"No, not that." Rad shook his head.
Claudia's lips made a faint click as she parted them. "Oh, I don't know. Everyone's the same. Nobody remembers anything. Fact of life. They say..."
"Yeah, yeah. Wartime."
"Wartime."
Rad pulled his chair out and winced at the noise the wooden legs made on the tiled floor.
"So where do I sign?"
TWELVE
"DOES IT EVER BOTHER YOU? Not remembering?" Rad asked.
Kane sipped from his cup. Rad had emptied his, already. Rad knew he needed to stop. In fact they both did if their plan was going to work out.
He saw Kane's look and tapped the edge of his cup. "Yeah, yeah. A little Dutch courage is all. How's time?"
"Time's good. What does that even mean?" asked Kane.
"What does what mean?"
"'Dutch courage'."
"Huh." Rad frowned and sipped his drink. Tonight it was just him and Kane and Jerry, and Jerry was at the other end of the bar, cleaning cups as usual. There was no music or background noise, but Rad and Kane didn't need to worry about eavesdroppers in Jerry's basement.
"Something to do with the city founders?" Rad shrugged over his drink.
"Yeah, probably. I don't remember."
"That's it exactly."
Kane set his drink down and his barstool creaked as he spun on it to address his friend.
"Rad, you're a wonderful and talented guy, but even you draw the line at cryptic. You hate cryptic. Cryptic is not your bag at all. What is what exactly?"
"Saw the wife yesterday."
"Ah." Kane's nose disappeared into his cup.
"Yeah, yeah," said Rad. He sighed. He was always like this after he spoke to his wife, or his ex-wife, or whatever the hell their relationship was. It was complicated and Kane wasn't interested much.
"She asked for a divorce," Rad said after a beat.
"Ah. You?"
Rad shrugged. "What do I care? Yes."
"So no problem."
"So no problem. But then we don't remember the good times, you know? Was it really that superficial and forgettable that we both forgot? I don't get it."
Kane gulped his drink and ordered another. "Dutch courage," he said, then he added: "Wartime, y'know?"
"Yeah, that," said Rad. He stared at nothing for a few seconds, then said: "We ready?"
Kane's face broke into a smile and he slapped the bar as he drained his fresh cup in a single gulp.
"You bet."
Rad glanced at the clock above the bar. Three o'clock in the a.m. and the rain was back. Perfect cover.
He nudged Kane. "Then our adventure begins."
"Good evening, gentlemen!"
Rad winced as Captain Carson clapped his hands together with little regard for the noise he was making. They were in a yard of some kind, sandwiched between warehouses in the disused part of the docklands. The surrounding buildings were empty shells and the empty lot was overgrown with weeds and scattered with twisted metal and other industrial junk.
The lot was a good choice, Rad had to admit. It was narrow and with the tall flats of the warehouses on two sides, completely out of sight of the naval base and factory. There was a concrete ramp that descended into the black water, allowing them easy access. Rad took off his hat and rolled it into an inside pocket. He wasn't looking forward to this, not one bit.
Kane walked ahead of Rad, greeting Carson with a handshake and shoulder slap, before taking the suit held by Byron. The Captain's servant must have been strong, holding the suit and helmet up in one hand. Rad could tell how heavy they were just by looking. If they were caught in them a chase – and an escape – would be impossible. They were huge, a mass of rubber and waxed leather, topped with a copper dome helmet. More copper – more weight – ringed the shoulders, elbows, every joint for reinforcement and articulation, and the middle chest was covered by a small metal breastplate.
Seeing Rad's hesitation, the Captain stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on the detective's shoulder. Carson was already suited up, sans helmet, and the metal gauntlet felt like a lead brick on Rad's arm.
"Have no worries, detective. Don't forget I'm coming with you, and I trust this equipment with my life."
Rad hrmmed, and nodded at Byron. "And don't tell me, he likes it so much he wears it all the time."
The Captain's smile tightened at the corners. "Something like that," he said, then turned away from Rad to help Kane with his suit.
Realising his trench coat wouldn't fit under the diving suit, Rad let it slip off his shoulders. Glancing around, he saw a broken, curved half-barrel that he could stash it in to collect later. He shuffled forward, pulling the junk experimentally to one side, but Kane's hand caught him before he could do anything more. Rad looked up, and Kane shook his head.
"Can't risk it. Won't it fit under the suit?"
Rad looked Kane's suit up and down. It was baggy but stiff. Maybe his trench coat would fit, although Rad really didn't want it to cause a problem when they were on the riverbed. He wasn't hot on the idea of going for a swim anyway, and getting his long coat tangled around him inside the suit when trouble arrived made him feel dizzy with claustrophobia. He licked his upper lip.
"Anything the matter, gentlemen?" Carson called over, again in a voice loud enough to send a shot of adrenaline racing through Rad. "Detective, you're not dressed yet?"
Rad straightened up and Kane moved to one side as Carson and Byron walked forward. The Captain's eyes lit up in the dark and his wide smile glinted.
