Empire State

by Adam Christopher

  "Oh, the paper. Fine and dandy, I guess. I wouldn't know." Kane swayed back a little on the barstool, then leaned forward again on the bar. He was smiling, but not looking at Rad. The smile was empty, fixed.

  "The what now?"

  "I said I wouldn't know. Papa don't work there no more."

  Rad heaved himself onto the neighbouring stool. "What do you mean, you don't work at the newspaper? You're Kane Fortuna, star reporter. Right?"

  Kane frowned and gave a half-hearted, noncommittal shrug. "You'd think. Not any more." He swigged the last of his latest cup and finally met Rad's eye. "Nothing to do with me, anyway. This is the Empire State. The Empire State controls the media, controls the newspapers. Controls my newspaper." He raised a cup and gave a theatrical bow, as best as possible while sitting intoxicated on a barstool. "My services are no longer required, it seems."

  Rad didn't speak but exhaled loudly. That seemed enough sympathy for Kane, who thumped Rad on the shoulder as he surveyed the multitude of empty cups before him. Then his eyes widened, and his hand returned to Rad's shoulder.

  "Say, you need a partner? I mean an official one that gets paid actual money? See, I know this guy who's looking for work. Goes by the name Kane Fortuna. He's a dish."

  Kane's expression was deadly serious for a moment, before splitting into another of his characteristically wide grins. "To business!" He held an empty cup up for a toast.

  Rad couldn't help but laugh, but shook his head. "Let's talk when you're a little more... cogent, shall we say." He shuffled himself on the stool and hugged the bar with his not insubstantial stomach. He tapped the rim of his hat at the back with one hand and flipped it off the front of his head with the other. Kane was no use drunk. Might as well suck it up and enjoy himself. They could plan to save the city in the morning.

  "Tell you what though," said Kane, slapping Rad's arm to get his attention. "Before I got the sack I was talking to my friends at city hall. You thought the ironclad was weird... right?"

  Rad craned his head to the left and right, scanning Jerry's establishment. It wasn't even ten, the night was young, and the place was more or less empty. Even so, Rad wasn't keen on attention. He turned to Kane and leaned in on his friend, patting him gently on one shirtsleeved arm.

  "What?" he whispered, hoping Kane would get the idea.

  Kane leaned over. Rad held his breath to avoid being gassed by his friend's.

  "I said, you thought the ironclad was weird, right?"

  Rad raised an eyebrow. "Uh... yes, I did."

  Kane leaned back quickly, smiling like a cat. He even winked, then leaned back in, only just pulling up before knocking foreheads with Rad.

  "Well, there's more than that. There's something else in the city."

  "What kind of something?"

  Kane's voice was barely audible, even at zero range. "Something." Kane raised one hand and pointed up at the ceiling. Rad caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. Kane emphasised the point, stabbing his finger upwards.

  "Something in the air. Arrived last night. Just outside city limits. Some kind of ship."

  "An airship? What, like a police blimp?"

  Kane shook his head, stopped, then nodded. "I guess. But it's not a police blimp, and it's above the clouds. Looking down."

  "Now you're just making things up."

  "OK, maybe not looking down. But there it is. Police haven't spotted it yet, probably won't. An Enemy warship. You know the stories about the Enemy? How they have their own ironclads, but they fly, while ours are just big boats?"

  Rad sneered as he sipped from his cup. "Yeah, I'm sure. Invasion by single airship?"

  Kane looked unhappy, and swivelled around on his barstool. "Well, why not?" He sounded like a hurt child. "Who knows what those sons of bitches have up their evil sleeves."

  Rad finished his drink, savouring the heat in his throat. Then he remembered what the Skyguard had said. His teacup hit the saucer hard enough to crack the china. He pushed it aside noisily, hopped off his stool, and grabbed Kane by his shoulders. He shook his friend, gently, and turned him on the stool so they were face to face.

  "An airship? A single airship, and the city knows, but the police don't? Goddammit, Kane, we're in deep now. The whole city is."

  Kane blinked, apparently unaware of Rad's urgency.

  "How do you know?" Kane asked.

  "The Skyguard told me. Had another visit. Was going to tell you about it. Damn it, how much have you had to drink? You need to think, boy. You got any coffee ration left?"

  Kane rubbed his forehead. "Ah... yeah, plenty. I don't drink it. The Skyguard again?"

  "Yessir."

  "But..."

  "The Skyguard is dead," said Rad. "Yes, I know. Just nobody has told him that yet. Come on."

  Rad helped Kane off his stool, grabbed his jacket, and waved to Jerry as they headed up the stairs.

  TWENTY

  KANE FORTUNA'S APARTMENT was not what Rad had expected. Although they'd been friends for, well, forever – for as long as either of them could remember anyway – Rad had never been to Kane's place. Kane had made himself at home in Rad's office-apartment regularly, but only because it was close to the newspaper office and, given their frequent collaborations, was an easy place to meet. That, and it was close to Jerry's – and Rad hadn't been able to find another speakeasy that was prepared to give him quite as much room on the slate. Rad thought about this as he helped Kane with his keys, blinking as his inebriated friend breathed heavily all over his face as they hunched over the door.

