Adam Christopher - The Age Atomic

Rad blinked as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. The glow, blue and white and alive, was coming from what looked like a furnace or boiler. Set against the far wall, it was large and square, taller than Rad, with a fat black chimney that vanished into the ceiling. There were gauges and dials and controls, a couple of large wheels and several smaller ones. It was industrial, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for the light. The furnace had a door, convex and square, with a large sprung handle, horizontal across the front, that was almost the size of Rad’s forearm. The door had a window, and through the window shone the light.

Rad felt ill, partly because of the effects of the unusual light — an effect he hadn’t experienced in more than a year, a sensation long forgotten but suddenly, instantly familiar the second he was exposed to the source — and partly due to the realization that the King was telling the truth about the Fissure. And if that was the case, then chances were he was telling the truth about the rest of it. Where this left the mysterious disappearance of Special Agent Jennifer Jones — a woman the King now claimed never to have met — Rad wasn’t sure, but he was sure the conversation was about to come around to that topic.

“What the hell have you done?” asked Rad, raising his arm in front of his face as he approached the furnace. The heat from the window was intense but just bearable — like sitting too close to an open fire — even though the door was closed. Rad didn’t remember any heat from the Fissure when it had been in situ down in the Battery, but things were clearly different here. “I thought you said the Fissure was inside Kane.”

The King nodded. “He is the Fissure now, at least part of him. With Mr Fortuna in the machine out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the workshop, “I can channel the power of the Fissure in here, allowing me all the energy I need for my work.”

Rad shook his head. “What about the city?” he said. He waved at the walls of the basement, indicating everything, the totality of the pocket dimension. “Without the Fissure we’re all dead — the city needs the energy. The whole place is breaking up. You must know that.”

As if to emphasize Rad’s point, the floor shook and the pipes on the furnace rattled. The tremors were certainly stronger here, in the north.

The King stuffed his hands into his pockets and smiled.

“We will survive,” he said.

“Robots, isn’t it?” Rad took a step closer. “You’re going to turn everyone into robots. Then it won’t matter how cold it gets.”

“You misunderstand, Mr Bradley. There is a greater danger approaching the city. One that will destroy us, if we do not act.”

“Greater danger than freezing up or shaking to pieces?”

“Kane has a unique perspective. His connection to the Fissure allows him to… see things. The future, perhaps.”

Rad thought back to Kane’s feverish dream. He also thought back to the green liquid he was being fed. “You sure your drugs aren’t making him hallucinate?”

The King laughed, the sound explosive. “Kane has seen them coming. Don’t you get it, detective? He can see the future, and the future is nothing but an army marching towards us. An army of machines, of atomic soldiers.”

Rad scratched his head. The King sounded delusional, paranoid — if it wasn’t for the fact he’d heard Kane talking in his sleep. “A machine army? You mean robots, right?”

The King tapped Rad on the lapel. “Got it in one.” He was still smiling, like Kane’s apocalyptic vision was nothing at all. Rad frowned.

“Robots from where?”

The King stepped up to the furnace, and almost pressed his face up to the glass of the door. It must have been terribly hot, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Where do you think, detective?”

“New York?” Rad’s eyes widened. The robots hidden in the warehouse, and the King’s little enterprise suddenly made sense. “You mean to tell me a robot army is on the way here, and you’re building your own to defend the city? Based on something Kane saw in a dream?”

The King was staring into the window of the furnace. He didn’t answer.

Rad took a step forward. “Ah… hello?” The King didn’t move. Rad sighed and weighed his options. He paced the small room, processing this new information. Finally he came to a decision. He walked up to the King and addressed his back. “You going to let us go?”

The King said nothing.

“You going to tell me where Jennifer Jones is?”

Nothing. The King was stationary, staring at the door of the furnace. Rad leaned over, looking at the King’s face, and saw it was frozen, the man staring blankly into the blue light.

“Hey, anyone home?” Rad reached out to nudge the King’s shoulder, but somehow he didn’t want to risk it. The man wasn’t even blinking.

A cry echoed from elsewhere, back down the corridor.

Kane.

Rad swore under his breath.

“Play your games, your majesty, whatever the hell you like. We’re out of here.”

He turned to leave and felt a hand on his shoulder. He pulled against it, then cried out in pain as the King’s fingers bit into his collarbone through the thin fabric of his shirt. Rad instinctively dropped, trying to ease the pressure and slide out from under the King’s hand, but the King was faster. His other hand grabbed Rad’s upper arm and pulled him around.

Rad’s feet were yanked out from under him as the King — a man half his size and twice his age — threw Rad halfway across the basement. Rad hit a stack of packing crates, splitting the wood and spilling the straw from within, but he recovered quickly and rolled to one side, ignoring the pain in his back from where he’d landed on the gun tucked into his waistband. Pulling himself to his feet, he swung around, fists raised, years of experience automatically preparing him for a brawl.

“What in the hell?” Rad shook his head. The King walked towards him, slowly, calmly, his hands in the pockets of his blue velvet suit, like he’d never laid a finger on Rad.

“You cannot leave, Rad Bradley. Kane Fortuna is important. Kane Fortuna is the key.”

Rad flexed his fingers, his mind racing. He had the gun but shooting an old man — even one as remarkably strong as the King — seemed a little over the top. He realized he’d have to lead with his left, considering his right was still sore from its little meeting with Cliff’s metal face.

Rad lunged, teeth gritted, eyes fixed on his target. In that second before his fist was thrown forward, he actually enjoyed the sensation. This took him back. It occurred to him that he didn’t do as much punching as he used to, and rightly or wrongly, when he was younger that was the part of the job he enjoyed.

Rad’s left fist connected with the King’s cheek, and there was a crack. Rad felt two of his knuckles slide out of position with a nauseating tug before snapping back. The King rocked slightly on his feet, but was otherwise unaffected by Rad’s attack. Rad cried out in pain, praying that his hand wasn’t broken, and reeled back towards the door.

The King smiled, and Rad saw his punch had done something. At the corner of the King’s mouth, the pale flesh of his face split, revealing something silver and bright beneath.

Rad backed away, shaking his fist. He moved the fingers, and they all still worked; he’d been lucky. He’d just put his fist into a metal face for the second time in a few days.

The robot King of 125th Street smiled, and stepped towards the detective.

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Rad. He reached behind his back and pulled out the gun, and when he pointed at the King the man stopped and looked at it. Then he laughed.