The Age Atomic

FORTY-FOUR

Carson tutted as he worked at the control console, his soldering iron moving with precise strokes, jeweler’s eyepiece rammed into his good eye. He tutted again, then raised the board at arm’s length and admired his handiwork.

“I fear for Mr Fortuna’s safety, sir.”

The Captain hrmmed. “And what of our safety, Byron? What of the safety of the Empire State itself?”

“I can sense a change in the world,” said Byron’s voice, filling the airship cabin from nowhere.

“So can I, my old friend, so can I.”

“I can sense a change in Mr Fortuna.”

Carson looked up. “The Fissure?”

“The energy signature is weak.”

Carson frowned and returned to his work. A moment later he let the eyepiece drop into this lap.

“There,” he said, slapping the control console closed. He flicked a switch, and sat back in the pilot’s chair and stroked his beard.

“We are ready to leave?”

Carson nodded. “I’ve integrated the control systems of Ms Jones’s gun into the ship, while the weapon core itself is mounted on the nose. All we need now is to give it a little kick and we should be able to transfer across and assist our friends.” The Captain looked at the ceiling, head tilted, like he was listening to something. “It’s quiet.”

There was a click from somewhere close. The Captain turned in the pilot’s seat, but the flight deck was empty. “Byron?”

A shadow moved across Carson’s field of vision as Byron went to check.

“Anything?”

A pause, a beat. “Someone approaches,” said Byron.

“Kane!”

Kane stumbled across the threshold, one arm across his middle. His suit was intact but scuffed and dirty, covered in dust and long scratches. He collapsed at the Captain’s feet.

“Mr Fortuna, my dear chap?” Carson immediately lowered himself to the floor on the knee above his wooden leg.

Kane rolled onto his back and didn’t move again.

Carson looked up to the ceiling. “We leave at once.”

“Sir,” said Byron, and then: “Have you a plan to start the transfer? Kane is too weak. It would exhaust the Fissure completely. The energy flux is unstable as it is.”

Carson pushed himself to his feet. “I always have a plan, my friend.” Unstable on his wooden leg, he overbalanced and fell back into the pilot’s seat, then quickly spun it around and readied the controls. The sound of the engines filled the flight deck and he pulled back on the yoke. The Nimrod shook and the floor tilted as they took off, the tunnel flashing past the windows until they exited, and flew out into the night. Carson pulled back to gain altitude and turned the craft until the Empire State Building was ahead of them.

“All for one, and so on, and so forth!” Carson cried out over the roar of the engines as he pushed the Nimrod forward.

“No!”

Carson glanced over his shoulder as someone rushed towards him from the lip of the bulkhead door. Tall, silver and sleek, man-shaped but big. A robot — James Jones, the machine king.

Carson cried out. As he did, Kane’s body jerked into life and stood, then rushed towards James, tackling the robot to the floor. The King of 125th Street screamed as the pair thrashed about.

“Sir, continue,” said Byron, his voice coming from Kane’s black mask. “Kane is safe, as is the Fissure. I have him.”

Carson turned back to the windows. “Good show,” he said. The engines thrummed as he accelerated towards the Empire State Building, but his attention was on the struggle behind him reflected in the airship’s forward windows.

James had got behind Byron, thick silver arms wrapped around him. Byron grabbed hold of the metal forearms across his chest and struggled to stand, pushing backwards and lifting the attacker’s feet from the floor. Advantage in his favor, Byron ripped one arm free from his neck and shot his elbow back, connecting with James’s abdomen. James toppled backwards and hit the rear wall of the flight deck. Byron spun around and marched forwards, grabbing the robot by the shoulders, but James jerked into life, pushing Byron away. Byron staggered and James came at him again, throwing two punches, a left and a right, at Byron’s face. Each blow connected silently, and Carson realized he was watching the fight in a kind of daze, the sounds of the scuffle hidden under the steady roar of the engines as they pushed the Nimrod towards its final destination.

Carson wanted to help, but he knew he couldn’t. His only aim now was to keep them flying on target, trusting Byron, in possession of Kane’s dying body, to hold the robot king off until transference was complete. Carson flicked a switch. The ship juddered and the nose rose in the air. In the reflection in the front window, Carson saw the tilting ship throw off James’s center of gravity. The silver man staggered backwards, arms windmilling, as Carson corrected the ship’s course with a sudden yank on the yoke. Byron, used to the motion of the craft, remained upright, braced with both hands against the wall behind him.

Carson allowed himself a grim smile, and increased the throttle. Impact in… ten…

“What are you doing?”

Carson refocused his gaze in the window, shifting from the blue and red lights of the Empire State Building to the ghostly reflected form of the real King of 125th Street behind him.

“What are you doing?” James screamed, his voice breaking in anger, his reflection leaping forwards towards Carson’s back.

Seven…

Byron intercepted, throwing his body in the way. The two crashed into the back of Carson’s chair, jolting the pilot. Carson hissed in pain as something blunt dug into the space between his shoulder blades.

Five…

Byron pushed James, and they stood, two brawlers, each wary of his opponent, each looking for an opening.

Four…

The Empire State Building was very close now. Carson flicked his eyes from the window to the control panel in front of him. He moved his hand over a row of buttons and paused, his thumb hovering over a single control. The ship bucked again and Carson gritted his teeth, feeling the ache in the hand that was still gripping the yoke as the machine, as though sensing what was about to happen, tried to free itself from his control.

Two…

James lunged again, not for Byron but for Carson, grabbing the top of the pilot’s seat even as Byron tackled him around the waist. Byron pushed, but the robot king was stronger. Carson slid on the seat as it was rocked by the struggle behind him, the fight dragging his thumb away from the button. He hissed in annoyance as he strained to reach it, but the button was suddenly too far away as James pulled the pilot’s chair around.

One…

The ship banked sharply. Through the windows, the horizontal lines of the Empire State Building’s facade flipped until they were almost vertical and began to slide diagonally out of view with alarming speed.

Zero…

Carson let go of the yoke and threw himself at the console and the row of buttons. “Transference!” he cried, like shouting the word would make it so.

The hurricane sound of the Nimrod’s engines swelled as they encountered the resistance of the building in front of them. The nose of the ship connected with the Empire State Building, hitting the stonework between two huge windows. The windows shattered and the stonework cracked, and Carson found himself pushed hard against the controls as inertia took over, trying its best to keep Carson moving while the airship came to a complete and sudden stop.

The metal framework around the Nimrod’s front windows kinked suddenly. Carson was only dimly aware of this, watching events happening in slow motion, knowing that he had failed.