The Automatic Detective (14 page)

His tentacles whipped again, but I was ready this time. I caught one in each hand, and yanked him into the air, swinging him in a high arc and smashing him down into the ground. Then I did it again. His helmet cracked, leaking little wisps of blue smoke. He started hyperventilating and flopping around like a fish out of water.

Tony Ringo had yet to recover from being caught in the middle of a tug-of-war, and I grabbed him before he got the chance. I was kind enough not to seize him by his broken arm.

A scream filled my audios. Lucia Napier. In the eleven-second conflict, I'd lost track of her. Now I turned to scan her held in Harelip's clutches. The guy was thick-skinned, all right.

He grinned, licked his bloodied face with a long green
tongue. "Power down," he said. "Hand over Ringo, and I won't break her neck."

"Can't do it."

Harelip scowled, showing rows of crooked, jagged teeth. "Don't think I'm bluffing."

"I don't. But I can't give you Ringo. There's a foreign directive in my programming. I don't have a choice."

Napier didn't appear nervous, though it was hard to tell since the bruiser's hand covered half her face. As for me, I was cool as stainless steel. It was just the way I was manufactured. Some small regret came to me. Napier may have been a pain, but she didn't deserve to die over a two-time loser like Ringo. I'd warned her not to be here.

"Then I guess this dame ain't much good to me," said Harelip.

"No," I disagreed. "Right now, she's the only thing keeping me from pounding you into paste. Want to see how long you'll last if you hurt her? Trust me, it'll be the longest five minutes of your life."

Harelip smiled as he tightened his grip. "You're bluffing."

"I never bluff. Not part of my personality template. But I know what you're thinking. You're thinking you're a tough guy, and sure, you're pretty strong. And I can tell you're a fast healer by the way your black eye has disappeared already. But I'd put my indestructible alloy up against mutant flesh and blood any day.

"But you're also thinking of Tony here." I gave Ringo a good shake. "I'll be fighting at a disadvantage, seeing as how I have no choice but to hold onto him, and since he is a fragile little thing, I'll have to spend a lot of time making sure he doesn't get creamed by a random punch."

Harelip grinned. "That's what I'm thinking."

"Fair enough," I relented. "Guess it's your call then."

He didn't think long before doing the last thing I would've predicted. He went for his heater. I'll admit it. Sometimes, when the unexpected happens, I can freeze up. It wasn't much, two-thirds of a second. Enough for Harelip to pull his gun and aim it at Ringo's head. If I'd been faster, I could've put myself between Ringo and the blast. But I wasn't fast enough.

Before Harelip could pull the trigger he was suddenly lit up with streams of purple voltage. He didn't utter a sound, released his hostage and went limp. Napier stepped aside. Drooling, Harelip tried to shake off the effects.

She tapped her belt. "The Napier Brand Personal Defense Shock-o-tronic Field Generator. Every girl should have one."

Before Harelip could regain his senses I took advantage of the opportunity to work him over. A blow to the gut, a couple of jabs, and he was still standing. He wasn't as strong as me, but the guy could take a beating all right. A hard right cross finally knocked him off his feet and into dreamland.

"I didn't think you invented anymore," I said.

"Oh, just something I threw together one restless night."

I scanned the remains of Humbolt. He was only an auto. According to the law he could no more be killed than a vacuum cleaner. True, he was just a bunch of wires and cogs and if someone spread them out across a table it would be so many scattered parts. Put them together in a dozen different ways and end up with a dozen different machines. But then again, the same thing could've been said of me.

"Sorry about your robot," I said.

Napier knelt over Humbolt's torso. "Don't worry, Mack. His brain is reinforced." She pushed a button and his chest opened to reveal a small titanium box. Much smaller than most robot brains, but Napier was a genius. "Oh, yeah. No problem. I'll get him home and pop him into a spare chassis. Good as new."

That was a relief.

