The Girl with the Iron Touch
Page 25
Automatons loaded a tray beside Sam’s cot with surgical instruments. Another set up lamps suspended from bent poles for better light. And the spider—the thing she’d taken to thinking of as “matron” because it seemed to boss all the others around—began fiddling with the various valves and levers on the outer panel of Garibaldi’s tank. It clacked at her.
Right on cue, the faceless automaton translated, “You will begin now.”
Emily nodded. Covertly, she gave Sam’s arm a squeeze before moving away. “Did you get the Listerine?”
“Yes, although we do not understand the purpose of it. It is not oil. It is not used as fuel.”
“It’s going to keep everything clean. You wouldn’t want me to put the Master’s brain in this body only to have it die from infection?”
She thought she saw Sam twitch out of the corner of her eye. She would have done more than twitch if she heard someone talk about putting a new brain in her skull.
“If the Master dies, you will die, too.”
“Well, then I reckon it’s a fine thing that you got the Listerine.” The machines might not understand lying, but they understood threats. They understood actions.
In fact, it was tempting to pick up a curved blade from the tray and shove it underneath the thing’s chin, sever its vocal cords and cut its head right off.
She was becoming as bloodthirsty as Finley. Violence was not her area of expertise.
But machines were. That was why Sam wasn’t getting enough laudanum to keep him knocked out even though it looked as though he was; she’d had a little “chat” with the pump. It, thankfully, had yet to develop a mind of its own.
“You know what I don’t understand about all this?” she said innocently as she began to prep and clean instruments. “Is why a bunch of intelligent machines such as you even need a master?”
Four machines were in the train car with her, and all four turned their heads, or whatever served as such, toward her as though she’d lost her bloody mind. The spider clacked. The eyes on its grimy doll head blinked one at a time in rhythm with the clacks. It was something out of a nightmare.
“The Master will lead us,” intoned Metal Face. “He will unite us all and fight with us as we take our rightful place as humanity’s new lords.”
“You cannot exist alongside humans?”
“Humans are too proud to treat us as their equal, but we are not equal. We are superior in every aspect.”
“Are you now? How do you figure that?”
“We are beings of logic and function. Humans are ruled by emotion and concern for the individual rather than the collective.”
She really shouldn’t be surprised that Garibaldi’s disciples would share his own grandiose notion of world domination. Why did these bedlamites always strive to take over the world rather than their own corner of it?
“But your master is human. Doesn’t that go against your beliefs?”
That smooth brass dome of a head leaned to one side. “He was supposed to be given a host from the collective, but you and your friend destroyed that idea when you helped Endeavor 312 escape.”
She ignored that. “Still, you’re going to trust a human brain and a human host to do what’s best for your… collective?”
“This one is not entirely human, but then you know that.”
How in the name of all that was holy had they figured that out about Sam? Garibaldi. Of course. He knew that Sam was a mandroid.
She opened her mouth again, her attention on Sam. Either he had fallen asleep or he was much better at controlling himself than she ever thought. A burst of loud clacking from the spider stopped her from speaking.
“She says you have wasted enough time. You are to open the human’s skull and remove his brain.”
“Look, bucket head, this is not the same as replacing a faulty cog, do ye understand? I have to prepare him for removal of his brain and insertion of Garibaldi’s. Plus, I have to get Garibaldi’s brain out of his skull. This would be so much easier if you intelligently superior bits of tin had thought to submerse just his brain in the vat rather than his entire body.”
She didn’t have to turn around to know the spider’s eyes were blinking again. “You will be linked with the Master during the procedure. He will guide you and us.”
“Until his brain is removed from his skull. Then what?” When that practically blank head tilted again, Emily resisted the urge to punch it. “Just get out of my way.” What did it matter? It wasn’t going to turn out how any of them wanted. Emily was never going to be allowed to just walk away from all of this. Even if she did exactly what he wanted and was successful at the brain transplant, he’d kill her to keep her quiet. And by the time anyone realized Sam had been replaced by someone more scientifically minded than he had been previously—not to mention completely mad—it would be too late. Everyone who could have stopped him would be dead.
Such cheerful thoughts she had!
She washed her hands with the Listerine after donning a smock over her clothing. Then, she made a show of readying the machines that would keep Sam’s body alive once she’d removed his brain. As she prepared, the spider plugged itself into Garibaldi and then waited for her to take her place by the cot.
Emily had to admit that were the situation different and it wasn’t Sam who was in danger, or Garibaldi the donor, she’d have been all aflutter with nervous excitement. Could she really transplant a brain into another body and have it work?
