummingbird. He shrugged and accepted it. Taking a sip, he asked Tesla. “Okay. Truth time. We’ve all been having weird visions. What, exactly, happens when you activate it?”
