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She looked at Robert, saw him point up again.

She resisted the urge to yank it open, managing to ease it up with remarkable cool that, sadly, no one saw to remark on. Was it her imagination she heard air hissing into the pipe, rising toward the envelope as the airship lifted—

Robert signaled her to stop.

Something, perhaps a prickling along her spine made Emily look toward the hole again—right into the red eyes of an automaton. He didn’t blink. Maybe he couldn’t.

Emily glanced at Robert, with some frantic in it. No signal yet. The other two must not be in position—a flash of lightning told her no, not yet. The goal was to take out all three of them, though Emily would have settled for one out of three right now.

The automaton shifted back so, she realized, he could raise his arm.

The huge, like really huge, hand creaked into sight, the movement scary slow and yet fast, too, as if time were off in this place, along with everything else.

The fingers flexed wide, then angled to fit through the hole.

She tore her glance from it long enough to look at Robert.

Still no signal.

It banged against the side of the engine room wall, its splayed hand wider than the hole, and sent them shuddering toward the horizon. It clipped some off the other side and almost got the not-Belle, who shrieked long and loud. That might be why Robert looked her way. The attention grabbing bitch.

The massive fingers curled into a fist.

The arm pulled back.

Still no sign for more lift from Robert.

She realized he couldn’t see the threat.

The fist tracked toward her.

She dropped flat. Saw Robert finally signal, see her peril, and start toward her.

She lifted up, reaching for the lever.

The automaton opened his fist, knocking her flat—and some air out of her lungs.

The large fingers closed into grabbing position, scraping walls and floor. The pinkie just missed her head.

She managed to roll away, but that put her farther from the lever. This bad boy, and his buddies, would bring them down if they couldn’t get out of reach.

The large hand knocked the door closed in Robert’s face, his massive digits snagging one of her legs. It closed around it with bruising force, dragging her toward the hole. The drag pulled her coat over her head. She scrabbled at floor, and anything and everything she banged into during the very slow trip—her elbow hit the lever, sending air rushing into the envelope faster than it was supposed to. The airship needed to go up and couldn’t because of the automaton. Instead it tipped, speeding up her journey toward the hole. She had good reason to wish her midsection wasn’t bare as it—and she—scraped across badly finished wood.

She heard thumps and bangs as the rest of their not-so-merry band also repositioned relative to the airship’s new position. She felt a need to tell them she was sorry, but didn’t think anyone would hear her.

Her coat snagged on something. She grabbed it with both hands, managed to hang on for about two seconds. Okay, that hurt. The automaton won that round. No surprise, since he had a bigger weight to mass ratio. Her coat gave her shoulders and head some protection from the wooden walls, as she got dragged up and over, while some parts still managed impacts with the engine, then round two of bang-and-drag against the side of the gondola. With a prolonged scrape against wood, she popped clear, dangling upside down above the ground. All the dragging and banging had somehow freed her head, though not her arms, which were still tangled in coat. It was a view, she realized, she’d rather have missed.

Without the weight of the automaton, the airship—her airship, with Robert oh-my-darling inside—shot up like an ungainly, steampunk rocket. The night closed around it, leaving only the steadily diminishing chug of the engine to taunt her with might-have-beens.

Emily might have wallowed in angst, not to mention worried about their ability to slow before they hit the upper edge of the prison, but her own problems were a bit pressing. She twisted her body, trying to see the other two automatons—they staggered like they’d got a dose of bad oil, the staggers taking them within reach of the hungry horizon. It chewed into them without mercy. Four legs, severed from now missing torsos, fell back onto the stubby, churned up ground of the field, with four satisfying rattles, then got half eaten to the knees as the horizon took another bite, possibly because it could.

It was the only good news and the victory whoops had to wait as her automaton wavered, then wobbled, both his arms swinging down, the one holding her taking her along for the ride. He was almost a knuckle dragger. Ground rushed at her. She curled up, using his downward momentum to fight gravity. Managed to hook an arm over his metal pinkie. Her back scraped along the ground. His arm swung up again, as he tried to find his balance. Not a lot of torque, but it didn’t take much to cause her problems holding onto slick metal. This swing almost put her in the horizon. As it was, she felt—or imagined she felt—her coat sizzle a bit as she brushed past it.

