San Francisco, August
28, 1957
“So this is where
he died?”
The deep voice rang
through the lab like a golden bell. Science Investigator Gwen
Montgomery turned from the illegal magnetic device she and Claire
White were examining and confronted a handsome, six-two blonde
man in a blue suit, green shirt and purple and yellow striped
tie.
“Well—good afternoon.” Even
his clothes, Gwen saw, couldn’t completely detract from his matinee-idol
good looks. “And you would be—?”
“Adam…Newman.” He
looked at the two women without any of the interest their curves
usually brought them. “I—worked with Doctor Ryan.”
“That’s what he told
the guys downstairs,” said Turner, the red-headed homicide cop
standing next to Newman. “I figured maybe he could shed some
light on that gadget Doc White is analyzing.”
“Gadget.” Newman studied
the shattered machine, then glanced across the laboratory to
where Dick Randall was chemically testing a mound of broken glass
in hopes of understanding Frank Ryan’s unlicensed research. “I
remember it. I remember this place.”
“You’re the first
person we know of that Ryan let in here.” Gwen picked up a notebook
from on top of a nearby retort. “What can you tell us?”
He shook his head. “I
don’t want to talk to you. I only came here to—but why should
I tell you? I shall go.”
“No, you shan’t.” Turner
grabbed the guy by his shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down and
answer the nice—”
Turner bounced off
the lab wall before Gwen realized Newman had shoved him. Two
cops started to draw their guns, then they too went flying through
the air. With a hoot of glee Newman leapt ten feet to the top
of the emergency generator, then vaulted out the second-floor
window in a shower of glass.
Drawing her gun, Gwen
reached the window as Newman landed catlike in the parking lot
below. She fired as he raced for the gate, saw him stagger, but
without slowing down. As he reached the street, a couple of cops
ran after him; he bent, hefted a manhole cover and hurled it
into the nearer officer, smashing him into the cop behind him.
With a screech of
wheels, a motorbike pulled up next to Newman. Newman climbed
on behind the burly rider and away they went.
“Holy cow.” Staring
out the window, Claire adjusted her cats-eye glasses. “And just
when we were wondering what kind of cat would be strong enough
to take two hundred pounds of steel and drop it on Ryan’s head.”
“So, Miss St. James.” On
the far side of the building, Gwen’s partner Steve Flanagan waited
as Ryan’s petite, dark-haired secretary adjusted her frock below
her knees. “You said this was urgent—about Dr. Ryan?”
“No, it’s my fiancé,
Richard.” She looked surprised at Steve’s error. “Richard Caldwell,
of Caldwell Magnetics?”
“I’ve heard the name.”
“I think ... I think
he’s been replaced.”
“Replaced?”
“By a spaceman. A
carbon copy.” Carol St. James sat stiffly, tensely, as if waiting
for him to laugh.
Steve didn’t. “And
you think this ceecee was involved in killing your boss?”
“What? Of course not!
Richard and Dr. Ryan were friends, that’s how I met him. Richard
would never—” She swallowed and closed her eyes.
“I know it must have
been rough, finding Ryan’s body in the secret lab.” Steve set
a hand lightly on her arm, drew back when she flinched. “Has
Caldwell—changed?”
“He’s…” St. James
slid her arms tight around herself, pressing her elegant black
jacket to her torso. “He’s…aggressive. Towards me.”
“He hits you?” Steve
grabbed her by the shoulders, forced her to face him. “If he’s
beating you, we’ll help, don’t worry, nobody can—”
“No, Richard would
never raise a hand to me!” She broke away from him shaking off
the idea. “But he’s become…demanding.” Her face flushed crimson. “Not…patient.”
“Ohhhh.” Steve felt
a little like blushing himself. “He’s uh, usually—patient?”
“I’m from a very small
town. I guess I was raised to be a…a good girl.” She stared out
the window at the almost-repaired Golden Gate Bridge. “I know
we’re all supposed to be Kinsey girls these days, but—”
“Being old-fashioned’s
nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Richard says that.
