And then she saw it; she zoomed in further instantly, without conscious thought. Under the high collar, occasionally visible on the back of the Corsair’s helmet: a ridge, almost like the fin of a fish. It was triangular, the top edge coming out of the back at ninety degrees, and then angling down to the base of the helmet.
It was familiar, Jennifer knew it was — something from the Empire State Building. The ridge was an attachment point for something, something in particular. Jennifer ran her eyes over the back of the Corsair’s head, and finally the pieces came together in her mind. The black helmet was incomplete, missing a front-flanged section that would normally come together at an angle over the face, then curve out and up to form two fluted metal wings that stuck out on either side of the helmet.
The Corsair was wearing the Skyguard’s suit — what was left of it, anyway. Whether it was damaged in Kane’s return or altered by the King or modified by whoever was inside the suit now, Jennifer had no idea. But she’d found the suit. Now she had to get the Corsair out and Kane in.
Something played at the back of her mind, something important, something she’d discovered… but the thought was gone as she tried to grasp it.
Jennifer decided to find Rad before the Corsair had finished doling out the small parcels of green to the assembled robots. She moved a little, her metal face squeaking against the cold glass of the window.
Suddenly, the zoomed-in view of the Corsair blurred, the furs and black uniform caught in quick movement. Jennifer pulled her head back and her eyes adjusted, zooming out and refocusing.
Jennifer gasped behind her mask, and for a second it felt like she couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes away from… him.
The Corsair was looking up at her — not just at the window, but at her, into her eyes. Had he heard the noise? It seemed so unlikely, but if the Skyguard’s mask was operational he would have picked it up.
She watched and saw him blink behind the mask of the Skyguard; she zoomed in until his eyes, his human eyes, were the only thing filling her vision.
They were green, a bright, bright green, shot through with yellow like precious gems, two glittering crystals shining in her artificially enhanced view.
Eyes she recognized.
Jennifer gasped and almost fell off the sill as she scrambled backwards.
She remembered now. Remembered lying on the slab, inside the machine. Remembered the pain, remembered the green, remembered the voice whispering in her ear, the voice that called her Jen.
The Corsair was gone, the robots left to mill around. The queue was already beginning to break up as ones from further back moved forward to find out what was going on.
But of the Corsair — of her brother — there was no sign.
Jennifer pushed herself off the alcove and raced down the stairs.
It was getting colder, and not just because Rad was moving further and further away from the workshop and the furnace room. He’d found himself in an empty square room, devoid of anything at all except a light bulb hanging from a single cord, and a big door in one wall. The door was metal, and bulbous, with a large lever for a handle, looking very much like a walk-in refrigerator. Quite what such a device was doing inside an old theater was a question Rad didn’t expect he’d find the answer to, because he knew that maybe the building never had been a theater, despite the stage and the awning outside and the missing letters above the front door, despite the rooms he’d found full of props and costumes slowly moldering away. Because in the Empire State, a lot of things never were; for all he knew, this place had sprung into existence as was, derelict and unused and rotting, until the King and the Corsair had found it and taken it over.
His search had been so far unsuccessful. In one room, Rad thought he’d hit pay dirt, seeing the Skyguard’s voluminous cloak rolled up in a corner, only to find it was just extra curtain fabric for the main stage.
And the more Rad searched, the less confident he felt. He’d moved from the workshops and engineering areas with their robotic spare parts and components into the leftovers of the theater itself, and more than once Rad realized that if the King had taken the Skyguard’s suit to pieces, he might well have already seen most of it spread out across various workbenches and not know it.
He needed to get back to Kane. He was hoping that Jennifer could look after herself.
He was also looking for her gun. He’d seen it take out the crazy leader of the robot gangs, the one that had called itself Elektro, with a single shot. Even with the recharge time, he thought it would come in handy.
Now he was in an empty room with a freezer installed. The temperature outside was so cold the freezer seemed unnecessary. But… he’d better check it. He wrapped his scarf firmly around his face and reached for the freezer door.