I said, "Uh, and I'm sorry about—"

"Oh, please, Mack. You don't have to apologize. You told me not to follow you into the alley. Anyway, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself just fine, thank you."

She reached up and put her hand on my cheek. She wasn't upset with me at all. Lucia Napier was a strange woman. Strange, but endearing.

Ringo squirmed in my grasp, but he wasn't going anywhere. He also spit out some idle threats that I ignored.

Harelip was still out for the count, but the funny thing was his face, which a bare fourteen seconds ago was mashed into a bloody pulp. Now it was now nice and unbroken. And I estimated he'd be awake by now except for that weird Shock-o-tronic device Napier had zapped him with.

I searched Dome Head. It wasn't easy with him flopping around, but I found a teleportation disk, like Ringo used, in his coat pocket.

"Oh, what's that?" she asked.

"Some kind of teleportation gizmo." I performed a quick search of Harelip and found his own disk. It was smashed. No surprise there.

I tossed the intact gizmo to Napier.

"A gift?" she asked.

"You can keep it, Lucia, as long as you tell me anything interesting you find when you crack it open."

"Deal." She dropped it in her purse. "So what do you expect me to find?"

"I don't know, but that's some hi-tech. Figure it's worth a look."

"Why, Mister Megaton, you're beginning to sound more like a detective and less like a cab driver every minute."

She was right. There was something appealing about breaking bones and asking questions, about mixing it up with lowlifes and intellectual dames. It was a damn sight more stimulating than shuttling uptowners around the city.

I yanked Dome Head by his tie. "Who do you work for? And why would anyone go to this much trouble to kidnap a couple of kids?"

He gasped and gurgled. Harelip wasn't in any condition to talk either.

A new rotorcar roared into the alley. The Condor was a sporty model, 83 percent the size of the Albatross. It had rounded corners and a small, radiator-mounted prop that moved way too slowly for any practical performance and was simply there for aesthetics. The alley was big but crowded. Still, the driver was skilled enough to set her down in the small space available.

"Let me guess," said Napier. "You want me to shut up and stay back."

I tapped my faceplate where my nose could've been. She got the gesture anyway.

Two guys stepped out. They looked like norms, but there was no way of knowing for sure. I was running across a statistically improbable number of mutants lately, so I didn't rule anything out.

The shorter one eyed Dome Head dangling from the tie in my right hand and Tony Ringo clutched in my left. "We're here for Ringo."

I dropped Dome Head. His helmet hit the ground with a glassy chime.

"You can have him, but I want to talk to your boss."

The norms chuckled. "Just give him to us."

Of course, they knew I didn't have a choice. I knew it too.
Then again, I was still holding onto Ringo. Maybe Grey's reprogramming was finally slipping.

"Look," I said. "We had a little bit of trouble in this alley. Blastfire, yelling, fisticuffs, the whole nine yards. Now maybe in this neighborhood at this time of night that won't attract any attention. Or maybe there just happened to be a Tank monitor drone nearby to detect all the unsociable doings, and a rotorcar has already been dispatched. All I know is that I've got Ringo, and I'll hand him over eventually, but it might be a minute or five. Now why don't you use that two-way radio wristwatch and see what your boss wants to do?"

The short guy nodded to his buddy, who shuffled off by the Condor and had a six-second conversation before nodding back to shorty.

"Okay," he said, "but what about the skirt?"

"Skirt stays," I replied.

"Too bad. She's got nice stems."

Shorty leaned over and rapped on Dome Head's helmet.

"Make yourself useful, bot, and throw these mooks in the trunk, would ya?"

I was happy to oblige, considering I was getting a free ride. It was a tight fit, but I managed to cram both Harelip and Dome Head in. Before they shut it, they gave Harelip an injection of some yellow liquid. Knocked him right out.

I tossed Tony Ringo into the backseat of the Condor and shoved in beside him. It was a tight squeeze, but Ringo wound up on the losing end of the deal so I didn't mind.

