Alien Devices: Tesla joins crew to prevent alien zombie apocalypse (The Secret War Book 2) (10 page)

Sir Percy rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, his lips moving
quietly as he thought.  Bardon's heart almost stopped, afraid that the old fool
had forgotten his code. Percy finally spoke a string of numbers and letters
into the horn. There was a pause that seemed to last forever before the voice
spoke again.

“I confirm your code, Director. One ship has already undocked
from the tower. We are granting clearance.  Portal opening commencing, now,” the
voice announced. 

Bardon let out his breath, and signaled for Sir Percy to close
the connection. With a smug smile, the old man closed it, and then turned towards
Bardon.

“By God, that was exhilarating!” Sir Percy crowed, as Bardon
lead him back to the settee, “Covert openings in the dead of night! Not bad eh?
Perhaps there's a place for me in the Queen's Eyes!”

“You did very well, Sir Percy,” Bardon said. “Remember, not a
word to anyone about this.”

“You can count on me, sir!” Percy laid a finger along the side
of his nose. His face took on that sly look again. “Um, of course, your
discretion about my visiting this, ah, club would also be appreciated.”

“Naturally sir,” Bardon replied. He held out his hand. “You
have my word on it.” He turned a ring on his other hand, releasing a small
needle. 

“That's very good of you!” Sir Percy took the offered hand,
shaking it gratefully. “We're both men of the world, now aren't we?” He choked
as Bardon pressed his other hand to the old man's neck, the needle sending its
special poison into his carotid artery. Sir Percy's body shuddered quietly
while Bardon eased him to rest against the arm of the settee. Sir Percy White
was dead within moments.

Bardon adjusted the body until he was satisfied that it
appeared the old man had fallen asleep and had a heart attack. Surveying his
work, he nodded to himself. Neither the Madame nor the servants had seen
Bardon's face. They would most likely to flee with their new fortunes when they
discovered the body anyway, instead of calling the authorities.

He took one last turn around the room, removing Percy's crystal
from the Aetherwave and replacing it in his case. After returning the case to
White's inner coat pocket, Bardon looked down on the old man sadly. Sometimes
the dead appeared to be merely sleeping.  He patted the body briefly on the
shoulder in apology. It had to be, Bardon explained to the departed shade,
there can be no loose ends, no questions. For Queen and Country. It had been
the epitaph of many over the years. Looking down on the old man, Bardon allowed
himself the luxury of a moment's weariness. Then he straightened and moved
towards the door. His work here was done.  

Chapter 12

W
ill entered the main lobby of the air tower,
with the others close behind him.
He frowned at the wooden barricades that
blocked off the lifts. On one side of the barricade stood a very
harried-looking constable. His two fellow-officers gripped their short-barreled
shotguns a little too tensely for Will's peace of mind. On the other side stood
a small group, whose motley clothes and goggles identified them as air devils. 
A stocky woman with short, gray hair, wearing denim pants and a sleeveless
shirt, was haranguing the constable.  

“What do ya mean we can't use the lifts?” She roared at the
constable. The way she leaned against one of the others to remain upright told
Will she had made a good night of it. He glanced at the patches sewn on sleeves
and vests. He didn't recognize the dove and cup ensign, but it did tell him
that they were all from the same ship, most likely a liberty party making their
way back shipside. The woman turned to her companions with a slight weave.

“This monkey thinks we're going to climb all those steps up to
the ship!” She shook her head and spoke to the room at large, “I don't think
we're gonna do that are we boys?” A low growl of agreement greeted her words,
as the others fingered knife hilts menacingly.

“The lifts are closed for repairs!” His voice shaking with
frustration, the constable shouted at the group. “Very dangerous! You must take
the stairs!” Seeing Will and the others enter the lobby, his dark face paled at
seeing still more air devils wanting to use the lifts. “The lifts are closed!”
he shouted again at Will, gesturing to the side door frantically. “You must use
the stairs!”

The woman turned to see who he was talking to, and staggered
towards Will. The younger man she had been leaning against following helplessly
behind her.

“Ahoy there!” she greeted Will. Hunting Owl could smell the
grog on her from a distance. He noticed the captain’s stars on her shirt.  “This
monkey says that we have to climb all the way up on our shanks! I think he's
lying! Who ever heard of all the lifts being out at once? What do you think
there, dark and handsome brother?” She leered at him. 

Will hid his revolver against his leg, keeping his body between
the gun and what the constable could see. The others also hid whatever weapons
they were carrying, except Guang, who carried his sheathed sword openly in his
left hand. Will had counted on being able to whisk right into the lift. Up to
the
Dancer
with, at most, a bored port constable, who probably wouldn't
look too closely. Instead, they'd walked right into a budding riot with armed
constables and drunken air devils. This day just kept getting better and
better, the Captain thought to himself.

“Well, sister,” Captain Hunting Owl grinned at the woman,
hoping to defuse the situation. “I think that a walk won't hurt any of us that
much. Besides, it'll do to show the monkeys that we can still out do them. I
doubt that there's a one of them that's ever climbed up one flight of those
stairs, less six or ten, am I right?”