The freezer hummed. Rad checked that there was a working handle on the inside of the door — he wasn’t going to fall for that one — and stepped inside.
The freezer was filled with shelves, making the place less a butcher’s meat locker and more a laboratory storage area. There were containers and boxes stacked everywhere, and large items wrapped in plastic sheeting. Everything was covered with frost.
Rad stepped forward. He didn’t know why the Skyguard’s suit might have been kept in a freezer, but he was here now and it would pay to check. Just a quick look in, and then he’d head back to the warmth of the workshop. Maybe Jennifer had had better luck, and…
Rad stopped, and squinted at one of the wrapped items on the nearest shelf. There was a pinkish color showing through the sheet. Rad peered closer, then reached out and tugged at the sheet. It slid easily, shedding frost onto Rad’s hands. He pulled hard, and began to unwrap the long, thin object, rolling it on the shelf as the plastic was pulled out from underneath it.
Rad swore, the plastic sheeting dropping to the floor. On the shelf was a human arm, intact, the terminal of the shoulder neatly trimmed, exposing the round joint, perfectly clean and white. The arm was male, and it was a little thin, like the arm of a young man.
Rad stepped back and looked at the rest of the shelf. There were many more wrapped objects, some the same size and some smaller. Rad puffed out a great lungful of steam and carefully peeled back another sheet to reveal a single hand. He rubbed the frost off one of the jars and saw it was filled to the brim with a frozen liquid, red, swirled with yellow.
Rad looked around him. The freezer was full of body parts.
He backed away, rubbing the frost from fingers now numb from the cold. He felt numb elsewhere, somewhere deep inside, where maybe he thought the King was trying to do something and maybe Rad didn’t quite understand it but that was OK, that was good, because someone was helping those in the city who couldn’t help themselves, who had been tossed out by the government and forgotten, completely and utterly, creatures destitute and desolate and not even considered to be people.
But this… this was something else. This was macabre, a horror show, the freezer of a loony tune doing something untoward in the unknown dark and empty places of the Empire State.
Rad shook his head, muttering under his breath. The sonovabitch. He was keeping the human parts removed during his procedures. Why, Rad didn’t know and couldn’t guess. That was for later, when he and Jennifer Jones and her friends at the Empire State Building came back to sort out the mess.
Rad’s back touched the shelf behind him, and he jumped in fright. He sighed, his breath clouding the air, and turned.
Something caught his eye. There was a large object on the shelf, square, wrapped in plastic sheeting that hadn’t yet frosted over. There was something pinkish within, and there were marks on the shelf where the frost had been scraped off. The object was new, placed there only hours ago.
Rad didn’t want to see what it was, but he had a feeling it was important.
He grabbed the trailing corner of sheeting, and pulled. It moved easily, the plastic cold but still pliable, silky. Three turns and the object was exposed.
Rad fe
lt the bile rise in his throat. The object was a glass head, like the kind in a fancy hat store. Except this head was bare — but for the front. Spread across the sculpted glass features was a face, a real human face, made of flesh and skin, with eyebrows and lips and nose. The glass face underneath was a standard model, and the real face adhering to it didn’t match the structure, not completely, resulting in a strange, distorted visage.
But it was enough for Rad to recognize. He coughed, and felt a hot bitterness against the back of his throat. He turned away from it, and almost tripped out of the freezer. He slammed the door behind him, then crashed his back into it and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of air that were cold but warmer than in the freezer.
That settled it. They’d walked into a house of horror, the likes of which Rad had never seen before. In the dark places of the city, the King of 125th Street was putting into motion an insane plan, a plan that had to be stopped before his army of robots was activated, unleashing who knew what hell on the city as the Empire State plunged into a war with New York.
Rad pushed off the door, determined to get back to the workshop and find Jennifer and get them all out of there.
