Adam Christopher - The Age Atomic

“You guessed right.”

Rad sighed. “I’m not sure the invite came with a plus one. And I was planning on bringing you any information I found.”

Jennifer shrugged. “Thought I’d save you the effort.”

Rad frowned and glanced back around the lip of the alley. “Damn,” he said.

Jennifer peered around his shoulder.

The robots — those with heads — were looking right at them. The sound of twelve semi-mechanical bodies jerking into motion was loud in the otherwise silent night.

Rad realized Jennifer’s appraisal of his handgun was accurate. He’d bought the thing to shoot people, not machines, and only if he was really in a squeeze. He glanced at Jennifer’s gun, the giant silver thing she still had raised up, balancing its weight like she couldn’t really lift it.

“You gonna point that thing at them or what?” Rad asked, not bothering to lower his voice.

Jennifer hissed through her teeth. “Last resort only.” She glanced towards the north, to the big building. It was hard to tell, but to Rad it looked at least three blocks away.

“We’re gonna have to run,” said Jennifer. “On three.”

The robots were slow but closing. They didn’t appear to be armed, so Rad imagined the general idea was to tear them limb from limb.

Rad and Jennifer locked eyes. Then she nodded.

“Three!”

Rad pushed at the ice-covered brick of the alley wall as he sprinted forward, away from the robots. He instinctively reached one hand behind him to grab onto Jennifer, but his hand met empty air. He half-turned and saw the robots stagger as they caught proper sight of their targets and adjusted their own course. He turned around and saw Jennifer had a good ten yards on him, the shiny leather of her knee-high black boots flashing in the low streetlight from beneath the flapping edge of her coat.

“Hey!”

Rad clenched his jaw and stepped up the pace. Jennifer Jones wasn’t going to slow for him, not at all.

He checked over his shoulder. The robots were gaining, their ramshackle, almost random movements making Rad feel ill. He turned again, focusing on outpacing the robots without slipping and breaking his neck on the icy street.

A new street appeared, ahead on the left. Rad saw a shadow move in that direction: Jennifer. He huffed and sprinted towards the corner, then almost collided with the agent’s back, only just sliding out of her way and grabbing onto her shoulder to stop himself from tripping.

Jennifer’s shoulders rose and fell as she caught her breath. Rad looked ahead, following the aim of her big gun — pointed at a large group of robots blocking the street. There were thirty, fifty, maybe more, the sound of their engines and motors and boilers and clockwork hearts and electric insides buzzing and fizzing and ticking and hissing in the night.

The robots didn’t move. Rad turned at a sound behind them. The other robots had caught up. They were boxed in, trapped on either side by a long block of brownstones, with robots between them and the intersections in front and behind.

The group of robots in front parted to let one of their own kind walk forward. It was intact, perfect, two arms and two legs and a head, the whole thing standing near to seven feet tall. It was entirely silver, like Cliff and the robots in the warehouse, its polished surfaces catching the weak streetlight well. Another upgraded model, although this one without the human disguise on top.

Jennifer trained the gun on the silver machine. The robot had a face, complete with nose and metal eyebrows. The thing’s jaw was a separate piece, square with a sharp edge. Rad’s knuckles ached in sympathy as he remembered punching a jaw not entirely dissimilar just a night ago. Only this time there was a cigarette hanging from the corner of the robot’s mouth.

“Oh, you’re in the wrong place, lady,” said the robot, slowing walking towards them, cigarette flapping as it spoke. Its voice was male and perfectly nuanced, although it echoed like it was coming out of an old radio set.

Jennifer was still, unmoving, the gun pointed at the robot. Standing at her shoulder, Rad watched a gentle ripple in the fur of her hat as it caught the air.

“Don’t come any further,” she said, and the robot stopped. It held up its arms like anyone would when someone was pointing a gun at them. Rad could have sworn the expressionless jaw was smiling.

Jennifer nodded at the robot. “You the King of 125th Street?”

The robot laughed. Rad found it unnerving.

Rad raised his gun, his finger tightening on the trigger. This was it. They’d had it.

“I hope you got a plan,” he said from the corner of his mouth.

“Plan stays the same, detective,” said Jennifer. She spoke in a loud, clear voice. At her words, Elektro lowered its arms and tilted its head. Then it took the cigarette from its mouth and flicked ash to the ground.

“Ms Jones,” said Rad, “I have no doubt of your abilities, but we seem to be surrounded by robots.” Rad waved his gun, like he was showing Jennifer around a yard of used cars. “It’s been nice working with you, if you want to call it that, but I pretty much believe our tickets are punched.”

Jennifer lowered an eye to the top of her gun. “Get ready,” she said. “I’ll clear a path. On three…”

Rad frowned, but he found himself tensing his leg muscles, ready for action. Maybe the big silver gun really was going to get them out of this.

“Funny,” said Elektro, replacing the cigarette before taking a step back and to the side. He turned his silver head to the robots crowding the street. “Time to teach these two a lesson, friends.”

The robots surged forward, so quickly a few fell and were trampled by the more able-bodied behind them. Those that still had human heads or faces leered horribly, while the metallic faceplates of those more complete machines made Rad think of the robotic sailor that had made its way from the ground to the top of the Empire State building just eighteen months ago, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.

That’s when Jennifer pulled the trigger.

Her arm jerked up with the recoil that followed the whump the gun made, like a rocket being launched. Rad felt his ears pop and his mouth filled with the taste of lemon, and there was a pressure behind his eyeballs, the kind of buzzing he’d felt when he’d visited New York. He blinked, and saw Elektro twist as the air buckled in front of it. There was no flash or explosion, but it hurt to watch, like staring into the midday sun.

Elektro screamed, the sound an echoing, electronic screech as the robot vanished, leaving nothing but a single silver arm to fall to the ground, smoking cigarette in situ between two metal fingers. The other robots came to a halt, some sliding on the ice, the circle around Rad and Jennifer now small and tight, unmoving.

Blue smoke curled from the end of Jennifer’s gun as she held it aloft, barrel skywards. She was breathing hard. Rad glanced around, his own weapon seeming terribly small.

Jennifer didn’t move. Rad looked at her, and saw her eyes glance left and right, her throat moving as she swallowed. Rad had a sinking feeling.

“You going to shoot some more robots?”

Jennifer didn’t look at Rad. She adjusted her grip on the gun. “It needs time to recharge.”

Rad pursed his lips. “I guess that’s a no then.” One of the robots had moved forward and was examining the single remaining limb of their leader. The machine pivoted awkwardly at the waist and picked up the arm, then rotated its square head in their direction. “I think you pissed them off.”

Jennifer lowered the gun and looked over her shoulder, like she was searching for a way out that wasn’t there.