When his arm motion steadied, followed by more general whole body stability, Emily got her other arm into the pinkie grabbing act, though it was both painful and awkward with her limited ability to bend her captured knee inside the metal grip.

She should be sorry their plan had failed with this bad, metal boy, but she wasn’t. Hard to be sorry she hadn’t been eaten by an anomaly, though being snatched by an automaton was only marginally better than death by horizon.

He made one, abortive way late grab at the swiftly rising airship, while Emily reached up to his next digit and tried to maneuver her leg free of his grip.

Frustrated, she thumped the back of his hand. “Let me go you big, metal stereotype!”

It was the worst insult she could come up with up while upside down. The unwise nature of the insult didn’t occur to her until she heard a buzz and his chin lowered and turned toward her, even as he lifted her until her head was level with his red, dead gaze.

The unwinking gaze was, she could admit to herself, unnerving, quite possibly terrifying, though not a surprise since he lacked eyelids to wink with. Worse, she sensed a presence behind the gaze.

Her chin lifted, against the demands of gravity and fear. “An embarrassing cliché—” she tried to think of an insult worse than that to add, but couldn’t. She settled for, “You are so not a gentleman.” This world was founded on ladies and gentlemen and orchestrated manners. It might work.

There was a long pause and more non-winking looking. Then, with another whir of machinery, his other hand lifted and metal digits closed around her torso, from shoulder to hip, one metal digit across her chest.

Maybe she should have bagged the insults and tried pleading.

“Hey, watch the…finger.” His grip tightened and for a moment that felt way too long, she thought he planned to pull her in half. Then he released her leg. The only advantage to the change was her head wasn’t down, allowing her blood to resume a more normal flow. His index and pinkie digits were tight enough to be painful and the middle digits loose enough, she jolted against metal as he lowered his hand and her to his side.

Hanging like a rag doll in the grip of an automaton was not as fun as it sounded. A flash of lightning illuminated the almost out of sight airship, and then it turned itself—taking her with it—and started clumping toward the city and—one didn’t want to presume but one felt one couldn’t avoid it—a meeting with the zombie/scar maker/evil overlord.

* * * *

Two drone automatons and an airship gone? Faustus stared with disbelief as the third drone staggered, his video feed wobbling with him. It took him several seconds to identify the tightness in his chest. Rage. He hadn’t felt it, hadn’t need to feel it for a long time. There had been more than two unsecured specimens fending off attempts to retake the airship. The secured specimen the drone had captured was going to pay dearly for the sins of its companions—

“Let me go you big metal stereotype!”

His eye almost twitched.
Stereotype?
He’d gone to great trouble to make his laboratory special. Unique. He’d created the automatons because he could, because it amused him to take something fictional and make it real.

“Let me see the specimen,” he ordered into the voice tube. After what felt like a long pause, Doctor got the drone to raise his arm until it was visible.

“An embarrassing cliché.” A pause, and she scowled. “You are so not a gentlemen.”

He jerked back. She didn’t, couldn’t see him. But it seemed like she spoke to
him
.

“Have it secure the specimen and bring it in.” He almost added, “unharmed,” but not even Doctor could make sure that didn’t happen. “Notify me when it’s arrived. And as soon as it’s light, send out air and ground search parties. I want that airship back under control.”

Who was she? He could admit to being a bit discomfited by her. She wasn’t a tracker. Might be a pin, though he didn’t recall her from any of the collection vids. There was that unscheduled arrival. Had she been snagged in the portal retrieval trap? She didn’t look like anyone who would be on the outpost or its incarnation as a base. She didn’t look like a scientist and wasn’t a soldier, not with that hair. She’d been framed in white, which was odd. Odd unsettled him. Her eyes, the look in them or something else about her, unsettled him, too. He gave a small shake. It was just because of the anomalies that he was unsettled, because time was still twitching its last. Once the lab was stabilized, he’d feel himself again. She was nothing special. Just another specimen, though…there had been something in her eyes,
no
. He shook his head harder. No question she was a puzzle, but she’d cease to be one once the drone delivered her—if it managed to do it without squeezing her head off. If it killed her, he could live without knowing, though…he hesitated, seeing her face again in his mind, he rather hoped she survived. She might, just might prove to be entertaining.