  Kane's fingers eventually picked the right key, and the key eventually found the lock. Kane spun the doorknob and swung the door inward. The brass globe of the handle rattled until Rad stilled the vibration as he closed the door quietly behind them.

  Familiarity with the internal layout of the apartment meant that Kane was able to stagger with remarkable accuracy around the furniture, despite his drunkenness. After watching him for a moment to make sure Kane wasn't going to fall over or walk into anything hard, Rad let him do his own thing and paced the hallway slowly, taking in everything around him.

  The front door opened directly onto the street. Behind the door was a short hallway, three doors leading off. The single light in the high ceiling cast a warm glow over the walls, which were festooned with pictures. Rad slipped his hat off and found his eyes crawling over the images, taking them all in. Colours and shapes punched out from the wall, and Rad realised they weren't just pictures, they were posters. Theatre posters, in bold and bright colours, showcasing the Empire State's finest artistes as they entertained a city locked in Wartime. He recognised a few of the more famous shows... Zoo City Nights, The Boneshaker, Supergods, Forevermore. But Kane was clearly more dedicated to the stage than Rad, which was not at all. There were dozens of posters, fliers and placards, some pinned naked to the wall, others behind glass or surrounded by frames.

  A few caught Rad's eye and he peered closer. Well now, that explained a lot. Kane's wide-eyed baby-doll face peered back at Rad from the wall. Swirling cloaks, top hats and tails, wide suits and large hats. Never top billing, but frequently second or third. A couple of posters – older ones, it looked, the way the edges had frayed – showed Kane's likeness but he wasn't credited as far as Rad could tell, unless it was under a stage name. Seemed Kane had more than a passing interest.

  Kane reappeared from around one of the open doorways and he smiled broadly. Rad's face split into a grin as well; he couldn't help it. The posters were impressive and unexpected.

  "You've been keeping a secret, Mr Fortuna."

  Kane laughed. "A man needs a hobby. Doesn't pay what you think it might." Kane leaned further into the hallway, hanging onto the doorway for dear life. "Detective, you're in charge of the coffee." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Kitchen and coffee. Make a pot, join me in here." He clawed himself back into the room.

  Rad nodded at nobody, and walked to the kitchen.

  After an
hour, they'd drained the pot. Actually Kane had drank most of it – four cups in all. Rad nursed his own single cup, although the aroma of coffee drove him out of his mind. But coffee was a precious commodity in Wartime, and he'd made his bed. Kane's coffee ration belonged to Kane. Rad respected that, and knew that Kane was exaggerating when he said he never touched the stuff. But boy, did Kane need it now. Rad was more than happy to hold back.

  They were sitting in what Rad could only think of as a cross between a parlour and a study. It was a room of browns and oranges, of old worn sofas swamped with rugs and tired cushions. There was a large writing desk against one wall, a huge roll-top number with about a million drawers ranging in size from a small coffin to a matchbox. It was covered with paper, and there was a typewriter centre stage.

  The walls of the room were plastered with more theatrical posters. The large bay windows, which would have looked out onto the street, were hidden behind gigantic brown and red embroidered drapes. The room had a warmth that Rad found immensely comforting, and he realised how sterile and un-lived in his own makeshift accommodation was. Kane seemed to share a similar taste in old-fashioned decor as his friend Captain Carson. Rad mentioned this, and Kane agreed, although he found it far more hilarious than Rad had intended.

  Kane sucked down the coffee and listened dutifully as Rad laid out the conversation he'd had with Nimrod and then the Skyguard. The coffee seemed to work. Kane was sobering. He kept his mouth closed, but his eyes rarely left Rad's. They were red and bleary. Occasionally he'd twitch his nose, which he held low over his coffee cup, inhaling the aromatic steam.

  Rad sat back when he was finished, and took a sip of his coffee. It had cooled a little too much in his cup, but was still wonderful.

  Kane didn't say anything for a while, but closed his eyes, breathing in the steam from his freshly poured cup, before draining it with a gulp and a gasp. He opened his eyes.

  "Thanks for making the coffee."

  "No problem."

  "An interesting situation."

  "Sure is."

  Kane shook his head. "We need more information."

  "That we do," said Rad.

  Kane set his cup down on the low table between his sofa and Rad's armchair. "You're important. Both sides want you. Which do you pick?"

  "Both sides want me?"

  Kane shrugged. "Well, on the one hand you've got Nimrod and his men. On the other you've got the Skyguard." Kane held his hands forward, palms up, to illustrate the point.

  "Well," Rad said at length, drawing out the vowel sound. "I'm not sure this all just isn't one load of hokey. Nimrod sounded like a nice guy, but his instructions to meet him were all kinds of weird. But this is the real world. I've seen a whole heap of oddness in my line of work – you too, star reporter – but you can't just get one crank woofing about the power of the atom in your ear and just believe it like that." He snapped his fingers, but they were too thick for the gesture and the intended sound was damp. But he figured Kane got the picture. Rad continued.