Cold metal pincers tugged the hem of her shirt free from her trousers and slipped beneath the linen and her waistcoat to press against the flesh of her back. Once they forged a connection she wouldn’t be able to worry about Sam or think dark thoughts. She had to pretend she was really going to kill the one person who meant more to her than her own life.
“Begin, mother,” the automaton instructed. The spider clacked, and the little onion-shaped one darted about monitoring various things. That was when she noticed that all of them had small rectangular boxes on their backs. Boxes with receiving concaves on top of them.
Aether waves. Bloody hell, the bunch of them could not only communicate with each other, but she’d wager her left hand that they would be able to use the spider as a hub through which they could all interact with their master. One mistake, one wrong thought, and it was all over, not just for herself but for Sam, too.
Brilliant.
The underground of London was a vast, labyrinth of tunnels, sewers, rivers, Roman ruins and plague pits. There was an equal amount of treasure mixed with rubbish, sometimes side by side. It was a dangerous place, but a solitary one. If a person didn’t want to be found, the underground was a brilliant place to hide.
The Machinist didn’t want to be found.
There was a lot of underground beneath Russell Square. The group split up into pairs to search for Garibaldi’s lair. Mila refused to go with anyone but Jack, which was fine because that kept Cat and Jasper together, and Finley remained with Griffin. They each wore an earbud designed by Emily so they could hear one another speak.
They followed a disused bit of track that had been closed due to improvements on the line. It seemed the logical place, as Garibaldi would want privacy for whatever it was he had planned.
“How did he survive?” Finley asked Griffin as they walked. It was something she should have asked days ago. “We saw that building fall.”
“I have no idea. I should have been better prepared for something like this. As soon as we were told his body hadn’t been recovered, I should have known he wasn’t done with us.”
“Yes, you should have known. After all, you’re omnipotent.”
He shot her a narrow glance in the light of their torches. “You know, sarcasm can be a very unattractive trait.”
“So can being a martyr.”
They stared at each other a moment. Griffin was the first to laugh, but Finley wasn’t far behind. They lapsed into comfortable silence that lasted about a minute.
Griffin cleared his throat. “Fin, I know this isn’t exactly the best time for this, but I want you to know that I respect you. I don’t want to ever pressure you into doing anything—”
“Oh, my Lord, are you talking about sex?” Her voice dropped from a surprised outburst to a whisper on the last word.
She thought maybe he flushed, but it was hard to tell. “Well, yes.”
“Griffin, we don’t need to discuss this.” Especially not at that moment!
“It’s just that our relationship has changed and I can’t seem to stop thinking about kissing you…I want you, Finley.”
Her throat was dry and her knees trembled. “I want—” She whipped her head to her left. “Did you hear that?”
“Turn off your torch,” Griffin whispered as his own went dark.
Finley did as instructed, just seconds before he pushed her gently into the shadows. Her back came up against the rough wall, but her steel corset protected her clothing and skin. Griffin was pressed against her from chest to toe. The sweet, vaguely spicy scent of him enveloped her, but she kept her ears sharp.
There it was again—the sound of a heavy door opening and closing. Was that the ting of metal on metal that came next?
Griffin was little more than a shadow despite their closeness. She felt him turn his head toward her, felt the brush of his hair against her temple as he lowered his head to whisper against her ear, “Automatons. Garibaldi’s close. I can feel it.”
Finley shivered—and it wasn’t because of Garibaldi. She nodded, knowing Griffin could feel the gesture against his cheek. They would have to rally the others, but not until they were certain they could do so without alerting the machines of their presence. They had no idea if Garibaldi had human assistants, as well.
Griffin’s breath brushed warmly against her neck. Her heart hammered hard against her ribs. Her hand— the one not holding a torch—came up to rest on his back, which was lean and firm beneath his coat.
His hand curved around her hip as his lips touched her jaw. Finley turned her head, her fingers bunching the back of his coat in an effort to keep her knees from giving out.
Their lips touched—just a faint whisper. A tease, really.
“Sam and Emily,” she murmured, a reminder to them both.
Griffin’s forehead rested against hers. “I know. But we’re going to continue this later.”
“That had better be a promise.”
He chuckled, a husky sound that brushed against her cheek. “Oh, it is.”
Holding hands, they pressed their backs to the wall and slowly sidestepped forward until they reached a turn in the track.
Finley peered around the corner. There was more light here—mostly because of the hulking monstrosity before her.