He was equally determined not to tell Jennifer he’d found her surgically removed face on a glass head in the freezer.
THIRTY
Rad found Jennifer in the workshop, and felt a surge of relief that she hadn’t run into the Corsair.
“The Corsair saw me.”
Scratch that. Rad nodded as he caught his breath. As he stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, he couldn’t help but stare at the agent’s golden face. It was a beautiful piece of work, like a fine sculpture. He’d have to tell her about what was in the freezer, have to.
Jennifer took a step forward and Rad jerked back in surprise.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” said Rad quickly. He darted to the door on the opposite side of the workshop and opened it. He listened a moment, but the corridor was empty and there was no sound from the furnace room. Rad closed the door and turned back to Jennifer. “So the Corsair’s coming?”
“He was outside,” said Jennifer. “He saw me. Then I think he came back in, but he’s not here. But-”
“Did you have any luck?”
Jennifer held up her hand. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The Corsair is wearing the Skyguard’s suit. What’s left of it, anyway.”
Rad swore and swept the hat off his head. He knew there was something familiar about the face, and now he could picture exactly what it was. Take away the wings and the square grille that should have been in front of the face like the visor of a medieval helmet, and you were left with the austere features of the Corsair, just the vertical slots of the mouth and the round eyes of the Skyguard recognizable. Small details, but enough.
“I think he knew, as well,” said Jennifer.
“Knew what?”
Jennifer didn’t say anything; she just stood there as Rad waited. He could see her eyes blink behind the mask, but nothing else; her face was beautiful but frozen, immobile.
Rad stepped away from the door. “He knew what?”
“That I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
Rad spun around. The Corsair stood in the doorway, fists clenched, wrapped still in the giant black fur coat. Rad and Jennifer backed away and the Corsair pulled off the coat, revealing the chauffeur’s uniform. At the neck, Rad saw the bodysuit — the remains of the Skyguard’s suit — disappear under the collar of the uniform. Rad just hoped that most of it was still intact beneath.
The Corsair stepped forward, forcing Rad and Jennifer against the edge of Jennifer’s slab. Behind his back, Rad felt for the bar he’d used to pry the machine open.
“So you gonna tell us who you are,” asked Rad, “or is that a mystery we’ll just have to live with when we’re far away downtown, until we see your mug shot in the newspaper next week?”
The Corsair stopped, and looked at Jennifer. He hissed, like he’d just realized something, or was surprised.
“What?” Rad asked, glancing at Jennifer.
Jennifer took a step forward.
“Now, wait a minute,” said Rad. His fingers pulled the metal bar closer until he could get a proper grip on it.
“She hasn’t told you, has she?” said the Corsair. There was amusement in his voice. There seemed to be something about power-mad loons in masks that made them a little too pleased with themselves for Rad’s liking.
“Kane, you listening to this?”
“Sure am,” came Kane’s voice from behind his machine. “Wish I could see the show. Sounds like fun.”
“Uh-huh,” said Rad. “Might have to do something about that.”
The Corsair chuckled. “Mr Fortuna can’t leave the machine.”
Rad snorted. “That a fact?”
“It is.”
“He’s right,” said Jennifer. “You know that, Rad.”
Rad’s eyes flicked between her and the Corsair. “Oh, you’re on his side now?”
“Of course not. But we can’t take Kane with us.”
Rad’s fingers wrapped around the bar. He adjusted his footing.
“We gotta get past this guy first, anyway,” said Rad, nodding at the Corsair. “Nice trick, pretending to be a robot, while the real robot does the meet and greet. Can’t imagine you get a lot of guests around these parts, so why so much trouble for the double act? But, hey, each man and robot to his own.”
The Corsair clenched his fists. “Anybody ever tell you that you talk too much, Mr Bradley?”
“A talkative detective is gonna be the least of your problems in a minute.”