  "And it's not the Skyguard, it's someone pretending to be him. Hell, you put anyone in that suit and you couldn't tell them from you or me. I appreciated his interference a few days back, but it's the same story. No manner of fancy hat and cloak will convince me that the world is about to end." Rad paused and then leaned forward. He stabbed a finger at Kane. "And, I might add, all that gear doesn't mean you can go waltzing into just anyone's apartment. Oh no!" He sat back, and folded his arms, feeling somewhat better.

  Kane smiled, showing big teeth filmed yellow by the strong coffee. "Better?"

  "Better," said Rad, and laughed, but the sleeves of his coat pinched as he folded his arms even tighter.

  "But...?"

  Rad sighed. "Yeah, but is right. The Skyguard said an attack would come, under the nose of the Empire State. An infiltrator, entering the city with the permission – perhaps even assistance – of the City Commissioners."

  "The airship."

  "The airship is damn right." Rad shook his head. "There have been too many coincidences in the last few days. There's a connection, has to be."

  Kane leaned back, the leather of his ancient sofa letting out a gentle foosh as he sank into its deflated back cushion.

  "The airship and the ironclad," he whispered. Kane ran the tip of his tongue over the very edge of his lips. As if to punctuate his statement, the wind gusted outside, howling faintly and causing the heavy drapes over the bay window to move.

  Rad watched them settle. Must have been quite a breeze to shift them, he thought.

  "'The Airship and the Ironclad'," Kane repeated. "Sounds like a good headline for the Sentinel."

  "Or one of your shows," said Rad, nodding at the posters on the wall.

  "I guess it followed the ironclad back. Some kind of scout, perhaps?" Kane turned on the sofa and drew his legs up to his chest. Kicking his shoes off, he stretched out horizontally on the leather and rested one forearm on his forehead. "So what do you want to do? Wait for the Skyguard's next call?"

  Rad nodded, although Kane was staring at the ceiling. "I guess. Avoid Nimrod."

  "So no phone calls."

  "You got that right. Inbound, anyway. I need to call Katherine Kopek and give her an update."

  Kane's arm swung down and he turned his head to face his friend.

  "What are you gonna tell her?"

  Rad shrugged. "Nothing in particular. The fewer people we involve in this, the better."

  "Good plan, Stan." Kane yawned and stretched his arms out. "Here's a thing. No more drinking, ever. Thanks for the coffee and the company."

  Rad sat for a while, not saying anything, before summoning the strength to stand. He cast one more look around Kane's remarkable room, picked up his hat and waved it at his host. Kane didn't register, his chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of sleep.

  "I'll let myself out," Rad said quietly to himself, and slipped out of the room.

  A few seconds later, the sound of Rad's big feet marching down the hallway was followed by the front door clicking shut.

  Kane counted to ten, and opened his eyes. He glanced around the room, happy that Rad wasn't hanging around. He swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and sprang up. He jogged to the door with precise agility, and just to be sure checked behind it. The hallway was empty, and the front door was closed, the deadbolt automatically engaged after Rad had left.

  Good.

  Kane went back into the study, closed the door, and put his hands in his pockets as he turned to face the bay window drapes. He coughed, and grimaced as the taste of the coffee filled his mouth. He hated coffee, but Rad needed to think he was helping to sober him up. And after a dozen cups of tepid water at Jerry's and just a single half-cup of alcohol to get it on his breath, he felt like he'd drunk half of the harbour.

  "He's gone. You can come out now."

  A black gloved hand separated the curtains, paused, and the Science Pirate stepped into the room.

  TWENTY-ONE

  RAD WAITED OUTSIDE, hand squeezing the doorknob with some force. Realising this, he loosened his grip a little, and pressed himself up against the door. Ear to the frosted window, he counted the rings of the phone on his desk inside the office.

  He didn't know why the telephone always started up just as he got to the top of the stairs at the end of his hallway. It was becoming a regular occurrence, and then Rad realised that maybe Nimrod's men were watching him. Or maybe, somehow, Nimrod himself could just see what Rad was doing. Nimrod's tall tale returned fleetingly to Rad's mind, but he pushed it away with a frown and squashed his cheek into the cold glass.

  Nineteen... twenty. The phone died. Rad counted a few more seconds off, then opened the door. He stood behind it for a while, looking around his office, then shook his head and harrumphed loudly.

  Was he being cautious, or paranoid? He wasn't sure, but to save himself becoming a shadow-jumper he decided to stick with the cynical, straight-down-the-line approach. Fantasy didn't com
e into it. He couldn't afford to be fanciful, not in his line of work. Rad's back touched his closed office door and for a moment he remembered his earlier cases, jobs that, while not necessarily easy or simple, were at least logical when you came down to it. He rolled back the memories, revelling a little in the nostalgia of past days. And then his face creased and his forehead furrowed, and he opened his eyes. The effects of Wartime did odd things to the memory. He couldn't remember what his first case was about.

  There was a knock on the door, the report loud in the dead office and enough of a surprise that Rad pushed himself off the door and clean into the middle of the room. With his back still to the door, he called over his shoulder.