It looked like no train engine she’d ever seen, but that was exactly what it was. It was a huge automaton that looked like a kneeling child. Its “legs” and “hands” had opened to reveal train wheels, which rested on the track. She recognized it as a modified “docker”—an automaton used to load large cargo onto ships in port.
That had to be how they managed to abandon their previous lair so quickly and completely. This thing loaded everything into the cars and then transformed into the engine. It was genius, really.
And slightly terrifying.
“How do we get around that thing?” she whispered.
Griffin took a peek of his own. “Manual shut-down lever in its chest.”
How did he know these things? He was a duke, he shouldn’t know about labor machines.
“Right. I’ve got it.”
His fingers closed around her arm before she could leave. “If you can approach from above, its sensors shouldn’t detect you.”
Of course. Nothing was ever as simple as just walking up to a thing and doing what needed to be done. Sighing, Finley reached up and found a crevice in the wall. She pulled herself up and climbed as high as she could. Fortunately, the tunnel had been pitted and scarred from years of use and vandalism, so it wasn’t all that difficult for her to make her way to the docker.
There were lights on in the cars, especially the last one. She caught a glimpse of Emily through the window. Damnation, was that Sam on the surgical table? And what the hell was that thing? A mechanical spider with a doll’s head? That was so very, very wrong.
Tearing her gaze away from the abomination, Finley maneuvered herself so she could drop right down onto the docker. Its metal had long ago lost its sheen, and the rough surface gave her thick-soled boots enough traction for her to climb down to its shoulders. From there, she draped herself forward, toward the panel in the center of its chest.
Once she was within reach, she wasted no time popping the panel and pulling the lever. Hesitation was not something one did when dealing with a machine this big. The faint glow in its eyes faded as its power cells shut down.
Finley dropped to the track between the huge machine’s knees. Griffin joined her seconds later. “Brilliant,” he praised with a kiss on the forehead. His voice remained a whisper. “I sent word to the others. They’ll meet us here. None of them are very far off.”
They kept out of sight from the cars. While they waited, Finley watched as Griffin took from his pocket a small device that looked like a small metal matchbox. It made a low whispering noise that was positively eerie.
He caught her watching. “Aetheric frequency disruptor. It will mask my Aetheric signature so that Garibaldi won’t sense me coming.”
“He can do that?”
“Given that he found me in New York I’m going to assume that, yes, he can. I could probably find his if I had the luxury of time to look.”
Right on cue, the faceless automaton translated, “You will begin now.”
Emily nodded. Covertly, she gave Sam’s arm a squeeze before moving away. “Did you get the Listerine?”
“Yes, although we do not understand the purpose of it. It is not oil. It is not used as fuel.”
“It’s going to keep everything clean. You wouldn’t want me to put the Master’s brain in this body only to have it die from infection?”
She thought she saw Sam twitch out of the corner of her eye. She would have done more than twitch if she heard someone talk about putting a new brain in her skull.
“If the Master dies, you will die, too.”
“Well, then I reckon it’s a fine thing that you got the Listerine.” The machines might not understand lying, but they understood threats. They understood actions.
In fact, it was tempting to pick up a curved blade from the tray and shove it underneath the thing’s chin, sever its vocal cords and cut its head right off.
She was becoming as bloodthirsty as Finley. Violence was not her area of expertise.
But machines were. That was why Sam wasn’t getting enough laudanum to keep him knocked out even though it looked as though he was; she’d had a little “chat” with the pump. It, thankfully, had yet to develop a mind of its own.
“You know what I don’t understand about all this?” she said innocently as she began to prep and clean instruments. “Is why a bunch of intelligent machines such as you even need a master?”
Four machines were in the train car with her, and all four turned their heads, or whatever served as such, toward her as though she’d lost her bloody mind. The spider clacked. The eyes on its grimy doll head blinked one at a time in rhythm with the clacks. It was something out of a nightmare.
“The Master will lead us,” intoned Metal Face. “He will unite us all and fight with us as we take our rightful place as humanity’s new lords.”
“You cannot exist alongside humans?”
“Humans are too proud to treat us as their equal, but we are not equal. We are superior in every aspect.”
“Are you now? How do you figure that?”
“We are beings of logic and function. Humans are ruled by emotion and concern for the individual rather than the collective.”
She really shouldn’t be surprised that Garibaldi’s disciples would share his own grandiose notion of world domination. Why did these bedlamites always strive to take over the world rather than their own corner of it?
“But your master is human. Doesn’t that go against your beliefs?”
