Tales of the Red Panda: The Android Assassins (10 page)

Tires squealed furiously as a sleek, black roadster burst
through a hidden panel and into the warehouse. The car came to a sudden halt
and the door opened to reveal the driver, a girl clad in a form-fitting grey
catsuit
and goggles. The Flying Squirrel regarded the
dozens of faces turned towards her with grim determination. This many agents in
the same place at the same time broke just about every rule in the book, and
Kit Baxter couldn't have cared much less.

“What are you ladies
lookin
' at?”
she called to the startled assembly.

“Lay off, Squirrel,” a voice called. “You just drove a car
through a solid-
lookin
' wall, you want we should
pretend
nothin
' happened?”

“I want you to collectively look a little less like you just
had an accident, boys,” she said, striding across the open space towards the
main doors of the vast, hanger-like room. “We're in for bad business here. If
you could try a little harder to make me feel like it isn't a bunch of parish
schoolgirls that have my back, that would be real nice.”

Around the room there was much embarrassed shuffling as the
men returned to their preparations. They were men of action, all. The
hand-picked
cream of the Red Panda's army of field agents,
and there wasn't a single one of them that was tougher than this small
red-haired dynamo, and every one of them knew it. And if each of them dug a
little deeper tonight to prove their hardiness because of their embarrassment,
well, that worked for Kit Baxter as well.

Around the room there were a dozen vehicles, each appearing
to the casual observer to be nothing more than an ordinary car. Taxis, delivery
trucks, emergency vehicles - all shapes and sizes of automobiles, and under
each hood was an engine nearly as powerful as the experimental racing-car motor
that powered the roadster in which the Flying Squirrel had made her entrance.
This was one of the Red Panda's emergency garages, and for the moment it was
the marshaling ground for a counter-attack in his name.

The underground lair was still not the safest venue to work
out of, Kit had reasoned. The police were now quite convinced that the Boss was
really Captain Clockwork and
O'Mally
was fighting
tooth and nail for warrants to raid the Fenwick mansion looking for little
things like hidden tunnels and man-sized pneumatic tubes that lead to secret
complexes, all of which the mansion had in abundance. The tubes were still
disabled, but Kit was taking no chances. If their cover wasn't blown already,
there was a good chance that it soon would be.

Her rapid exit from the grounds of the Club Macaw had not
gone unnoticed by the law, and every radio report on the escape of August
Fenwick from police questioning made sure to mention that information leading
to the capture of Fenwick's lady driver would also be appreciated by police.
Between the villains and the law, she was rapidly running out of places to
hide. It took only one look at the determined gleam within those deep brown
eyes to know that hiding was nowhere on Kit Baxter's to-do list.

The trouble they'd had so far was that Clockwork's attacks
were random. They held no apparent objective, no purpose. It had seemed to her
that the only way to defend against attacks that could come anywhere at any
time was to be everywhere at once. Every spotter and runner in their network
was on the streets, every contact man was wired directly to Mother Hen, and
every vehicle in this garage had a radio receiver hook-up to relay any news to
the fleet that would soon be roaming the streets, waiting to punch back.

That punch was the only part of the equation that they were
not yet ready to deliver, and Kit had fixed that as well. She reached the doors
and began to pull the long chain that ran to the rafters high above, and the
great metal gateway to the garage began to swing open in response.

“You got the goodies, boss-lady?” said a nearby voice that
she recognized without looking as Andy Parker.

“They're right behind me, Constable,” she said seriously.
“The truck can come in the front door, but the
Pandamobile
attracts a little too much attention.” The door was almost fully open now, and
she began to close it again, quickly and without looking. Parker stuck his head
around the rapidly closing barrier and gave her a concerned look. “Three, two,
one…” was all she had time to say before a large green truck roared through the
doors, barely clearing the remaining opening before they swung shut behind it.

The truck thundered to a halt and the driver clambered out
the window and into the open back, pulling a large tarpaulin off the vehicle's
cargo. The passenger door opened and Doctor
Chronopolis
almost fell out, looking more than a little worse for wear after his rapid
journey across town. The agents began to gather around the truck to help unload
the crates from the back, stacking them beside the vehicle, barely able to
resist the urge to examine the contents.

“Flying Squirrel, this is the man I told you about,” Parker
said, sensing that this might be his one opportunity to get her attention. She
was grim and seemed focused on a point somewhere just beyond her field of
vision. Parker was certain that she was visualizing what she was going to do to
Captain Clockwork when she got her hands on him, and it made him fear again for
the mysterious fate of the Red Panda. If he had been killed, the Flying
Squirrel would not stop fighting until she had her revenge or she, too, could
fight no more, and Andy Parker reckoned every man here was with her to the end,
including the new recruit who stood beside him.

The Squirrel walked over to Brody. He towered above her, but
if she noticed at all, there was no sign.

“I hear you box,” she said, matter of
factly
.

“Not really,” Tank said sheepishly. “Spiro thinks maybe it's
a good idea.”

“What do you think?” the girl asked him.