He’s always been…understanding. About waiting.” Her body began
to tremble. “But the past month he’s…he’s…and then last night…”
She began to cry.
She didn’t stop for a long time.
1:30 p.m.
“Caldwell’s brain
scan and psychoanalysis last month came up clean, Steve.” Gwen
shook her head firmly as she paced past the bloodstains on the
laboratory floor, hunting for some clue they’d missed.
“He raped her, Gwen.” Steve’s
hands clenched at the thought. “She didn’t come out and say it,
but—”
“And why would she
tell you? A stranger?”
“She tried telling
her mom. Got an earful about what happens when girls give the
cow away.” The look on St. James face had made Steve want to
slap her mother hard.
“This was her first
time, I take it? She wouldn’t be the first virgin to have second
thoughts.”
“She was crying. Non-stop.”
“Tears are a woman’s
secret weapon.” Gwen scrutinized the pieces of broken machinery
Claire had laid out on one table. Ryan’s equipment had been advanced
enough that even Claire couldn’t reconstruct it easily. “This
could easily be revenge for him forgetting her birthday or some
other slight. Rape’s an easy charge to make, hard to prove—much
like claims about ceecees.”
“And even if Caldwell
were a rapist, that wouldn’t make him a spaceman.”
“We can’t overlook
it, though.” Steve folded his arms. “Look what happened at Dr.
Cavanaugh’s madhouse.”
“Send a report to
Nate and to Meara, that’s protocol. But Caldwell has his LSD
test coming up that month, so she’ll probably wait until then
to dig any further.” Steve nodded; the first time he’d taken
LSD convinced him no alien could conceal its true self while
in such an altered state. “Newman’s our immediate concern: He
claims he was in this lab, and he appears strong enough to rip
open a steel door or a hospital safe, or crush Ryan’s head.”
“Okay—but can he microwave
someone to death?”
Despite the seemingly
obvious cause of Ryan’s death, Gwen had pushed the coroner to
check further. It turned out that what really killed Ryan had
been having his organs cooked from the inside out.
That linked his death
with the murder of FBI informant Albert Saunders a month earlier.
Saunders had been spying on a ring supplying lab equipment to
unlicensed scientists; he’d died sitting in a public place, so
quickly no-one had noticed until the pork-like smell from his
baked body filled the air. The SI labs said a microwave beam
was the likeliest cause.
“We don’t know how
the microwaves fit in,” Steve said, “or why Newman would break
into a state research hospital to steal radium. There’s no radiation
in this lab, or anywhere else in the building.”
“I got a theory guys.” Claire
sauntered into the lab, clad casually as usual in a black turtleneck
and slacks. It wasn’t the accepted dress code for girl scientists,
but Steve figured being a genius let Claire get away with stuff
like that. “It’s kind of way out, though.”
“And up until now
this case has been so mundane,” Gwen said. “Go ahead.”
Claire took a second
to fit a cigarette into her gold holder and light up. Steve took
the second to watch her. Not that he wasn’t happy being back
with Dani, but the brainy blonde certainly was an eyeful.
“I told you I called
the archives about Ryan’s early research, right? Harry finally
called back. Seems Ryan wrote a couple of papers in the early
years about growing androids—synthetic humans—in the lab. Super-strong,
super-fast, able to breathe underwater or walk naked through
the Arctic.”
“I took a look at
Ryan’s research-license history,” Gwen said. “He’s never even
applied for anything like that.”
“I’m sure he was savvy
enough to know the TSC would never OK creating humans in a test
tube. And his papers predicted the technology to do it wouldn’t
be developed in this century.”
“But?” Steve glanced
at the pieces on the table.
“Normal bodies grow
the way they do because our genes somehow tell them, you dig?” Claire
ran her hand over a curved piece of metal with jagged wires sticking
out. “After going over all Ryan’s technology, I think it could—theoretically—use
a magnetic field to shape an artificial body the same way. Which
would explain why he had those man-sized chemical retorts in
here.”
