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

She drew her feet together, centered herself, and then raised
her arms in the posture of the hawk. She gave silent thanks to the Mother for
her victory, then snapped her hands down and out with a practiced motion,
clearing the blades of blood.  The Mother lifted from her, and time sped up
again as the world of Maya returned.  Only then did she become aware of the distant
sounds of the pedestrians, panicked cries and screams echoing as they ran away
from the scene. The whole assault had lasted mere minutes.  The bodyguard was
watching her thoughtfully.

“My name is Saira Ajunda Brighton,” she said to him formally,
and bowed the greeting of one warrior to another. The bodyguard reversed his
sword, both hands making a fist over the hilt. He too bowed, hands in front of his
chest.

“I am called Guang,” he said simply. 

Before Saira could reply, Cap'n Will appeared at her side,
revolver held at his side. He still had the damned cylinder in the crook of his
left arm.

“You alright, Saira?” he asked.

“Aye, Cap'n,” she replied, suddenly more tired than she could
remember. “I think we got them all.”  A cry from Tiku brought the two air devils
running around the side of the car. They saw that she was trying to staunch the
blood of Giorgios' wounds with her jacket. The big man had never made it out of
the car. He rolled his gaze upwards in confusion, blinking the blood from his dazed
eyes.

“Captain, Arms master,” he croaked as they came up beside the
car. “Bastards snuck up on me.” Saira saw the blood pulsing from where the
hatchet had cleaved between his shoulder and neck. It was not a good sign. 

“It is alright Giorgios. You have done well. You should rest
now.”

“She's right, Giorgios,” Will said gently. “You've done fine.
Now rest, and let Tiku take care of you, that's an order.” The big man nodded,
his eyes closing. Will glanced towards Tiku. “I know,” he said, answering her
helpless stricken, look. “Do what you can for him.”

“My Benefactor will have excellent medical facilities. We
should leave now!” Both Saira and Will whirled at the voice, weapons raised.
Lee startled back from the car at their reaction.

“What sort of game is your 'benefactor' playing here Lee?”
Wills' voice was cold with fury. The barrels of his revolver were still pointed
at the smugglers agent while he spoke.

“Truly, Captain Hunting Owl I do not know about any of this! I
assure you this was not a plan of my Benefactor!” Lee protested angrily. “We
must leave here before the authorities arrive!”

Saira focused on the man's aura, knives at the ready. She felt
shock and fear but no evasion. She relaxed her guard. “He is not lying,” she
said to Will. 

Guang called out to Lee in Chinese. He was crouched beside one
of the dead ambushers. The three of them joined him beside the fallen man.
Guang had pulled back the corpse’s coat sleeve. A small tattoo of a circle with
a single symbol was on his wrist. Saira fluidly bent and pulled back the sleeve
of another man. She found the same symbol there.

“This one has the same tattoo, Cap'n,” Saira reported.

She rose wearily. One did not call upon the Dark Face without
consequence and her core energy was much depleted. She would do the proper
rites when they were finally safe. Meanwhile she could still fight if she had
to. 

  “This. . .this is the refuse of a dockside Society!” Lee
cursed, kicking the dead man. “They would not dare attack the House of An!” he
exclaimed. 

“Well, it seems they did,” Will remarked drily. From a distance
came the sound of police whistles. “That's for us I bet. We have to git. Who
can drive the car?”

“I can,” Guang said.  Will nodded at him. 

“Good. I'll be right up front with you.” Will moved
purposefully towards the front passenger seat.

“Saira, take the honored Mr. Lee in back with you. We're closer
to Fong's than to the Tower.” He glared at Lee. “This medical treatment better
be there,” he said with a warning.

“It is,” Guang spoke up. “Do not harm him.”

“I will keep him safe I promise you,” Saira's voice sounded
like dull iron even to her. “As safe as Giorgio is.” She pointed with her knife
for Lee to get in the back.

“Drive quickly,” Saira said to Guang.

Chapter 2

A
bigail, Lady Hadley, British Royal Scholar,
dismounted from the bishaw on shaky legs.
That had been unlike any bishaw
ride she'd ever taken at home. The wizened old man raced them in and out of Hong
Kong traffic with a suicidal disregard for either speed or rules. Several times
she was sure that she'd breathed her last as he pedaled with mad abandon
through the streets and up the hills.