Tank considered the Flying Squirrel for a moment. This
person was clearly something he had not encountered in a very long time:
something to believe in.

“I think it doesn't seem real important right now,” he said
plainly.

The girl smiled a little, just for an instant. “I think so
too,” she said. “All right Andy, you picked him,
he's
your problem.”

“Hot soup, coming through,” Mac Tully said, a heavy crate
above his head. He brightened when he saw Tank. “Hey, you made it to the
party!” he said jovially.

“Take Mac too,” the Flying Squirrel said to Parker. “See if
you can wipe that smile off his face, 'cause it's
gettin
'
on my nerves.” She grinned in spite of herself.

“Right, Boss,”
Parker
said with a
nod.

“All right, you
mooks
, listen up!”
the Squirrel's voice thundered through the hall. “Most of you have been through
some rough stuff before. I don't think I'd be telling tales if I said that this
was likely as bad as it's ever been.” Those agents who were still smiling and
itching for a fight looked more serious at this. “I
ain't
much of one for speeches, but it's plain to see that the city's got its back up
against the wall and the list of available help is limited to the faces you see
in this room and the folks
pointin
' us in the right
direction.”

“Squirrel?” a voice called from the crowd.

“Joey,” she said, “if you just let me do this it'll go
quicker.”

There was a small pause. Joe cleared his throat. “Squirrel,
what about the big guy?” he asked at last.

Every face in the room turned towards Kit, and she felt her
cheeks grow hot under her cowl. She caught herself biting her lip and shook her
head. “If you were planning your day around him swinging to rescue your fanny
at the last possible moment, Joey, this is not
gonna
be a real good field trip for you. I
ain't
sayin
' it
ain't
gonna
happen, I'm just
sayin
'
don't hold your breath, is all.”

The assembly grew very serious. Most of them knew that the
Flying Squirrel's banter got more like a gangster from a B picture when things
were bad. Some of them might have even figured out that she did it to hide her
feelings, but most of them had never thought about her having any. She was
tough as nails and every man there loved her for it in his own way. The silence
hung another moment.

“Okay,” said Joe. “So how about the goodies?”

“Doc?” the Squirrel called.

“Yes, of course, my dear,” Doctor
Chronopolis
stepped forward nervously, adjusting his thick glasses as he peered at the
assembly. “Good day, gentlemen. The Flying Squirrel has asked me here to brief
you on the specifics of a number of armaments which the Red Panda had been
developing for a rainy day, as well as a number of my own fanciful notions, and
a handful of weapons taken from captured
supervillians
which I have been pleased to study.”

“Clockwork's monsters have lost the only weakness that we've
ever found, boys,” the Squirrel said, “but that doesn't mean that they don't
have others. We need to find them and fast.”

There was a general murmur of assent as the Doctor opened
the first of the crates and held some ammunition clips aloft. “There are two
varieties of special bullets here, both designed for use against heavy armor.
One explodes upon impact, with a concussive force that should punch a
grapefruit-sized hole in steel plate, if I'm reading the specifications
correctly. The second is tipped with an alloy of my own devising that should
pierce the steel skin of these beasts, flatten down in the process and rattle
around inside the metal monsters, doing all sorts of damage.” There was an
approving murmur from the crowd. “Yes,”
Chronopolis
beamed. “I'm quite excited by these. I can't wait to hear if they work,” he
said to falling faces around the room.

Mac Tully had
pried
open the next
crate and the Doctor peeked in. “Ah!” he cried in excitement. “Magnetic
grenades! Considerable explosive force with a strong electromagnet mounted on
the side, which activates when thrown. It should help the grenade to find the
nearest metallic object and hold it there until the charge is released.”

“Which means we don't… what, boys?” the Squirrel asked
rhetorically. There was an awkward pause. Tank Brody raised his hand.

“Um… throw them from the cars?” he offered.

“Full points for the new kid,” she said as an embarrassed laugh
spread through the group.

“There are also a handful of devices the functionality of
which I am far less certain of,”
Chronopolis
said,
pulling a long-barreled weapon from one of the boxes. “Like this Heat Ray, for
example. It was used in a series of bank robberies before the Red Panda
captured it. I'm afraid I haven't had an opportunity to fully study it just
yet… some of its inner working I can only speculate upon. This focusing
generator, for example, is quite unlike anything I have encountered before. It
seems to me that the beam–”

“Doc,” Kit said, “
they
don't need
the technical specs. Just show them what it does.”

“Oh!” the Doctor said. “Yes, of course, my dear.
My apologies, gentlemen.
It does this.” The Doctor pulled
the trigger and a focused beam of intense heat shot thirty feet through the
open space of the hangar and melted its way halfway thorough one of the iron
support struts in the split second before
Chronopolis
released the trigger.

There was total silence among the astonished group of men,
crouched in amazement at what they had just seen. For half a minute no one
spoke.

“Um… Can I have that one?” Joe asked at last.