“Ya hear that, Yates,” she crowed.  Slapping her younger
companion hard enough to stagger him. “I like the way this one thinks! Guess we
could do with the exercise at that! Wouldn't do to let some punk monkey in a
uniform show us up would it?” She turned her head and spat on the floor. 

“As you say Cap'n,” the younger man said weakly, casting a
grateful look at Will.

“Don't let Bates here bother ya,” the woman said. “He thinks
that his captain has had one too many, is all!” She stuck out her hand towards
Will, “Maggie O'Malley, Captain and Owner of the
Mary's Deliverance
!”

“William Hunting-Owl,” he replied, taking her hand with his
free one. “Captain-Owner of the
Wind Dancer
.”

“ That the warship at berth ten?” Captain O'Malley looked at
Will knowingly. “I can see why you'd come in all tooled and that.” Her eyes
traveled down his leg to where he held the revolver. She laid a finger aside
her nose, “Don't worry, none of us'll say a word to the monkey suits,” she
stage-whispered. 

“Thank you, Captain, “Will stage whispered back.  He noticed
her look over her shoulder at Tesla, a puzzled frown beginning to crease her
brow. Needing to distract the woman before she recognized him, Will held out
his arm to her. “Shall we climb those stairs, Captain? Where are you coming in
from?”

“We're coming in from San Francisco with a load of machine
parts and rich folks’ laundry,” O'Malley gave a little grin and drunkenly
placed her arm through his. “We'll be makin' the loop back with rubber and more
laundry,” she said dryly.

  Will signaled to Saira to get guard Tesla.  They all began
walking to the well-marked stairs, Stearns crew trailing along behind the tight
knot formed by Saira, Tesla, and Abigail. Guang brought up the rear, scabbarded
sword still in his left hand.

Will turned his attention back to the drunk woman on his arm. “Laundry?
That seems a peculiar thing to carry.”

“Aye, that it is,” O'Malley gave a body shaking sigh. “I landed
a contract with the Prentice Laundry Company. They ships all their customers'
linens over here to the big laundries. Seems the Chinee gets the starch right
in the collars,” she said with an angry spit to the side. “Durin' the War I
skippered the best supply ship in the Quartermasters Corps. Took fire from a
Spider we did while landing at Philadelphia. Kept right on flyin' we did.” She
spat again. “Now I'm a laundry maid.”  

The stairwell was more dimly lit than the main floor. Upright
light tubes along the inner wall were spaced far enough apart that they barely
illuminated the worn wooden stairs as they curved upwards. The talkative
O'Malley was still chattering on Will's arm. He suppressed a sigh. It was going
to be a long slog up ten levels. Still, he was a warrior of the Wovoka, and had
endured worse. Besides, anyone passing them on the stairs would see a large
drunken group coming back from liberty, not a small group with an English lady
and the most famous man in the world. O'Malley and her group were cheap camouflage
to his way of thinking.

They had just past the sixth level. So far Will had endured two
war stories, a tirade about the evils of customs agents, and three none too
gentle grabs at his crotch. They had seen only a few individuals pass them on
the stairs going down.     

“So, I says to him, 'I don't give a tinker's damn if you're the
bloody Queen 'o the English herself,” O'Malley went on. “If you want the
supplies landed, then you'd best be clearin' the whole valley! And General
Jackson with his bushy beard and fancy braid just bows at me, and says, 'It
will be as you say, Captain.' Now that was respect! The Confederates always
showed it, unlike the bleedin' English!”

Will was only half listening to the woman. He saw two Chinese
men in long black coats and bowler hats come around the curved wall on the
stairs above them. The pair raised the shotguns that they had been carrying at
their sides. Will shouted a warning, while pulling the other captain down
against the stairs. His revolver came up just as the two fired. The buckshot
splattered the wall where they had stood a moment before. He fired before the
boom of the shotguns had finished echoing through the stairwell. One of the men
flew backwards from his round, the other folded around a sparkie shot to the
chest which set his coat briefly afire. Sounds of voices yelling and more shots
echoed behind him.

More of the bowler-hat-wearing men came down the stairs,
hatchets in their hands They screamed battle cries. Will moved away from
O'Malley and fired his revolver as fast as the barrels would turn. One of the
attackers slammed into him. Will grabbed his hatchet arm at the wrist and
whipped his gun into the side of the screaming man's head. While the man was momentarily
stunned, Will pushed the barrels against his chest and fired.

As the corpse slid away from him, Will saw O'Malley gut another
hatchet man with the large knife from her belt.

“St. Dismas take 'em!” she bellowed. “At 'em boys!” O'Malley's
crew jumped at the bowler hats with a vengeance, knives and short clubs
bristling. 

Hunting Owl turned to look behind him to see that Saira and
Abigail had placed Tesla and Madame Chang between them. Will watched as Abigail
coolly shot another hatchet man who was attacking one of the Mary's crew. He
nodded in approval, figuring she'd shot the other gunman above as well. She was
doing alright. Guang re-appeared on the stairs below the crewmen, bared sword
in hand. He nodded at Will to signal that the attackers below were stopped. 