She found herself looking at an impressive building that
appeared to be more like a panjandrum's palace than a hotel. The head footman,
wearing a starched, red uniform, complete with a matching red breathing mask,
gave her a short bow as she stood there. She was grateful that the air was less
foul here in the hills than it was down by the tower. The stench was an
unfortunate by-product of leaving the city Tesla Shield on. There was no way
that the smoke from cooking fires, let alone coal and other industrial wastes,
could be dissipated.   Abby could see why many of the residents wore some kind
of breathing mask.

“Good day, My Lady,” the footman said, his voice muffled but
understandable through the mask. “Are you staying with us, or are you here to
see a guest?”

“Staying,” she replied.  “My father, Lord Robert Hadley, is
already in residence.”

“Very good, My Lady,” the footman said with another bow. “Does
My Lady know to which rooms I shall be sending your train and servants?”  he
asked, motioning for a porter to take her single bag out of her hands.

“Lord Hadley should have made arrangements that. I shall be
expecting a trunk from the air tower to follow.”  She said this rather curtly,
keeping a hold of her carpetbag. She ignored the porter, much to the man's
dismay. It may seem childish, but it was the only possession she had in this
strange place. She was reluctant to let it go. 

“Very good, My Lady,” the head footman said again, with no
change of inflection. “Charles here will see you to the front desk. Enjoy your
stay.” The ritual pattern and formulaic words were both comforting and annoying
to Abby.

Charles led her down the wide stone promenade, through a huge, over
decorated foyer, and up to a gleaming wooden desk. Behind the desk stood a man,
who was attired in the epitome of British good taste. Dark suit coat with a
natty gold-an- red brocade vest, cunningly tied purple cravat, with diamond
stick-pin, capped with a gold-washed electronic monocle over his left eye. He
smiled insouciantly, showing perfect white teeth. Abigail distrusted him
immediately.

“Good day, My Lady,” He greeted her. “How may the Hotel
Farthingale be of assistance?”

“I am Abigail, Lady Hadley. I believe my father, Lord Hadley,
is expecting my arrival.” she said. He continued smiling at her, in a manner
both subservient and critical, in equal parts. 

“Very good, My Lady. One moment please.” He reached into a rack
of round, reading scrolls, each the size of his palm, and inserted one into the
mechanical reader set discreetly below desk-top level. The machine whined. He fussily
adjusted his monocle to read the imprinted wire as it unwound from the spool,
the light of the reader flickering in bands across his face. The irritating sound
stopped after a few moments.

“Ah, yes,” he said, self-importantly, without looking up. “His
Lordship has reserved for you the Damask Suite; an excellent choice. When shall
we expect My Lady's servants and train?”

“There will be a single trunk,” she said, memorizing the name
plate on the desk for future reference. Such men lived for recognition, however
slight.

“I am so sorry to hear of this, My Lady! May one express
condolences on the misfortunes of the road? To lose one’s luggage is a serious
hardship!” Mr. John all but bowed to her behind the desk. “The Hotel
Farthingale stands ready to aid you in any way we can,” he announced.  

“Thank you,” she replied. 

What else was she to say? Given the opulence that surrounded
her, she supposed most guests arrived with an army of servants and baggage. She
wondered how her father was paying for such stately accommodations. Beyond
their Crown stipend, they were hardly wealthy.

“Of course, My Lady,” Mr. John murmured, “One moment, please.”
He busied himself looking down at something, frowned, and again there was the
whine and flicker of the reader. “Forgive me Lady Abigail, I was making certain
of my notes. Your father is not currently with us. He did leave something for
you, however.” With this pronouncement, Mr. John managed to look sincerely
apologetic for a moment, before he continued. “I fear that his requirements
were most specific.”  

“Yes?” Abigail could form nothing more coherent than the
question. She was still reeling from the news that her father was not at the
hotel after she had been through to reach him.

The journey from Britain had not been without it's travails. Where
else could he be?  The manager removed his monocle, looking if anything vaguely
uncomfortable.