Outside on the stone balcony, Tobias shifted his stance, the first move he’d made since he went out there. Faustus was not unhappy with the distraction. He almost regretted a future devoid of this specimen. He was like the pet his parents had never let him have.

Tobias’ stance seemed particularly unyielding. Odd to not know what Tobias was going to do. And wrong. For so long he’d been able to predict, then to direct all of his specimens, even ones as reluctant as Tobias, to take direction. Even before the mind control devices, he’d been able to manipulate and direct those around him. This was different. It was—he didn’t like it.

Had he read him wrong? No. He was never wrong. Tobias wanted the female. And he wanted his freedom more than he wanted to live. Of course, Tobias didn’t trust him. He was clever. It was another reason he kept him. With a smirk, he acknowledged Tobias was right not to trust him. He couldn’t afford to remove the control device, though he’d planned to make him think they had. It could be dialed down, could give him the illusion of freedom, but even with the female as a hostage to his good behavior—no, he didn’t trust Tobias with real freedom. Could he convince Tobias he meant it? Perhaps he could have Doctor dial up his control device so he believed it?

Tobias wasn’t out there wondering whether to take the offer or not. No, he was wondering what the end game was and which choice would give him the most leverage, the most information. There wasn’t a right answer—there was a plan no matter which Tobias chose, though he rather hoped his old friend would choose the girl. With her in the game, the possibilities increased. He could punish her—or her alternate reality self for thwarting him and keep Tobias in line until he figured out it hadn’t worked—which should be just long enough for his plan to work.

He almost called to him—but it didn’t hurt to let him stew in it for a while. Tobias couldn’t win no matter which choice he made. He didn’t really have a choice, but it made him happy to think he did. Made it all the more pleasant when he realized—yet again—that he didn’t and never would be free. Even death wouldn’t set him free unless, he, Faustus, decreed it.

TWENTY-SIX

Emily knew that one should be careful what one wished for, but she’d been so certain she’d never get what she wished for, that she hadn’t worried that much about it wishing for stuff she probably shouldn’t get and wouldn’t like when she did. Of course, technically this wasn’t what she’d wished for, though there were, maybe, some broad outline similarities. When she’d day dreamed about being transported to an alternate reality, steampunk world, it had been
tastefully
dirty, and the villain was dashing and evil, not an invisible, creepy, peeping Tom. Only part that measured up to daydreams was Robert and he was sailing away in their airship, which she’d ridden in for like two seconds.

Hard to make a strong case that she’d got exactly what she wished for. Or even that close to what she’d wished for. Take the automaton—her brain couldn’t help tacking a “please” on to the end of that sentence. No question she’d daydreamed about doing battle with an automaton, but never had she wished to be grabbed like a rag doll and hauled off to get zombified.

It was surprisingly uncomfortable, though that probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. Metal was metal, so metal body parts would inevitably equal an unforgiving—and uncomfortable—body structure, not helped by its index and pinkie fingers acting as choke points around her hips and shoulders. She was glad neither of those metal bad boys was around her neck or her head might already be rolling around in the gutter. And if she survived the squeezing and the banging against metal, all she had to look forward to was the aforementioned zombification.

She certainly hadn’t wished for
that. I’m really sorry, Nod.

Silence. Oh my gosh, I killed him—

Nod migrated to Robert-oh-my-darling when you were kissing.

Okay.
And you would be…

Wynken and I wanted to study your brain. Nod informed us how interesting it was. We would have requested permission but we did not wish to disturb you while you were kissing Robert-oh-my-darling. Based on your body’s various responses, you liked it very much.