“A super-strong body?” Gwen
asked.
“If you can grow an
android at all, adding strength would be a snap. So maybe Adam ‘new
man’ was here as Ryan’s experiment. And when he hatched out,
he went oedipal on his pop.”
“Ryan’s a biochemist,” Gwen
said. “How would he know how to build this?”
“He knew Caldwell,” Steve
replied. “Caldwell’s a magnetic expert, right?”
“Expert?” Claire
laughed. “The cat who invented the magnetic telescope and the
magnetic X-ray, yeah, you could call him that—but why would you
point the finger at him?”
“I wasn’t.” Steve
remembered Claire had dated Caldwell at one time. “I just think
we should run the angle by him.”
“I already called
him when I started work on this.” Claire studied the machinery
thoughtfully. “I could call him again.”
“You get back to work,
we’ll catch up with him,” Gwen said, shooting Steve a You
Win look. “It’s unlikely he’d risk his career being involved
in a rogue experiment—”
“You could say the
same about Ryan,” Steve replied.
“—but perhaps if we
drop by his apartment, we’ll learn something.”
6:30 p.m.
“Yes, it’s my new
De Kooning,” Caldwell gestured at the blurry mess hanging on
his wall, as he headed toward the insistent phone in his study. “This
should only take a second.”
As soon as Caldwell
closed the study door, Steve headed down the corridor, letting
the thick shag carpet muffle his footsteps. He pressed his ear
to the door. “…three months? Mackenzie, I told you, I need the
neutralizer immediately…brink of a breakthrough…very well, then.”
The phone clicked.
Steve headed back to the living room fast, noting as he did that
Gwen had been studying something on Caldwell’s mahogany desk.
She sat back on the leather couch while Steve pretended to study
the books crowding Caldwell’s shelves. Everything outside the
painting struck him as tastefully old-fashioned, even the big
walnut console holding Caldwell’s hi-fi and one of Future Technologies’ new
color televisions.
“I’m sorry about that.” The
professor dipped his pipe into a tobacco jar decorated with a
UCLA logo. “I spend more time on administrative duties than I
do actually working in my laboratory…so, Miss Montgomery, an
android?”
“So Dr. White thinks.”
“Frank’s strength
was chemistry, he couldn’t have build a—a magnetic womb. I’m
not sure I could have.” He took a seat by Gwen on the couch,
giving her an unsubtly lecherous smile. “Have you found any link
between the device and the crime ring the FBI was investigating?
The one we think sabotaged my magnetic robots back in Skink?”
“The FBI doesn’t tell
us much,” Gwen replied. “But yes, Dr. Ryan was a customer—since
the FBI priority was the men behind the ring, they delayed arresting
Ryan to avoid showing their hand. And, of course, the ring also
dealt in microwave technology—”
“I still can’t believe
they blackmailed Howard Chableau into doing their dirty work,” Caldwell
said. “I had complete trust in him.”
As they kept talking,
Steve did his best to study Caldwell without being obvious. Early
forties. Expensive suit. Crewcut. Physics professor turned hotshot
inventor. The way he was giving Gwen the eye, he didn’t come
across like a guy who’d wait for the wedding night, but he didn’t
seem like a rapist, either. Maybe Gwen’s right. Maybe his
fiancée’s just frigid.
But thinking of Carol
St. James sobbing, Steve didn’t believe it.
Aug. 29, 1957, 9:45
a.m.
“Sure you can’t make
it up, baby?” Steve said into his wrist-radio. “I promise I’ll
make time, it won’t be like Yuma. And your buddy Claire is here—”
“We’re stationed here
in San Diego until the last of those pterodactyls is gone from
the sky. Sorry.”
“Well, be careful,
okay? I just found you again four months ago, I ain’t done with
you yet.”