“I am sorry Lady Abigail,” the man said, all but groveling.  “I
am to only give it to you only after you, ahem, light your crest.”

She gave a sigh of relief. Was that all? The way the man was
carrying on, she thought 'requirements' would be something taxing. She frowned.
On second thought, that her father would make such a requirement was in itself
disturbing. It implied not only that what he had left was important, but that
he feared some skullduggery. Only members of the Royal Order of Scholars
possessed the electronic badges that could glow upon the owner’s keyed touch.
They could not be counterfeited. Did his instructions also imply that others
might call for the message under false pretenses?

“Of course” She smiled at the manager, not speaking her
suspicions aloud. “I appreciate your attention to detail.” Removing her glove,
she raised her right hand to touch the gem at the center of her crest. It lit
with a bright blue light at the galvanic signature of her skin.

“Ah,” the manager breathed. “That is truly marvelous, Lady
Hadley. How does it work?”

“I am afraid that is a Crown Secret, Mr. John.” Abigail
replied. “I can assure you however that it will only light for me. As soon as
the glow fades, you may attempt to light it yourself if you wish.” 

“Oh no My Lady,” The man exclaimed abashed, waving his hands. “That
won't be necessary I'm sure!” He tapped a bell abruptly. “One moment while I
have your article brought from the vault.” A young man appeared from the back,
to whom he handed him a key. He then turned a large register book to face her.

“If you would be so good as to sign in, Lady Hadley,” he
invited.  While she scrawled her name, he consulted his reader again. “I should
also inform you that Lord Hadley left a sum of money with us to dispense to you
as you wish it.” He handed her a card with the sum of five hundred pounds
written on it.

“Surely this is for my lodging here?” Abigail said questioningly.

“That is already seen to through this week Lady Hadley. Do you
wish to draw any funds at this time?”

“No, thank you,” She fought to keep a growing wonderment out of
her voice. “Not at this time.” Where had father come by so much money?  The
young man returned with a round, long leather tube, a case of the type that
usually held maps or paintings. 

“Ah,” said Mr. John. “Here we are.” He handed the case over to
her with a flourish. She took it puzzled. It did not feel heavy enough to hold
any kind of artifact.

“Is there anything else we may assist you with at this time,
Lady Hadley?” Mr. John asked.

“No, thank you, Mr. John.” Abigail replied. She was pressed to
keep puzzlement out of her voice. She wanted to open the case immediately. She
realized that she also wanted to get out of her damned corset. Saira Brighton
of the Wind Dancer, part of the airship crew that had rescued her from slavers,
had tried her best to help with the corset, but Abigail could tell the lacing
was entirely scrambled. A ladies' maid the Arms master would never be.

“Wait, yes there is,” she said to the manager, thinking the
better of his offer. If they had that much money she was going to use it!
Especially after all she had been through getting here, she vowed to herself. “I
am in need of a personal maid, if that is possible.”

“Of course Lady Hadley.” The manager bowed almost unctuously. “We
can have one assigned to you exclusively for the duration of your stay if you
wish it.”

“Yes, thank you I do so wish. Also,” she said considering, “can
you tell me where the nearest Aetherwave station is located?” After the War,
companies had set up establishments around the world to transmit messages by Aetherwave.
It was far easier than repairing the old telegraph systems. Even with the rise
of private Aetherwave sets which were still cranky and expensive to maintain,
there was sure to be either a British Aether or Western Lightning office
nearby. The manager puffed up proudly at her question.

“Lady Hadley, every suite at the Farthingale is furnished with
its own Aetherwave set,” he announced. “One that can accommodate both broad and
discreet waves. We are quite modern here, I assure you.  He seemed, Abby
thought, affronted that she might consider the establishment old-fashioned. “I
can have a technician sent to your room to assist you if you wish?”

“No, that will not be necessary, thank you,” she replied
patiently. She smiled gently at Mr. Joh. She saw no reason to belabor the point
that she was a Scholar, and had likely been using Aetherwave devices while he
was still earning his first tip as a bell boy. 