"Keep in touch, Mack," said Napier.

I nodded to her, then shut the door. The rotorcar lifted off, and we were on our way.

A partition slid up between the front and backseat and every window went pitch black. The boss must've liked his privacy and didn't want any robot recording his home address.

"It's not too late," said Ringo. "I know you can tear this car to pieces. We can escape. I know people."

"So I keep hearing, Tony." I spread out a little in my seat and mashed him against the door. "Now shut up and enjoy the ride."

I did consider his offer, but it was a moot point. Though I seemed to have regained some control of myself, Grey was still pushing the buttons. More importantly, I was pretty sure Ringo was a small-time hood, a loser who didn't know much of anything. It was better to move up the ladder and see who was waiting on the top rung.

We flew around for an hour and fifteen minutes. A good rotorcar, depending on skyway traffic, could cover half of Empire in that time, but there was also the likely probability the car was circling a few extra minutes as an extra precaution. Finally we landed.

The windows cleared. We were in a personal hangar. It was big enough for a collection of rotorcars, many of them pristine classics. There was even a Wright Wyvern that looked as if it'd just rolled off the factory floor. Except they hadn't been made in factories, and last I'd heard there were only three in existence. There was no trace of the outside world, no way of knowing where I was.

Some thugs snatched Ringo, Dome Head, and Harelip. They were all mutants, and one of them had a head resembling an orange jellyfish. That was an extreme mutation, the likes of which you rarely saw even in Tomorrow's Town.

He caught me scanning. "You got a problem, buddy?"

"No problem," I replied. "But you might want to grab a napkin. You're dripping all over your collar."

He executed a maneuver with his tentacles that I could only assume was derogatory in nature.

Jellyfish and the gang dragged Ringo and his buddies one
way while Shorty directed me another. On the other side of that hangar was a long hallway with plush carpeting and good old-fashioned simulated light fixtures. The photon generator even did a fair replication of soft candlelight. There were odd paintings on the wall, full of shapes and colors but all abstract and unrecognizable. Somewhere a six-year-old finger painter was making a fortune.

We stopped at one of the doors. It had an actual handle. Shorty had to reach over and turn it, and the door didn't slide open but instead swung on hinges. I'd heard about doors like that, scanned them in movies, but it was a weird thing to scan in person.

"They're waiting for you," said my escort.

I stepped inside. They closed the door behind me. On the other side was a greenhouse. Except it was red, not green. It didn't have a glass roof but a bunch of soft crimson spotlights overhead. It was filled with plants, almost every single one a strange blue color with hexagonal leaves. I didn't recognize them, but foliage wasn't part of my database, and you didn't scan a lot of greenery in Empire. Or blue-ery.

Knuckles the Mark Three was there, still wearing my bowler. And Grey sat in a cozy chair beside the auto.

"Hey, Mack, good to see you," said Grey.

Knuckles beeped in a decidedly sarcastic way.

Something ruffled in the bunch of plants next to them, and out stepped a four-foot, two-inch biological in overalls. His skin was a shiny emerald hue and 30 percent of his height was devoted to his forehead. He had big black eyes and two antennae over them. He cradled a plant in his gloved hands. Whatever it was, it was breathing surprisingly loud for a plant.

He smiled with his very small mouth. "So you must be this Mack Megaton I've been hearing so much about."

"If I must," I agreed. "And let me guess. You must be Greenman."

He touched his face in that spot where he should've had a nose but didn't. I got the gesture anyway.

"You can call me Abner," said Greenman. "Got to tell you, Mack, I'm impressed. First, you find Tony Ringo in . . . how long has it been, Grey?"

"Eleven hours, boss."

"Ten hours, forty-four minutes, six seconds," I corrected. "Give or take."

Greenman grinned. It was hard to spot with his little mouth. "See, that's what I like in my people. Precision. An eye for detail. But what truly impresses me is that you know my name."