“You’d better not
be. When I’m back in one piece, we can do dinner to celebrate.”
“You’ll let me buy
you dinner?” Steve didn’t understand why she insisted on paying
for her own. “That’d be swell.”
“Well see. Take care
of yourself.”
“You, too.”
“Newman’s struck again.” Gwen
said, hanging up the lab phone she and Claire had been crouched
over. “Witnesses say a man smashed through the brick wall of
Mackenzie Electronics bare-handed, then walked off with a Mackenzie
Neutralizer. Those weigh about five hundred pounds.”
“Wait a second.” Steve
wondered why that sounded familiar, then snapped his fingers. “Caldwell’s
phone call—he was trying to buy a neutralizer, said he needed
it now—”
“That can’t be right.” Claire
bit down on her cigarette holder. “Neutralizers are used in radioactive
research; they prevent mutation by capturing stray atomic particles.
Nothing Richard’s working on would require a neutralizer…You
haven’t been asking about him just for kicks, have you?”
“I think I may owe
Carol St. James an apology,” Gwen said slowly. Steve looked at
her in surprise. “Caldwell hates modern art—”
“Sure does,” Claire
said. “He says scientists need reality, not ‘abstract distortions.’”
“—so why does he have
a De Kooning on the wall?” Claire looked surprise. “It was odd
enough that I took a quick look at his desk. There was a letter
from his broker—it seems he’s converting most of his stock portfolio
into cash.”
“Common enough these
days,” Claire said. “Look how the market crashed after the Invasion.”
“But blue-chip stocks
like Eckert-Mauchly and Future Technologies?” Gwen shook her
head. “Possible, but—”
“Under the Infiltration
Act, we have grounds to have him tested,” Claire said. “His research
license requires—”
“If he is a spaceman,
he already beat the test once,” Gwen said. “And if he’s just
a rogue scientist, it won’t do anything but warn him we’re suspicious.” She
pursed her lips. “I’ll call Turner, see if the police have more
information about the Mackenzie break-in that might help.
“I’ll call Jo Davies,” Steve
said. “She’s been dating that G-Man, Mickey Moon, right? I have
a question she can maybe get an answer to.”
Within a half-hour,
Turner told Gwen that the Mackenzie bandit hadn’t worked alone.
A patrol car parked by the break-in site had been lured away
by a couple of bikers—belonging to a club called the Hell’s Angels—flinging
garbage on the window shield.
And the night Saunders
died at the Vulcan Club in Los Angeles, Jo told Steve, Richard
Caldwell had been one of the witnesses the FBI interviewed.
“But if Richard’s
involved,” Claire said, lighting a cigarette at a Bunsen burner, “why
did the ring supply Chableau with black-market equipment? He
could have used the company’s—”
“If Chableau had used
company resources, the company would have come under suspicion,” Gwen
said. “The ring made Caldwell look clean. No-one went looking.”
“Even if they had,
I’ve been to Caldwell Magnetics,” Claire said. “Richard has ten
times Ryan’s staff and the lab’s on-the-go 24 hours a day. If
he’s conducting rogue research, he’s doing it somewhere else.” She
laughed without humor. “If this was a comic-book, Batman would
set a trap for the Joker—”
“Maybe we can,” Steve
said. “If he’s behind the radium thefts, maybe he doesn’t have
enough.” The women looked at him. “What if Caldwell heard that
the research hospital had a new shipment of radium in?”
11:30 p.m.
Plainclothes police
were watching the hospital entrances.
More officers were
waiting discreetly in white-walled rooms close to the radiation
laboratory and the safe that supposedly held radium. One of them
had a tear gas bomb, all of them had gas masks.
Steve and Gwen were
waiting on their own, also masked, in an out of order restroom
a little further away, the police department having insisted
on “first crack” at Newman. Gwen had decided not to debate jurisdiction.
The sound of bullets
told Steve that Adam Newman had arrived.
The screams said the
trap hadn’t closed.