“Very good,” the man replied bowing again.  “I'll see to your
maid at once, Lady Hadley. Charles will see you to your room.” Abigail allowed
the redoubtable Charles to lead her towards the stairs. A tall, distinguished
looking man stepped in front of them. He gave an effortless bow.

“Forgive me,” the man said in a schooled, distinctly British
manner. “Lady Abigail Hadley I presume?”

Abigail examined him thoughtfully. He was dressed in a
well-tailored, dark suit that displayed a Crown Service crest on the left side
of his chest. His face was sun-burned a dark tan, as if from many days under a
foreign sun. Frost touched the temples of his dark hair, and fierce grey eyes
weighed everything they touched.  Whoever this man was, Abigail was certain he
was no common servant.

“I am Abigail Hadley,” she confirmed warily. “And you are?”

“Your pardon, Lady Hadley,” the man's voice was as deep and
resonant as that of an actor. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am
Richard Preemus, personal secretary to the Governor-General, Sir Charles
Keating. Welcome to Hong Kong.”

“Thank you Mr. Preemus,” Abigail paused at a loss as to what to
say. “While I am charmed to make your acquaintance, I am but newly arrived. How
might I help you? I doubt that the Governor-General sends his personal
representative to greet every new arrival.” She could have sworn that his mouth
moved as if it might smile.

“It is not every day that we have a member of the Royal
Scholars enter our city on a mercenary airship,” he answered. “Please do not be
startled. We are a rather small community out here, and news travels rapidly.”
He reached into the side of his coat. Abigail's hand moved to rest on the
concealed opening to her gun. He hesitated a moment, as if he knew what her
action meant, then drew forth a large envelope with an equally large seal.

“I have come to present you with an invitation to the
Governor's Tea next week.” Moving closer to her, he held the envelope out
engagingly. Abigail reluctantly had to raise her gun-hand to take it. He leaned
his head towards hers, confidingly, still holding one end of the envelope.

“I must speak with you privately on a matter of extreme urgency
Lady Hadley,” he said, quietly enough so as to not be overheard. Abigail
matched her voice to his.

“I am recently arrived Mr. Preemus,” she replied. “Nor am I in
the habit of entertaining strange men in my room.”

“You need to have no fear of any lack of decorum, Lady Hadley,”
he responded. “I have arranged a private room in the dining area for midmorning
tea.” His grey eyes bored into hers. “The matter concerns your father. As soon
as you may join me it would be to your advantage.”

“Very well, after I go to my room.” She took the envelope from his
hand and continued in a more audible voice. “I am afraid that I am much
fatigued at the moment, Mr. Preemus. I do thank you for the invitation, and will
reply as soon as I may. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance sir.”
He inclined his head in approval of her gambit. There were many people in the
foyer who might be listening, although she could not swear to that.

“Of course, Lady Hadley,” Preemus stepped back with a bow. “The
pleasure has been mine, I assure you. Once again, welcome to Hong Kong.”

“Thank you,” Abigail replied. She handed her bag to Charles, so
that she could carry both case and envelope, and motioned him to lead the way.
Exchanging a brief nod of farewell with the Governors secretary, she coolly
ascended the stairs in Charles wake.

Abigail was pleased to find the room to be both aesthetically
pleasing, and comfortable; these were things that did not always find company
or accord. There was a well-appointed sitting parlor with table and chairs. The
room also held the promised Aetherwave set. It was an older Comet brand, but it
would do for her to call home. The light tubes that ran along the edges of the
ceiling were well-maintained and free of flicker. The bath was decorated in
marble; the bedroom was lavish and boasted hand-made rugs of excellent
workmanship in fine wool. Both rooms had large windows with a beautiful view of
the city below. She breathed a sigh of contentment. 

Abigail sat on the edge of the bed to examine the map case she
had been given. It was plain hard leather with no identifying marks on it.
Tentatively she shook it and was rewarded with a hollow rattle from inside. She
carefully pried open the top to see some kind of parchment rolled up within. As
she turned the case over to coax it out, a card fell into her lap. It was an
ordinary calling card with one word in print script, “
Chang’s
”. No
address, no Aetherwave connection, nothing on the back. Puzzled, she sat it
aside.