Will turned his head to look back up. The assault above seemed
to have run out of attackers. That didn't mean that there weren't more though.
They had another four levels to climb to reach the Dancer. He looked at
O'Malley, who was wiping off her knife on the coat of the man she had killed.

“Where's your ship?” Will asked her.

“Two levels up!” she shouted back. She grinned at him.  “Think
there are any more of 'em Cap'n Hunting Owl?”

“I don't know,” Will replied, shoving rounds into his revolver
by feel, eyes on the way above. He closed the breach with a snap, and looked
back at O’Malley. “Likely enough they're after us. If you get your people off
at the next level, you should be alright.”

“Hell with that!” Picking up one of the shotguns that had slid
down the steps, she worked the charging lever of the weapon, and nodded to
herself in satisfaction. She stood up grinning at him, “Let's go a climbin'!”

They found three more waiting for them in the stairwell on
level eight. The fire fight was brief, as the bad guys hadn't expected them to
survive the ambush on the stairs. As the smoke cleared, O'Malley directed her
people towards the door. She turned to Will, cradling the shotgun in her arms.

“Well, dark and handsome,” the merchant captain said, “this is our
stop. Sure are you that you don't want a couple of us to see you to your berth,
and tuck you in?”

“I think we will make it fine from here, thank you.” Will
smiled fondly at the older woman when she clicked her tongue in disappointment
at his statement. “Sorry that you got caught up in all that, Captain O'Malley.”

“Don't be youngster,” she replied with a grin, “It isn't a real
liberty unless there's a fight! Seems only Singh got winged, so we're good!”
She petted the automatic shotgun. “Besides, I've wanted one of these for a bit
now. Couldn't justify the money, you know. I'd say that we're more than paid
for the entertainment, Captain Hunting Owl.” She looked at him for a moment,
then stepped in and gave him a very thorough kiss. A couple of her crew hooted
approval.

“The good Lord knows I'm drunk,” she said blurrily to him. She
kept her hand on his cheek. “But if this is how you show a woman a good time,
look me up next port we're both a sharin' for a drink.”

“I will at that,” Will promised her. “You might want to
consider that I happen to know the Shield will open soon. Call it an
unscheduled opening.” 

“I take your meaning, Captain,” She looked at him shrewdly. “Would
it queer anything if I let a few friends know that? Seems to me it might be a
good time to leave Hong Kong.”

“No, by all means do,” Will replied. “Dancer is pulling out as
soon as we can.”

The man Yates, who must have been O'Malley's first officer,
called to her from the door that all looked clear. Stepping back from Will, O’Malley
hefted the shotgun.

“Well thank you again for the dance Captain Hunting- Fierce.
Mellow. Curious. Hungry Owl of the Wind Dancer,” O'Malley said and then gave a
wingman's farewell. “Clear skies!”

“Our pleasure, Captain O'Malley of Mary's Deliverance,” Will
Hunting Owl smiled at her, returning the farewell. “Safe landings!” He turned
to find Abigail looking at him. He shrugged his shoulders at her. “Air devils
have different ideas about fun.”

Abigail blinked at him. She was still holding her electric
pistol tightly.

“I see,” Abigail replied acerbically. “So, being ambushed in a
stairway after being ambushed in an alleyway is just part of a night's fun.”
She arched an eyebrow.

“Not so much,” Will's jaw tightened. “Usually we are the ones
doin' the ambushing.”    As you say though, that's twice in a day, and I am
getting tired of it.” He gestured with his gun up the stairs. “Let us get up to
Dancer and grab sky.”

They had no further incidents until they had emerged from the
stairwell. Each level of the round tower was laid out with the lifts and stairs
in the center with a wide concourse around them. The sky bridges which served
to connect the concourses to the airships radiated out at intervals.  Dancer's sky
bridge was half way around the circular level from where they came out.
Fortunately, the level seemed empty. It was suspiciously so to Will. There
should have been someone wondering around.  Had whoever was after them had
enough influence to empty a tower? 

He was leading them single file around the concourse, gun at
the ready, keeping away from the window panes that lined the outer wall. It was
quiet, too quiet.

The wind rattled against the panes. He saw the sky bridge exit
ahead, then heard the lift doors open behind them. The lifts! Most likely that
meant the constables were in on the ambush. Turning with his gun pointed, he
waved for Abigail and Saira to take Tesla and Chang ahead. “Run,” he shouted. “We're
right behind you!”

The doors opened fully, and another bowler-hat came out of the
lift, only to lose his head to a sweep of Guang's sword. Guang kicked the body
back, fouling the exit of the others in the lift cage. Guang ducked to the side
as a shotgun boomed.  Another lift opened and more two bowler-hats exited along
with a tiny woman carrying a large rifle. Will recognized Petrov with the
rifle.  He shifted his aim, shooting the woman. He shot her again for good
measure. The heavy rounds knocked Petrov off her feet, sending the rifle
spinning away over the railing. Will grinned broadly without humor, drawing his
knife with his other hand, then yelled out the Ghost battle cry. At least now
he knew who to blame for all the evenings aggravations. May night demons carry
her spirit to hell.