The Corsair shook his head. “You cannot leave,” he said, moving forward quickly. Rad braced himself, hoping Kane had gotten the message. The metal rod slid in his sweaty hands. A lot depended on him getting this right.
“Stop!”
Jennifer stepped between the Corsair and Rad. The Corsair backed away. Rad didn’t move; he was too busy trying to hold the bar still.
Jennifer turned to Rad. “He’ll let us go,” she said. She turned to the Corsair. “Won’t you?”
Rad saw his chance. He let out his breath, nice and slow, and took another in.
“Hey, Kane,” he said.
“Waiting on you,” Kane replied.
Rad darted to one side, swinging the metal rod out from behind him. Jennifer ducked out of the way, and Rad saw the Corsair hesitate, uncertain. Rad really hoped the Skyguard’s suit was working, because the fact that the Corsair hadn’t sucker-punched him already was a little worrying, and what he was about to do might kill them all.
Rad ran to Kane’s machine, jamming the bar with both hands into the seam around the lid. The rod slipped, and Rad’s heart skipped a beat before the rod caught on something and stopped; Rad pushed, pushed as hard as he could, and the rod slipped through the gap. There was a click as a catch was snapped open. Then, with a yell, Rad pulled down on the rod with all his might. His cry of desperation continued long after the rod slipped free and hit the floor, Rad’s chin connecting with the slab as he hit the deck.
Rad looked at the floor, which was suddenly illuminated in a brilliant white and blue light. Rad felt his eyeballs trying to drill themselves out of their sockets as a pressure settled on the back of his skull, a headache from hell.
Rad screwed his eyes tight and wished he was dead, but he knew the feeling would pass and everything would be fine, everything would be OK, so long as Kane could control it. Control the power inside him.
Rad rolled onto his back in time to see Kane pull himself up out of the machine — he was nothing more than a hot white outline, a walking flame, incandescent tendrils of energy streaming off him and whipping around the workshop, around the machine and the table, around Jennifer and around the Corsair.
“Jennifer,” Rad shouted, unsure whether his voice could be heard over the roar of the unleashed Fissure. He saw her jerk as he called her name, her metal
face searching, unable to see. From his shadowed position by the table, Rad jerked forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her down on top of him. She fell, blocking the light, and Rad felt an instant relief from the buzz-saw vibration in his skull.
“Hey, Corsair,” said Kane, a million miles away. “You got something that belongs to me.”
THIRTY-ONE
Hoffman Island, Lower New York Bay. Eleven acres of not much at all: an artificial island, created from landfill back in 1800 and who cares.
General Fulton Hall liked Hoffman Island. He liked the regularity of it, the way it looked like a near-perfect trapezoid on the big map one of his staffers had got out back at base. He also liked the fact that it was artificial, a product of engineering and effort, a symbol, in a small way, of man’s mastery over nature.
General Hall liked that a lot. It was like his job, overseeing military research into the secrets of the atom in the continuing effort to find the biggest bang of them all, the ultimate weapon, the one the Russians would never see coming before it wiped them off the face of the planet. That, too, was man’s mastery of nature. With the power of the atom at their beck and call, Hall knew he was helping keep the United States the most powerful nation of them all.
Hoffman Island, one mile out from South Beach, Staten Island. New York City lay directly behind Hall and his retinue, shivering under the tarpaulin marquee that had been erected in front of the crumbling ruins of the old quarantine station. Hall didn’t think it would have been any warmer inside the concrete shell, and besides, there was a small but not insignificant risk of collapse if the test on Swinburne Island went wrong. The Quonset huts on the other side of the island would have been better, but they didn’t have such a good view.
Hall adjusted his binoculars, fixing them on the smaller but equally artificial island a hair under a mile south of Hoffman. He could see the test rig clearly: a steel pylon looking something like an oil derrick, with an arm coming out at ninety degrees from the top. At the end of the arm, something small, silver; a teardrop shining in the cold New York air. The test device.
The Age Atomic es-2 Page 16