Guns drawn, they raced
down the hall into a thick cloud of tear gas, Steve saw a half-dozen
cops sprawled out on the linoleum, one with his head twisted
halfway around. The locked doors to the laboratory had been ripped
away; stepping inside, Steve could dimly make out someone in
a doctor’s coat ripping the door off the safe. The sound of tearing
metal grated through Steve’s bones. “Stand where you are, buddy!
Put it down nice and—”
The man half turned
and hurled the safe at Steve, who threw himself to the floor.
The door embedded itself deep in the wall behind him as Gwen
fired. The man snatched a lead receptacle out of the safe, turned
and raced straight for her. She leapt aside, still firing; Steve
saw the man’s eyes, free of tears, evaluate her for a second,
then the man sprinted into the corridor.
“I thought it was
a bullet-proof vest,” Gwen said. “I hit his leg, his arm, his
chest, nothing stopped him.”
“Was it Newman?” Gwen
nodded. “Then it doesn’t matter how tough he is. Caldwell’s the
only one we told about the phony radium, and the tracker in the
vial will lead us right to his lab.”
Aug. 30, 12:45 a.m.
“That’s it?” Steve
stared at the dark, decrepit warehouse, back to the tracking
gadget, then back to the warehouse. The only sign of life was
a half-dozen bikers standing and smoking by the loading dock.
“It better be,” Gwen
said. “If Caldwell opens the vial, he’ll know we’re onto him.
Any luck reaching Claire or Nate?”
Steve flicked a finger
off his wrist-radio. “Whatever’s in that building, it must be
putting out some kind of static. We’ll have to break in alone.”
“Not before we tell
someone where it is, Steve.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll drive
by for a closer look, then we find the nearest pay phone.” She
steered the car around the next turn, past the bikers—one threw
a beer can at the window—and around the next side. “See anything?”
“Not a damn thing.
Guess we’d better—”
Light flashed from
across the street, then something hit the car with the force
of a tank. Steve had barely a second to realize the car was no
longer on the ground, then it struck a wall. He felt himself
bang into the roof, then fell to a floor that was actually the
passenger-side window, too stunned and pained to move.
Another flash of light
and the driver’s door flew away. A metal hand reached inside,
groped and pulled Gwen out.
“Hey, lookie!” A deep
male voice bellowed. “The machine’s found a chick for us!”
“Should we search
the car, Snake?”
“Let’s take the doll
into the boss, then come back out and see if we find anything.” A
deep chuckle. “Maybe he’ll let us play with her instead of putting
her in his dungeon.”
Too dark—they didn’t
see me inside when they drove past… Steve made himself
crawl through the windshield, ignoring the glass cutting at
his flesh and clothes. Thank god…nothing broken. He
made it behind a nearby pile of empty crates before his strength
gave out.
Even with Gwen captured,
it was as far as he could go.
The robot, Gwen observed,
was identical to the ones Steve had faced in Skink, and obviously
wielded the same magnetic rays. Too dazed to move, she watched
it stalk back around the building as the bikers removed her wrist-radio,
her wallet and her gun, copped a quick feel and dragged her inside.
From the pain in her chest, she feared she’d broken a rib.
The gleaming machines
and lab equipment inside the brightly-lit warehouse belied the
decrepit exterior. From somewhere in another room, Elvis Presley
blasted from a record player.
“Excellent work, Snake.” Caldwell
approached, clutching a file-folder and smiling. He fished a
roll of bills out of his pocket and tossed it to one of the bikers. “Consider
it a bonus. Her partner?”
“Don’t think he’s
with her,” Snake replied. “We sent one of the robots to search.”
They probably said
something like…fetch the driver. Gwen hid a smile. If
Steve didn’t break any bones, maybe there’s a chance.
“Well, her thuggish
aide is no threat.” Caldwell’s expression, his whole body language
had changed. “But you, Agent Montgomery, you set that trap for
Adam, which means you figured out Caldwell was only a mask. Brilliant
work—but fortunately, I’ve been thwarting police longer than
you’ve been alive.”