That smooth brass dome of a head leaned to one side. “He was supposed to be given a host from the collective, but you and your friend destroyed that idea when you helped Endeavor 312 escape.”
She ignored that. “Still, you’re going to trust a human brain and a human host to do what’s best for your… collective?”
“This one is not entirely human, but then you know that.”
How in the name of all that was holy had they figured that out about Sam? Garibaldi. Of course. He knew that Sam was a mandroid.
She opened her mouth again, her attention on Sam. Either he had fallen asleep or he was much better at controlling himself than she ever thought. A burst of loud clacking from the spider stopped her from speaking.
“She says you have wasted enough time. You are to open the human’s skull and remove his brain.”
“Look, bucket head, this is not the same as replacing a faulty cog, do ye understand? I have to prepare him for removal of his brain and insertion of Garibaldi’s. Plus, I have to get Garibaldi’s brain out of his skull. This would be so much easier if you intelligently superior bits of tin had thought to submerse just his brain in the vat rather than his entire body.”
She didn’t have to turn around to know the spider’s eyes were blinking again. “You will be linked with the Master during the procedure. He will guide you and us.”
“Until his brain is removed from his skull. Then what?” When that practically blank head tilted again, Emily resisted the urge to punch it. “Just get out of my way.” What did it matter? It wasn’t going to turn out how any of them wanted. Emily was never going to be allowed to just walk away from all of this. Even if she did exactly what he wanted and was successful at the brain transplant, he’d kill her to keep her quiet. And by the time anyone realized Sam had been replaced by someone more scientifically minded than he had been previously—not to mention completely mad—it would be too late. Everyone who could have stopped him would be dead.
Such cheerful thoughts she had!
She washed her hands with the Listerine after donning a smock over her clothing. Then, she made a show of readying the machines that would keep Sam’s body alive once she’d removed his brain. As she prepared, the spider plugged itself into Garibaldi and then waited for her to take her place by the cot.
Emily had to admit that were the situation different and it wasn’t Sam who was in danger, or Garibaldi the donor, she’d have been all aflutter with nervous excitement. Could she really transplant a brain into another body and have it work?
Cold metal pincers tugged the hem of her shirt free from her trousers and slipped beneath the linen and her waistcoat to press against the flesh of her back. Once they forged a connection she wouldn’t be able to worry about Sam or think dark thoughts. She had to pretend she was really going to kill the one person who meant more to her than her own life.
“Begin, mother,” the automaton instructed. The spider clacked, and the little onion-shaped one darted about monitoring various things. That was when she noticed that all of them had small rectangular boxes on their backs. Boxes with receiving concaves on top of them.
Aether waves. Bloody hell, the bunch of them could not only communicate with each other, but she’d wager her left hand that they would be able to use the spider as a hub through which they could all interact with their master. One mistake, one wrong thought, and it was all over, not just for herself but for Sam, too.
Brilliant.
The underground of London was a vast, labyrinth of tunnels, sewers, rivers, Roman ruins and plague pits. There was an equal amount of treasure mixed with rubbish, sometimes side by side. It was a dangerous place, but a solitary one. If a person didn’t want to be found, the underground was a brilliant place to hide.
The Machinist didn’t want to be found.
There was a lot of underground beneath Russell Square. The group split up into pairs to search for Garibaldi’s lair. Mila refused to go with anyone but Jack, which was fine because that kept Cat and Jasper together, and Finley remained with Griffin. They each wore an earbud designed by Emily so they could hear one another speak.
They followed a disused bit of track that had been closed due to improvements on the line. It seemed the logical place, as Garibaldi would want privacy for whatever it was he had planned.
“How did he survive?” Finley asked Griffin as they walked. It was something she should have asked days ago. “We saw that building fall.”
“I have no idea. I should have been better prepared for something like this. As soon as we were told his body hadn’t been recovered, I should have known he wasn’t done with us.”
“Yes, you should have known. After all, you’re omnipotent.”
He shot her a narrow glance in the light of their torches. “You know, sarcasm can be a very unattractive trait.”
“So can being a martyr.”
They stared at each other a moment. Griffin was the first to laugh, but Finley wasn’t far behind. They lapsed into comfortable silence that lasted about a minute.
Griffin cleared his throat. “Fin, I know this isn’t exactly the best time for this, but I want you to know that I respect you. I don’t want to ever pressure you into doing anything—”
“Oh, my Lord, are you talking about sex?” Her voice dropped from a surprised outburst to a whisper on the last word.
