Unpopular Science

Chapter 36

Remo watched the first display as if it were the Fourth of July—great clouds of paper appeared and disintegrated instantly. He also saw the effect it had on the falling objects. They slowed greatly. Then came three parachutes, which slowed the devices more but still dropped them to the earth hard. The tapered lower ends were lengthy enough to, penetrate the earth before deforming into an accordion of crumpled metal, further cushioning the impact

Remo was moving fast, hoping Chiun had the same idea he did since there wasn’t exactly time to discuss it. That idea was to move in fast and take out these amazing mechanical mothers before they got a chance to user their proton-ray thingamajigs.

Chiun was right beside him as he drifted across the grounds at inhuman speed, like a pursuing wraith, and used the flat of one foot to knock the cylinder off its pedestal before it was even fully settled. The impact was greater than Remo had counted on. Whatever the cylinder was made of, it was tough stuff.

Instead of wrenching off the base, the base bent and the cylinder slammed into the ground broadside. An eight-foot panel ejected from the cylinder on small explosive puffs and revealed the contents.

“Whaddaya know, Ironhand lives again,” Remo said, snatching the metal door panel out of the air. The metal had a strange lightness to it, as well as incredible heat from the friction of the descent. He began vibrating his fingers, not allowing them to contact the metal long enough to absorb the great heat.

Ironhand threw its arms into the air as Remo brought the metal panel down. It was a fast move, but not fast enough. Remo turned the panel and slipped it past the robot arms, cutting deep into the chest cavity. Remo didn’t know why, but he felt this was where he needed to create damage to prevent the debilitating proton discharge.

Ironhand scissored its legs and launched itself to its feet with the corner of the panel imbedded deep in its chest. It stepped out of the cylinder with a skip of its feet.

“You look like Tobor the Great playing hopscotch,” Remo said, slipping up alongside the mass of metal. Ironhand struck at Remo fast. Very, very fast.

“New arms, I see. Very shiny.” Remo held one and twisted it at the shoulder socket. And he kept twisting.

“Learned a thing or two about dealing with your type,” Remo said, easily stepping under the blow Ironhand sent at him with its free arm. “First of all, you guys broadcast your moves worse than professional wrestlers. Also, you may be shiny but you’re not too bright.” At that moment, Remo steered Ironhand’s free arm into its face and wiggled the hand so fast it made gray smoke.

When he let go, Ironhand’s fingers were ultrasonically welded to its face. The robot began rotating its torso rapidly in both directions, trying to free it. “I gotta hand it to ya,” Remo said, yanking off the other arm and slamming it into the chest of the robot “Get it? Well, do you?”

The chest panel dropped off. Remo reached in and yanked out a chunk of quarter-inch-thick steel plating, then several other pieces until he had the guts of the robot exposed.

What’s a proton emitter supposed to even look like? Because there were lots of different gizmos mounted inside the mechanical man and Remo couldn’t begin guessing what any of them were for. But he knew he had to find out quick. Ironhand was like a landed fish, flopping around trying to get its hand freed, which forced Remo to weave and bob as he began yanking out parts.

There was a flash of electricity as something shorted out and Ironhand came to an abrupt halt. Remo could feel the surge of electricity coursing through the man machine, then draining away abruptly. Ironhand was out of power.

Something started up, something whirred, and Remo was abruptly cast into a pit of lifeless blindness. Ironhand was recharging itself, and Remo Williams’s senses were cast into a void.

He thrust out his arms as he collapsed onto his knees and felt his hands come in contact with something that burned and froze and began sucking out his own existence, like a chain from Hell tugging on his soul. Had his fingers closed on the thing itself, the proton emitter? Did he feel Ironhand moving to strike him down? Was he even still alive?

Remo didn’t know the answer to any of these questions, but he exerted his will, or he attempted to, or he thought he did, and as blackness fought to claim him, he imagined he was wrenching the heart out of the machine man.