“And you are?” Gwen
said. A mask. I guess that settles that.
“Torgo. So how much
do you know?”
“That you’re some
form of ceecee.” Telling him stuff he probably knew they knew
might buy time. “We’re already working on new tests to prove
it.”
“Your tests assume
a constant mental presence; all I had to do was withdraw from
his body briefly.” Caldwell—Torgo—smiled. “It helped he had no
idea I was there; he thinks I crashed in the asteroid belt moments
after his magnetic telescope spotted my ship. But I used my equipment
to travel the telescope beam, enter his mind and eventually put
my plans in motion while he slept. When he finally realized the
truth, I extinguished him.”
“We know you’re behind
the smuggling ring, and the magnetic robots—”
“Child’s play. Magnetic
technology is the basis of my native civilization.”
“And we know you’ve
been using Newman to steal equipment. And that he’s an android.”
“He should never have
gone back to Ryan’s lab.” Caldwell stroked his jaw. “Synthetic
bodies on my world are much more—compliant.”
“How did you talk
Ryan into growing him?”
“Black mail.” He hefted
the folder and smiled smugly. “As effective on your world as
my own, though the subject matter is very different. You humans,
with your sex drive, the ecstasy your bodies are capable of,
I can understand why it drives you to such foolish decisions.” He
drew a deep, admiring breath as he studied her breasts. “Your
body is superb, Agent Montgomery—but you’re too dangerous to
keep alive.”
“You want to add cop-killing
to your crimes? Now that SI knows the location of your lab—”
“They don’t. We both
know you couldn’t contact anyone. And nothing Science Investigations
knows about Caldwell will be of any use after tonight.
“And for the record,
I have killed many more ‘cops.’ than you.” He pointed at Snake. “Another
microwave death would create too much of a pattern. Better she
disappears—take her to the dock, weigh her down and throw her
into the water.”
“Can we have a little
fun with her first?” Snake’s voice was belligerent. “The boys
been sitting guard duty all night—”
“No.” Caldwell raised
his hand, showing a small white disc on the palm; the bearded
man flinched back. “If I can’t risk having her, neither can you.”
Snake and a man he
called Charlie dragged Gwen out. In her current state, she reluctantly
conceded, she didn’t have a ghost of a chance.
If this works,
I’m in, Steve thought, hefting the brick. If it doesn’t—hell,
I’ll never get anywhere being a pessimist.
Steve hurled it through
the nearest second-story, saw light shine out of the blackened
window as an alarm pealed out, and raced around the corner to
the back of the building—or as close to racing as he could manage.
He leaned against the wall for a second, to catch his breath,
then made himself move.
If I can get inside
while the alarm’s already ringing— Steve wrapped his hand
in his jacket and broke a second window, as quietly as possible. And
if there’s nobody there waiting. And I don’t pass out… Finding
help might have been smarter, but with the car gone and his
wrist-radio smashed in the crash, he’d never make it in time
to save Gwen.
Steve wriggled through
heavy curtains and collapsed on a thick carpet in a dim red light.
A woman shackled to a bed sat up, naked. “Help me! Please, you’ve
got to help me.”
“Keep quiet.” Steve
staggered to his feet, saw she was chained there. “Who—”
“Justine. Justine
Mills.” The name came out with an odd choked sob. “He said he
kidnapped me because it’s the name of a French book. He—he reads
from it sometimes, then he—he does things—”
“Hey!” An angry fist
slammed on the door of the room. “You whining in there again?
Better shut the hell up!”
“Don’t shut up,” Steve
hissed. He saw a wooden post near the door with chains hanging
from it; he staggered over to it, lifted it up, felt his arms
scream at the weight of it. “Now!”
Justine screamed.