David Hagen had been a security guard at James Labs since
the company had been formed from the ashes of James Manufacturing and Holdings.
He had been a worker in the old plant and managed to keep a job even as the
operation became more complicated than anything that Ian James'
forebearers
could have imagined. The new company was
perhaps the foremost research and development laboratory in the country and was
growing fast in spite of hard times. There was an optimism within these walls
that was shared by few outfits in the city, and every worker knew that he was a
part of a business of tomorrow.

Hagen sat up straight in his chair as young Wentworth James
approached, looking preoccupied as he often did. The younger Mister James did
not stand on ceremony the way his father did, he did not imagine that every man
who drew a salary within his family's plant was some sort of indentured
servant. Indeed, if Hagen had stood
up
as James'
father would have expected, it would have drawn an embarrassed jibe from the
younger man. But, like most who worked in James Labs, Hagen knew that it was
Wentworth James' genius that had saved the company when so many others had been
lost to difficult times. However much his father might downplay Wentworth's
contribution, his son did not merely gather the deference that was due to the
heir to the crown – he was given the respect men feel for their true
leader.

“
Evenin
' Mister James,” Hagen said
with a touch of his cap in spite of himself. “On the way to check the new power
plant?”

James looked up, surprised, as if he had just noticed Hagen
sitting there at the security checkpoint. “Oh, excuse me,” the young man said,
slapping his pockets as if searching for his security credentials. “I must have
left the darn thing up in my lab,” he said, flustered.

Hagen laughed in spite of himself, and the sound seemed to
give Wentworth James another start. He looked back at Hagen, puzzled.

“It's all right, Mister James,” Hagen said. “I reckon I know
you well enough by now.”

Wentworth James smiled sheepishly. “Yes, of course,” he
said. “Still, you can't be any too careful.”

“No, sir,” Hagen said as the young man breezed past him,
distracted once again.

David Hagen watched him go and shook his head in wonder.
The things that young man might be dreaming up even now.
Why, they said that Wentworth James developed the new power plant at the heart
of this complex almost single-handedly. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, and
certainly you would never hear Wentworth James tell it that way, but it was
hard not to admire a man with ideas. Not many folks born into money seemed to
have them, and even fewer had any skills to make their ideas into reality, but
Wentworth James did.

The ringing of the telephone jarred Hagen from his reverie
and by the time fifteen minutes had gone past he had settled back into his
newspaper. It was getting late, and there was not a lot of traffic in the labs
at this hour. It was only the sound of footsteps coming towards him down the
long hallway that brought him back to reality. The light at the other end of
the hallway was too bright, and it turned the newcomer into a
back-lit
shadow as he appeared.

“Good evening, David,” a voice called cheerfully.

David Hagen was dumbfounded. He knew what he had heard, but
it made no sense. The newcomer stepped into the chamber in which Hagen's desk
stood and suddenly there could be no doubt. It was Wentworth James.

“Mister James,” Hagen said, astonished.

“Good grief, man,” James laughed, “you look quite as if you
had seen a ghost.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” Hagen sputtered. “I just didn't see you
come back through.”

Wentworth James was confused. “Yes, I'm… just getting back
now. Spent the day dancing for the amusement of the Board of Directors.”

“No, sir, that's not it,” Hagen said. “You went in about…
I'm sorry, sir. You must have come out another way.”

“David,” James said, “
are
you
feeling quite well? You know there's only one way into the power complex. Work
in the south corridor still isn't finished.”

“Mister James,” Hagen said, “I'm sorry if I sound like a
fool, but you walked past this station fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago and
went in to check the power plant.”

“No, David,” James said, “
that
's
what I'm doing now.”

“But… but it was you. I talked to you,” Hagen was getting
angry. Someone was playing games with him.

“I promise you, David, it wasn't me.
I
am me,” James waggled the security pass that hung about his neck.

“He didn't have a pass,” Hagen's voice trailed away, his
face growing white.

“How long ago was this?” James said, feeling for the first
time that the guard was being serious and that something quite sinister was at
work here.

“Fifteen minutes maybe,” Hagen said. “Longer now, maybe.”

Wentworth James looked down the corridor leading to his new
power plant. With only one way in or out, there were too many lives at stake.
“Sound the evacuation,” he said with sudden resolve.

“Sir?” Hagen said in horror.

“Do it!” James cried. Hagen fumbled with his keys and
unlocked a panel beneath which was a large, red button. He held the switch down
and a piercing alarm began to sound to all quarters.

James broke towards the door leading into the plant, but
Hagen caught his arm and stopped him. “You'll never get through, sir,” he said.
“With all the men coming up that way, you'll never get past in time!”

“Damn it, man, we've got to try!” James cried, but he could
hear the first of the men on their way out and knew that it was true.

Wentworth James turned back to Hagen to speak, but the only
sound that either man could hear was the first of a thundering chorus of
explosions that tore through the power plant below and rumbled on, getting
closer and closer as the shock wave shattered men and machines alike as if it
were a wall of pure force. The room shook, the lights went out suddenly, and
David Hagen knew no more.