"Ah, a wardrobe malfunction, I see. Well, we cannot have a private detective without his hat and coat. Please, allow me. Byron?"
Rad passed his folded coat into Carson's outstretched arms, and the Captain nodded theatrically. Turning on his heel, he reached forward and unclipped something on Byron's tunic. A door opened, and the Captain carefully stashed the coat on a shelf inside, like he was packing a trunk for a vacation. Rad blinked. Maybe it was the dark, but it looked like Byron had a cupboard in his torso. It occurred to him that he should maybe be surprised at this, but after waiting a second, the surprise never came. Rad shrugged. Byron was a walking cupboard. No problem.
"Here, let me help you," said Kane, taking Rad's suit from Byron's outstretched arm.
Rad looked up, and saw nothing. The water was black and filled with stuff that floated. The lamp on his helmet shone a dull magenta, and the detritus that swam around them, kicked up by their metal-booted feet on the riverbed, reflected the light back as a bright pink. Rad had no idea where they were, or what direction they were heading, or how long they'd been down there. But now they'd stopped and the four of them were looking up.
After a few seconds he picked out an outline, a slightly darker, duller patch of black surrounded by the translucent darkness of the water. As he focussed on it, a long rectangle resolved itself.
"How far?" Kane's voice echoed between their helmets. Rad jumped inside his suit, banging his head against the roof of his helmet. It sounded like Kane was right on his shoulder. He looked around, his magenta lamp picking out his underwater companions nearby.
The Captain considered, and Rad thought he could hear his moustache bristling against the helmet microphone as he pursed his lips. "Should be thirty feet. Depends on how the ironclad sits."
Rad tried to turn quickly but succeeded only in a slow drift. "What, we're here already? That didn't take long."
"About a half hour I think," came Kane.
"I wasn't counting. So how do we get up?" asked Rad.
The Captain walked forward, still looking up, gauging the vessel above. "Ready, Byron?"
"Ready, sir."
"Jolly good. All aboard!" If Carson could clap his hands underwater, Rad was sure he would've. As it was, one gauntlet grabbed Rad's arm and steered him towards his servant. Kane followed, the three of them converging on Byron. The Captain took one of Rad's hands and guided it to Byron's shoulder.
"Hold on. Don't let go. Ar
e you ready, Mr Fortuna?"
"That's an affirmative."
"Good lad. After you, Byron."
"Sir."
Byron lifted off the riverbed, dragging his three passengers up through the water. Through his helmet Rad could hear a bubbling, and angling his head down as much as possible, he saw the water below them a whiteout of silt. Looking up, the black rectangle of the ironclad increased in size with significant speed.
The boat was quiet, but Rad wasn't convinced it was empty, so he tried not to move too much. The suit creaked with every motion, and when he'd put his helmet down on a nearby surface, the metal-on-metal clank gave him the fright of his life.
It didn't seem to bother the others. Byron stood immobile and impassive, although that seemed to be about standard for him. Rad couldn't take his eyes from the... man? A man with a hollow chest and a helmet that never came off and some kind of power system that allowed him to rocket around underwater with passengers. He'd need to ask the Captain about Byron. No, he'd need to ask Kane. He needed to ask Kane about a lot of things.
His friends clanked around the deck without much concern for noise. The brass and copper boots of the suit felt like bricks out of the water, and on the iron deck of the boat they sounded like a bulldozer dropping its shovel with every step.
Around them the night was nearly total. The city was there all right, but the fog had come in, rendering the cityscape nothing but a red and yellow smear. Looking up, the city cast an orange halo against the low cloud. Rad tried to remember the last time he saw the stars, but couldn't. He shuffled a little, wincing at every sound. The water around them was as black as the night and the fog really was pretty close, so that even the cordon of smaller boats just off the ironclad were practically invisible, a few dull solitary lights marking out their otherwise invisible positions. Lights that were on the ironclad side only, that you couldn't see from the city.
Kane clomped around and started talking to the Captain, loudly. It was foggy and the air was still, which meant sound would travel. Even assuming the ironclad was empty – and Rad wasn't entirely sure that it was – they'd be heard by the quarantine ships, and surely at any moment he expected spotlights to be thrown on them, and most likely a halfdozen police blimps descend through the cloud layer to pick them up.
"Ah, guys?" Rad's voice was drowned out by the sounds of Carson and Kane walking on the deck. They'd found a hatchway leading into the ship itself. The handle made the most horrendous screeching sound as Kane began to work at it. It looked stiff. Rad held his breath and walked across the deck as quickly as possible, with feet feeling like they were in concrete. Screw the noise. It was too late now.
"Kane!" he said, laying a gauntleted hand on the hatchway handle. Kane stopped and looked at the detective.
"Found something?"
Rad closed his eyes and shook his head and waved a hand around. "Ah, no. Look, we need to keep it down, right? This boat might still have crew aboard, but also don't forget the quarantine ships are just off to port, or starboard, or whatever. They'll hear us."
Kane frowned and glanced at Carson. Carson's eyes flicked between them, and he nodded sharply.