“Goddamn bitch!” The
man flung the door wide and stepped inside. “I’ll give you—”
Steve half swung the
pole, half dropped it on the biker’s head and saw him collapse,
blood running from his scalp. Steve glanced outside, saw the
velvet-carpeted corridor was empty. “I’ll be back, I promise—once
I get the guy who did this.”
He tucked the biker’s
Magnum in his waistband and headed down the hall. He heard hopeful
cries for help from behind some of the doors, but he didn’t allow
himself to stop.
Snake’s foot pressing
down on Gwen’s back, pinning her to the wood of the dock, made
the pain in her ribs worse. It did not, however, worry her as
much as the clink of heavy chains Charlie had picked up.
“Of course, I’d like
a piece, Charlie,” Snake said, “but you wanna blow the long green
we’re getting from Caldwell? Or have him kill us the way he did
that other dude? And it’s not like there’s a chick shortage around
here. So, let’s wrap her up.”
“No, wait!” Gwen put
on her best terrified voice.
The toe of Snake’s
boot kicked her kidneys. She couldn’t help gasping. “Didn’t I
tell you to shut up, bitch?”
“You told me not to
yell, I’m not. You don’t have to kill me, Snake, Caldwell doesn’t
have to know. I’ll go, I’ll hide somewhere—I’ll do anything to
save my life, anything.”
“Stuck-up bitch like
you got nothing for us,” Charlie snorted. “We can find whores
who’ll do—”
“Whores do it for
money. I do it for fun. Things like—” She made a suggestion.
Charlie’s jaw dropped. “If I’m good enough, then you’ll let me
live, please? Is it a deal?”
“Why, sure, baby.” She
heard Snake give a low rumbling laugh. “You treat us real good,
of course we’ll let you live.”
“Thank you, thank
you.” His foot lifted off her back. Without a word, she scuttled
on all fours to Al and kissed the toe of his left boot. She began
to work her way up from there.
They liked it. She’d
known they would.
In fact, they were
so excited by her performance, neither thought about the boot
knife strapped to Charlie’s right leg. Not until she reached
over, snatched it free, and stabbed upwards.
The distant sound
of Elvis Presley stopped as Steve reached the end of two rows
of magnetic robots, all of them, fortunately, inactive. He’d
seen nothing of Caldwell, nothing of Gwen.
But a couple of rooms
away, he heard what had to be Adam Newman’s voice and headed
towards it.
“This ‘treatment’ you
wish for me. I don’t see why I have to do it now!” The sulky
tone sounded odd in such a deep, noble voice. “I want to go out,
and steal more things!”
“Without the treatment
to strengthen your body, you’re going to die.”
“I feel fine!” The
door ahead was slightly open; Steve could hear them on the other
side. He leaned against a table, trying to find strength, wondering
what good strength would do against Newman.
“But you’re not fine,” Caldwell
said. “Ryan made a mistake. Once tonight is over, you can steal
anything you want.”
“And then maybe I’ll
kiss you goodbye, daddio.” The slang sounded odd too, like Cary
Grant playing a beatnik. “I heard one of the Angels say that.
I like them. They are—rebels. Like me.”
“You’ve done everything
I asked, Adam. If you wish to leave now, that’s your choice.
But you won’t have any choices if you don’t enter the vat, now.”
Steve cracked the
door open in time to see Newman shedding his clothes at the foot
of a metal ladder. At the top was a glass sphere, three-quarters
full of liquid the color of good scotch. A couple of big glass
probes thrust into the liquid, with electric coils inside them;
they were attached to a humming machine that took up one wall
of the room.
“It’s deep,” Newman
said as he climbed the ladder. “I can’t swim yet.”
“The chemicals will
provide oxygen directly through your skin, Adam. Don’t worry—you
know I care about your life as if it were my own.”
After a second’s hesitation,
Newman dived in. Fluid splashed over the rim as he sank, then
returned to the surface with an awkward dog paddle.
With a smile, Caldwell
strode to the machine and flung a switch. The two probes glowed
and Newman went limp. “Finally, I have your cooperation, so to
speak. I wanted more radium before I took this step, but your
rebelliousness has forced my hand.”
