The Age Atomic

FORTY-EIGHT

Mr Grieves led Rad, Jennifer, and the small group of agents through the police cordon on Lexington Avenue with barely a pause, only Jennifer sparking any interest from cops and onlookers alike.

“Doesn’t look like there’s a Cloud Club for us to visit anymore,” said Grieves, pointing to the broken cap of the Chrysler Building.

The group came to a halt. It was carnage as they got closer, and Rad couldn’t even tell whether they were standing on the street or the sidewalk. Rubble the size of cars formed a maze around them, the air thick with dust and smoke. There were fires, too; Rad could feel the heat on his face from smoking piles of stone and metal, some lit from within by glowing red and orange.

“Come on,” said Rad. “Let’s find out what happened.”

They continued, the smoke and dust getting thicker the closer they got.

“Here!” Jennifer was ahead, apparently impervious to the acrid tang in the air. Rad squinted, and saw her golden face bobbing as she waved back at the group.

The rubble changed suddenly, and Rad realized they were on the other side of the building. Ahead, smoke rose from the shattered shell of Grand Central. Here there was stone and dull metal but glass and steel too, brilliant and electric, untarnished from its fall from the crown of the building — and a twisted framework, black and burnt, of something else.

Rad swore and leapt over the nearest pile of rubble. His coat sliced open as the tail caught on an Art Deco sliver from the roof of the building.

“What is it?” Grieves called from close behind.

Rad reached Jennifer just as she pulled a hulking panel to the side, revealing a large box-like structure with a conical front, the nose crushed. Rad realized with a start it was the front of the Nimrod, flight deck and all, separated and thrown from the primary crash site.

Rad and Jennifer paused, looking at each other. Then Rad turned back to the wreckage. “Carson?”

They began digging into the debris, pulling, bending the remains of the downed airship aside as they fought to get into the detached flight deck. Finally an open hatchway was cleared. Jennifer didn’t pause as she stepped in, Rad following her into the dark interior.

The flight deck was unrecognizable. It was merely a space, bent metal walls enclosing an obstacle course of twisted metal, wires, and shards of stone, steel and glass.

“Here!” Jennifer called from a few steps ahead, and she stepped back so the others could see. Rad swore again and rushed forward to help.

Under a cradle of riveted metal frames was a figure, kneeling on the floor, his body hunched over, protecting something. Jennifer yanked the heaviest pieces of debris away, and the figure rose up on its knees.

“Kane!” Rad pulled at his shoulder, and the figure uncurled. The Skyguard’s suit was battered and scraped, but it was intact.

The figure turned its head and Rad paused, unsure. The figure shook its head, and when it spoke it was with a different voice.

“Kane is safe, Mr Bradley. I am looking after him.”

Rad’s eyes went wide. “Byron?” But his train of thought was interrupted by coughing from the floor, long and labored, followed by a wheezy intake of breath.

“My dear detective, I am so very glad you made it.”

“Carson!” said Rad. He reached forward, then stopped, wondering whether he should touch him.

Captain Carson was on the floor, his great white beard matted with blood that looked too bright, too arterial. He smiled and the beard moved; then he coughed again and put a hand to his chest. His eye patch had been torn off, and set into the socket Rad saw what looked like a miniature camera lens.

The Captain closed his eyes and sighed, and in desperation Rad looked at Byron.

“What the hell happened?”

The Captain answered from the floor, his eye still closed, his voice quiet but strong enough. “I decided we should follow you. The Empire State was collapsing, and while I had utmost faith in your abilities, I felt it would be something of a waste if you were to encounter unforeseen circumstances only to have myself and Byron trapped, unable to provide any assistance.”

Carson coughed, and Rad’s eyes were drawn to the blood that covered his body. He turned back to Byron. “How badly is he hurt?”

“I fear I am unable to answer, sir.” Rad winced as the voice that didn’t belong to Kane came from somewhere inside the suit. “I believe I shielded him from the worst, but there was some violence to our collision with the building.”

“You took the top right off it,” said Jennifer. “It’s a scene out there, that’s for sure.”

“What happened?” asked Rad.

“We were Shanghaied, my dear detective,” said Carson from the floor.

Jennifer shook her head. “What?”

Carson opened his eye and fixed it on Jennifer. Rad watched the camera lens in the other socket rotate, focusing.

“Bushwhacked. Ambushed. Hijacked! We had a stowaway…” Carson collapsed into a fit of coughing.

Rad frowned. Carson needed help. He looked over his shoulder at Grieves and the agents, but Grieves was already on his feet, turning to his men.

“Get this man out and to the ambulances by the police cordon. Move.”

The agents moved in, and Rad gently pulled Byron to one side.

Jennifer looked at Rad, and Rad thought he could see her blink deep within the eyeholes of the golden mask. She turned to Byron. “A stowaway made you crash?”

Byron inclined his head.

Rad looked around. “He must be buried under this lot somewhere.” The stowaway’s chances didn’t look good.

“It was the robot commander, the one who called himself the King of 125th Street,” said Byron.

Jennifer jumped like she’d been given an electric shock. She whirled on Rad, the tails of her long coat flying.

“James,” she said, breathlessly. “James is here. He came through.”

Rad grabbed hold of Jennifer’s arm. “I don’t like to say it but I’m not sure he would have made it. Look at this. It’s a miracle that the Captain and Byron got out like they did.”

“Rad!”

The call came from outside the wreck. Rad and Jennifer looked at each other and raced to the exit, Byron close behind.

Mr Grieves was kneeling beside some torn debris that matched the metalwork of the crashed airship, his three agents carefully making their way towards the police cordon with Captain Carson carried between them.

Rad dropped to his knee, Jennifer by his side.

“What is it?” she asked.

Rad peered at the ground, then looked at her, his expression set. “Looks like… blood?”

“No,” she said as she trailed her gloved fingers in the substance. “Machine oil. Lubricant. From a robot.”

“There is more here,” said Byron. The trio moved, and Rad quickly caught sight of the oily spatter that formed a trail through the rubble, towards the husk of the Chrysler Building.

Rad and Grieves exchanged a look.

“He’s gone inside,” said Rad.

“If you’re going to say we need to follow the trail, I’m not sure the building meets city regulations right at the moment,” said Grieves. Rad stared at the man for a moment, then turned around.

But Jennifer had already left, walking at pace towards the shattered entrance.

“Yeah,” said Rad. “Good luck with that. Come on.”

Rad turned and jogged after Jennifer. After a moment, he heard Grieves follow.