Adam Christopher - The Age Atomic

The workshop had two doors. One was hot to the touch and presumably led further down into the bowels of the building, to a furnace or boiler room — unlikely to be the most useful route of escape.

Which left the other door. It was wood painted green, the wood itself ancient and as solid as iron, reinforced with black iron bands. It was locked with a bolt on the outside, and when Rad banged his fists on it it was like pounding on the brick wall that surrounded it, the door carrying no vibration, no movement at all.

No, Rad couldn’t open this door. He’d have to wait until the door was opened for him. Which, according to Kane, would be soon, because the “man in the suit” was going to deliver the medicine.

Rad turned and scratched his chin, surveying the workshop as he ran that particular piece of data around his brain.

Rad eyed the stack of apparently new robot head shells on a nearby bench, and shuddered. He might have been a little less in shape that he would have liked, but he was attached to his body and he didn’t feel like switching any part of it for something made of metal.

“They’re coming… marching. Them… the red… red lights. They’re coming…”

Rad darted back to Kane’s side. His friend’s face was slick with sweat, his hair damp across his forehead, as he twisted his head from side to side, his eyes screwed up in pain. Rad placed a hand on Kane’s forehead. He was burning up.

“Hey, Kane old buddy, hang in there,” said Rad.

“Machines… it’s her… it’s her… blue… her eyes are blue… her eyes are blue… cold and fire and cold and cold… machines… blue…”

Rad raised an eyebrow. Some kind of flashback to falling through the Fissure? Wouldn’t be a surprise. He’d been between universes twice himself, and that was shock enough.

But whatever Kane was dreaming about, Rad didn’t like the way he mentioned machines.

“Easy, buddy, easy,” said Rad, his voice a whisper, his eyes flicking up to the workshop door. Come on, you spooky son of a bitch , he thought. Come on with the damn green potion .

“Soon, soon, soon, soon…”

“Soon what?”

“Soon, soon…” Kane said, and said again, faster and faster.

Rad shook his head and looked up. Maybe Kane needed the green stuff after all. “Hey! Your majesty!” he yelled. “Get your ass in here with the medicine!”

“They’re marching… the machines are marching… she’s coming… no! No!” Kane shook his head violently. Rad grabbed Kane’s head between both hands and tried to keep it still, but Kane’s strength was surprising. Rad gritted his teeth, hoping this wasn’t some kind of seizure.

“No!” Kane cried out, so loud Rad flinched. “She’s coming, her machines are coming here … she’s going to end it all… they’ll destroy everything… everything! ” Kane’s eyes snapped open, and he looked at Rad. Rad swore that he saw a light in the eyes of his friend, a distant blue and white spark dancing in his pupils, spinning like the stars, flaring like the Fissure that had once stood in the middle of the Battery.

“Soon,” said Kane, “they’re coming soon.”

“What? Who are? Kane, speak to me, buddy. What’s going to happen?”

Kane shuddered in Rad’s grip and then he blinked, licked his lips, and slumped. Rad realized that his whole body had been thrashing inside the machine.

“OK,” said the detective, sliding off the stool and pushing his fist into his open palm as he surveyed the laboratory again. Time was running out, fast. He had to get them out and find Jennifer. “Hang in there, buddy. I gotta do some thinking here.”

Kane muttered something, but when Rad looked at his friend he was asleep.

Twelve agents from Atoms for Peace had the machine at gunpoint, a dozen automatic pistols spaced evenly in a semicircle in Doctor X’s robotics laboratory. The doctor sagged inside the cage, nearly six pints of blood pooled on the cement around him. On the other side of the lab, the tall computer cabinet was covered with something red and black that was getting sticky as it dried.

Elektro stood in the middle of the circle of agents, his red eyes rolling around them, but the machine appeared to be patient. It was humming something fast and happy. The dozen agents knew they would need more than nine-millimeter ammunition to stop it.

Evelyn McHale floated into the circle of agents, one moment not there and the next there. Elektro’s eyes fixed on her blue form as the Ghost of Gotham drifted closer, and the robot stopped humming.

The Director regarded Elektro, tilting her head, her lips parted, like she was trying to read something in the machine. Elektro said nothing and remained still.

“You killed Farnsworth and Richardson,” said Evelyn, finally.

“Hi, boss,” said Elektro.

Evelyn floated to the door of the cage, but stopped just short of the threshold. She ignored the remains of Doctor X on the slab and instead seemed to be examining the edges of the cage door.

“I didn’t see this. It hadn’t happened.”

“Sorry about the mess,” said Elektro, its head spinning around to watch the Director. “But it’s OK, I’m good. I figured out where I went wrong. Third time’s the charm, right?”

“The cage. Isolation.” Evelyn floated backwards, her eyes fixed on the structure. “I understand.”

“Say, how about you and me cut a deal? Just imagine what we could do, huh? It’s enough to make the mind reel, boss. Ah, boss?”

The Director was now in front of Elektro. The robot’s head swiveled back to her as she reached out to touch the spinning red disc in the machine’s chest. Her fingers stopped an inch from the glass.

“You understand the principles of the fusor reactor?”

“More than that, lady,” said Elektro. “I got the damn thing working. Our old friend there was close but no cigar, as the saying goes. Hey, you got any cigarettes around here?”

The Director smiled and drifted backwards. “Agent Carter will give you his. Agent?”

Behind her, one of the agents twitched into life. He glanced sideways at his colleagues, then slowly lowered his weapon. He pulled a packet of Lucky Strikes from his jacket and handed them over.

“Much obliged,” said Elektro, flipping the pack open and extracting a cigarette. “Smoking’ll kill ya, but who wants to live forever, right?” His eyes flicked to Evelyn’s.

“With Doctor Farnsworth and his assistant dead, I need someone to complete work on the fusor reactors and prepare the army for war,” she said.

“Huh,” said Elektro, cigarette dangling from his metal jaw. “I can fix ‘em up but you’re gonna need a central reactor to time them all, give them a kick-start.”

“The structure is prepared. It just needs your adjustment.”

The Director smiled, and the end of Elektro’s cigarette flared blue. The robot took a drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke that went right through Evelyn’s body like it wasn’t there.

“Lady, you got yourself a deal. When do I start?”

The green door of the workshop shuddered once as it was unlocked, and swung open. In one hand the Corsair carried a tray supporting a pitcher of water and two other, smaller vessels, each containing a dark green liquid.

Rad frowned, realizing the “man in the suit” wasn’t the King. He’d hoped for an old fashioned escape — wait until the jailer arrived, then jump him. Simple, but effective. Only the jailer wasn’t the little man in the blue velvet suit, it was his robot, which Rad didn’t want to tackle. Time for plan B.

Rad stood. “About time.”

The Corsair swung the door closed and walked forward in silence. It placed the tray down on the bench nearest to the three slabs.