She thought maybe he flushed, but it was hard to tell. “Well, yes.”
“Griffin, we don’t need to discuss this.” Especially not at that moment!
“It’s just that our relationship has changed and I can’t seem to stop thinking about kissing you…I want you, Finley.”
Her throat was dry and her knees trembled. “I want—” She whipped her head to her left. “Did you hear that?”
“Turn off your torch,” Griffin whispered as his own went dark.
Finley did as instructed, just seconds before he pushed her gently into the shadows. Her back came up against the rough wall, but her steel corset protected her clothing and skin. Griffin was pressed against her from chest to toe. The sweet, vaguely spicy scent of him enveloped her, but she kept her ears sharp.
There it was again—the sound of a heavy door opening and closing. Was that the ting of metal on metal that came next?
Griffin was little more than a shadow despite their closeness. She felt him turn his head toward her, felt the brush of his hair against her temple as he lowered his head to whisper against her ear, “Automatons. Garibaldi’s close. I can feel it.”
Finley shivered—and it wasn’t because of Garibaldi. She nodded, knowing Griffin could feel the gesture against his cheek. They would have to rally the others, but not until they were certain they could do so without alerting the machines of their presence. They had no idea if Garibaldi had human assistants, as well.
Griffin’s breath brushed warmly against her neck. Her heart hammered hard against her ribs. Her hand— the one not holding a torch—came up to rest on his back, which was lean and firm beneath his coat.
His hand curved around her hip as his lips touched her jaw. Finley turned her head, her fingers bunching the back of his coat in an effort to keep her knees from giving out.
Their lips touched—just a faint whisper. A tease, really.
“Sam and Emily,” she murmured, a reminder to them both.
Griffin’s forehead rested against hers. “I know. But we’re going to continue this later.”
“That had better be a promise.”
He chuckled, a husky sound that brushed against her cheek. “Oh, it is.”
Holding hands, they pressed their backs to the wall and slowly sidestepped forward until they reached a turn in the track.
Finley peered around the corner. There was more light here—mostly because of the hulking monstrosity before her.
It looked like no train engine she’d ever seen, but that was exactly what it was. It was a huge automaton that looked like a kneeling child. Its “legs” and “hands” had opened to reveal train wheels, which rested on the track. She recognized it as a modified “docker”—an automaton used to load large cargo onto ships in port.
That had to be how they managed to abandon their previous lair so quickly and completely. This thing loaded everything into the cars and then transformed into the engine. It was genius, really.
And slightly terrifying.
“How do we get around that thing?” she whispered.
Griffin took a peek of his own. “Manual shut-down lever in its chest.”
How did he know these things? He was a duke, he shouldn’t know about labor machines.
“Right. I’ve got it.”
His fingers closed around her arm before she could leave. “If you can approach from above, its sensors shouldn’t detect you.”
Of course. Nothing was ever as simple as just walking up to a thing and doing what needed to be done. Sighing, Finley reached up and found a crevice in the wall. She pulled herself up and climbed as high as she could. Fortunately, the tunnel had been pitted and scarred from years of use and vandalism, so it wasn’t all that difficult for her to make her way to the docker.
There were lights on in the cars, especially the last one. She caught a glimpse of Emily through the window. Damnation, was that Sam on the surgical table? And what the hell was that thing? A mechanical spider with a doll’s head? That was so very, very wrong.
Tearing her gaze away from the abomination, Finley maneuvered herself so she could drop right down onto the docker. Its metal had long ago lost its sheen, and the rough surface gave her thick-soled boots enough traction for her to climb down to its shoulders. From there, she draped herself forward, toward the panel in the center of its chest.
Once she was within reach, she wasted no time popping the panel and pulling the lever. Hesitation was not something one did when dealing with a machine this big. The faint glow in its eyes faded as its power cells shut down.
Finley dropped to the track between the huge machine’s knees. Griffin joined her seconds later. “Brilliant,” he praised with a kiss on the forehead. His voice remained a whisper. “I sent word to the others. They’ll meet us here. None of them are very far off.”
They kept out of sight from the cars. While they waited, Finley watched as Griffin took from his pocket a small device that looked like a small metal matchbox. It made a low whispering noise that was positively eerie.
He caught her watching. “Aetheric frequency disruptor. It will mask my Aetheric signature so that Garibaldi won’t sense me coming.”
“He can do that?”
“Given that he found me in New York I’m going to assume that, yes, he can. I could probably find his if I had the luxury of time to look.”