"He's right. It would pay to be cautious, young man."
Kane nodded. Rad frowned.
"Help with the door then," said Kane, grabbing the hatch handle in both hands. "Rad, grab hold. If we can do it quickly, maybe it won't make so much noise."
Rad nodded and took hold of the handle and on the count of three, the pair heaved.
• • • •
So the boat was empty, and for that Rad was relieved. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship they'd thought it safe enough to remove the suits and stow them somewhere obvious for the return trip. They'd been walking around for a couple of hours at least, checking doors, peering into cabins. Kane led the way with the Captain following, and Kane kept ahead by quite a mark. Rad and Byron took the rear, and Rad realised he had no clue what they were actually looking for. Kane was trying to find something, that much was certain. Clues? Evidence? Confirmation, Rad supposed, that the ship had brought back a passenger. Kane ploughed on, leading the way, apparently guessing his way around the ship rather well. He'd have to ask him about that too. For the moment, Rad felt as useful as Byron. Actually, less useful, as he didn't have a handy compartment in his chest to keep his hat and coat all nice and dry.
What about the Captain? A useful contact, sure, and he had the gear and the know-how and the experience, somehow. Those pictures in his house... Rad still couldn't quite get his head around it, but his subconscious had been working on them for a while now and they didn't seem quite so alien as they had at first. Something itched at the back of Rad's mind, but he couldn't work it out.
But on the boat, the Captain seemed to be following Kane's lead. He was at Kane's elbow, and had a lot of opinions to offer, but Rad wasn't sure Carson knew any more than he did himself.
Did it have anything to do with Sam Saturn? The girl was killed by a robot, a robot in the city, which was a unique event. Kane presumed it came from their mystery boat, which was logical given that ironclads were crewed by robots, and robots were found nowhere else. The arrival of the ship itself was another unique event, but Rad was wary of putting two and two together to get five. Coincidence didn't mean connection, and even though the fleet had sailed months ago, there would still be robots at the naval dockyard. In fact that made much more sense – presumably in the months between sailings, the navy was busy building more crew, along with more ironclads, to send away next time. So if a robot went wrong, somehow, malfunctioned during production and got out of the dockyard, it could wander around the city. Sam Saturn was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, met the robot in the alley, and wham, got a dumpster dropped on her. This was nothing to do with the ironclad in quarantine.
"Rad, you need to see this," called Kane.
Rad snapped out of his reverie. Kane and Carson were ahead of him, with the Captain standing in a hatchway along the corridor so only his back was visible. Kane was in the room proper, and had leaned out around Carson to call to Rad. As Rad approached, Carson turned and poked his head out of the door.
"Byron, stay here and guard the passageway, please."
"Very good, sir." Byron stomped to a halt behind Rad. As Rad approached the lip of the hatchway, Kane disappeared back into the room with the Captain. Rad hesitated at the threshold, then stepped through, holding his breath.
The room beyond was brightly lit, which unnerved Rad. He lingered at the hatchway for a moment, glanced back to see Byron standing stationary further down the corridor, then held his breath and stepped over the bulkhead.
The room was large, long, and narrow. Overhead, low girders hung, suspended from the ceiling by a riveted metal frame. At regular intervals, more metal framework hung down to roughly head-and-shoulders height, each terminating in a horizontal T-bar. Rad counted a dozen rows of frames spanning the entire length and width of the room. Rad blew his cheeks out, unsure what to make of it. When he looked down, he saw both Kane and Carson looking at him. The Captain's moustache bounced up and down as he rolled his lips, and Kane's big eyes reflected the strong light.
Around the walls of the room were similar T-frames, flattened against the walls but obviously hinged so they could be flipped out as needed. Rad spun in a circle, counting the frames. As he reached the corner of the room and turned back to face his companions, he blanched. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kane nod, and as Rad stepped forward to examine the frames on the far side of the room, he felt the Captain at his shoulder.
Some of the frames were not empty. In one corner of the room, maybe from a third of the way along the far wall down to the end, stood a row of humanoid shapes. There were nine, the first of which was upright and undisturbed. As Rad counted in from the end, the condition of the figures deteriorated. The second was intact, but crooked in its frame. The third was badly damaged and the frame was twisted around its neck.
Robots. T
he ironclad sailors who crewed the ironclad ships. Nine of them, broken, hung like meat in the weird room. The fourth one along was in worse shape, tangled in the bent frame, metal armour drenched in a dark substance which glistened like honey. Rad had seen plenty of it over the years. The robot was covered in blood, and the next one along was missing half his head and a large portion of his torso. Even in the bright light of the room, the damage was nothing but a dark mess.
Rad took a breath. "What is this place? What happened in here?"
It was the Captain that spoke. He took a step backward and raised a hand to indicate the contents of the room.
"Storage locker," he said, as if he were back giving a guided tour of his strange house again. "The ironclad only needs a skeleton crew to pilot. Most of the robots are kept in rooms like this, asleep, waiting for battle."
Empire State Page 11