As he adjusted the
dials, Steve stepped through the doorway and raised his gun. “Get
away from there, Caldwell. Whatever you were working on, it’s
over.”
“So, Gwendolyn wasn’t
alone.” Caldwell raised his hands, fists clenched. “It seems
my hirelings on this world are as witless as the ones I left
behind.”
“Where’s Gwen?” Steve
saw a wall phone and moved toward it, keeping his gun trained
on Caldwell, despite how his hand shook.
“Drowned by now. If
the afterlife this world believes in exists, you’ll join her
soon.” His palm opened; something white flashed and the butt
of Steve’s gun burned red hot. He dropped it, tried to pick it
up, but it was too hot to touch. “A crude device, but effective
enough for you.”
A horrible burning
pain welled up inside Steve. Gritting his teeth, he drew the
biker’s gun, ignoring the blisters on his hands, and fired. Caldwell
ducked behind his machine; for a second, the burning stopped.
But I’ll never
make it to him alive. Steve swung the gun up, feeling as
if it weighed a ton, and fired at the sphere. If I can get
Newman out of there, maybe he can help. The first shot
went low, but Steve somehow raised the gun, emptying the clip
into the sphere below Newman. Glass shattered, a flood of chocolate-scented
chemicals washed over Steve, then Newman’s body slammed into
him. Steve hit the floor with Newman’s nine-inch dick on top
of his face. The android gave a choked gasp, tried to rise,
and collapsed back onto him.
“No!” He heard Caldwell’s
anguished voice drawing closer. “You stupid meddling fool, you
interrupted the bio-adjustment! This body is dead! My body!”
Next second, Steve’s
entire arm felt like it was on fire. “Strong. Invincible. Immortal.
And you destroyed it!” The fire began to spread across Steve’s
skin; he tried to move, but nothing responded. “I think it’s
time for an experiment, Flanagan. How long can I microwave you
without killing you?”
“Let’s consider two
other alternatives.” It was Gwen’s voice; Steve’s heart sang. “Surrender,
Torgo. Or I shoot you.”
“How could you—but
of course I surrender.” The pain stopped, Steve heard Caldwell
move. “I have no—”
The shot came out
of the blue, then Steve heard Caldwell stagger back, catch on
Newman’s leg and splash into the chemical pool. “No. You—you—”
“I don’t know what
that palm disc does, but I saw how the bikers reacted when you
aimed it at them.” Steve felt Gwen’s hands on his ankles, slowly
jerking him free; she grunted as if it hurt. “You okay, Steve?”
“I’ll…live. The…bikers…”
“Rushed out to investigate
an alarm. Your work?” He let her help him to his feet, decided
not to ask why she was streaked with blood and oil, then half-fell
into the nearest chair. He sat limply, looking at the blood leaking
from Caldwell’s ribs into the amber pool, conscious his own cuts
from the windshield stung wherever the chemicals had touched
them.
“I cannot—end like
this.” Impossibly, Caldwell’s lips were still moving. “I am Shantari.
We don’t die. You’ve got to—” Gwen crossed to the wall phone,
gun still trained on the man. “Please…”
“Turner?” Gwen said. “It’s
Gwen.” Steve heard her give the address and a few details. “And
an ambulance for my partner…thanks.”
She sank into a chair
with a groan, then hefted her gun into her lap. “Steve—you were
right to suspect Caldwell. I shouldn’t have—jumped to conclusions
about Miss St. James.”
“S’okay, but—Caldwell
has…prisoners. White—white slavery—”
“They’re safe now.
Thanks to you.”
Steve would have responded,
but there was a lead weight on the end of his tongue. Instead
he focused his eyes on Caldwell’s body, no longer moving, lying
next to Newman’s corpse. Torgo had lost, they’d won; if Steve’s
face didn’t hurt so much, he’d have smiled.
