Adam Christopher - The Age Atomic

“Three…two…”

She turned back to watch. Hall felt the tears pooling inside his goggles.

“One!”

There was nothing for a second, and then the test rig — Swinburne Island itself — vanished into a featureless white light. The staff around Hall flinched, some even looking away as others, despite the goggles, raised their arms in front of their faces to shield themselves from the brilliant intensity. Hall’s eyes were wide, as was his jaw, as he watched. He’d seen atomic tests — most people under the marquee had — so he knew what to expect: the flash, the roar, the pressure wave, the heat, and then the spectacle of the expanding spherical cloud that would evaporate in seconds as the famous mushroom cloud of death slowly rolled skywards.

This… this was different. The flash of light was brighter, but the explosion was quieter, the pressure wave not so intense. Standing in the light, the Director was suddenly a person, her skin pale but alive, her clothes no longer monochrome but blue and green, her scarf white. She was wearing make-up: the lipstick a bright red, matching the nail polish on her hands. The blue halo was gone, and for a second it looked like she was standing on the ground, not floating above it.

Hall turned back to the test. The white light faded, replaced by rolling oranges and reds as the explosion cloud collapsed and a column of smoke rose directly upwards. As Hall watched, he saw lightning flicker within the column, arcs shooting both up and down. Of the other artificial island in Lower New York Bay, there was no sign.

Through his goggles he could see the blue glow of the Director beside him; she was as she was before — not a woman, but a ghost and a god.

Then the pressure wave arrived, and Hall didn’t see anything else for a while.

When Rad opened his eyes, all he saw was green.

He sat up with a yell and rubbed his eyes, but the green was still there. He ran his hands over the ground beneath him: it was smooth, like glass, a little wet under his fingertips, and very cold. Ice. It was a dark night. He was outside. The King’s magic lantern was back on.

He shook his head and looked around. He was lying in a narrow alley in Harlem, and there was a man standing in front of him, wearing a tight, leathery coverall. A helmeted head tilted as the man regarded Rad on the alley floor.

Rad swore and pushed himself backwards until he hit something soft. He turned, sliding on his backside, and saw the prone form of Jennifer Jones lying next to him on the sidewalk, up against the wall.

Rad spun back around, and tried to replay the last few minutes. He remembered the light, he remembered Kane getting out of the box, and then…

He looked up at the man standing over him wearing the leather base of the Skyguard’s suit — without the armor plate, or cloak. The Corsair must have been wearing it underneath the chauffeur's uniform.

“That better be Kane Fortuna in there.”

The man waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, that guy?” he said, and then he laughed.

Rad raised an eyebrow, and returned his attention to Jennifer. In the green light her form was completely grey. “What happened?”

“I got you out of there, didn’t I?”

Rad frowned as he reached forward. He dug around Jennifer’s collar and found the pulse on her neck, which was going just fine, although her skin felt cold. As he pulled away, his fingers brushed the edge of her metal face, and he hesitated.

“I found some things in the theater that I really think we need to talk about,” he said.

“We need to get moving first.”

Rad nodded and pushed himself to his feet. He was a little unsteady and the ground was treacherously slick, but he balanced himself against the brick wall with one hand.

“So you gonna tell me what happened? You got the suit off that guy. Where is he?”

Kane turned away and began pacing the alleyway. “Trust me, I dealt with him and I got us out.”

“Hey, you didn’t…”

Kane stopped pacing and turned around, hands on hips. His face was completely hidden behind the black metal mask, which Rad didn’t like. He didn’t feel like conducting such an important conversation through a piece of metal.

“Kill him?” asked Kane, and then he waved his hand again, a casual dismissal of a joke over a drink. “We can pick him up later, once we get more agents back here. First up, we need to get downtown.”

Rad looked Kane up and down. “You seem to be OK.”

Kane nodded, still pacing, restless. “It’s the suit. It’s even better than the machine. If anything, it was the machine that was making me sick. Draining off the power of the Fissure.”

“Not to mention the sweet little something they were feeding you.”

At this Kane stopped again, looked at Rad. “Some kind of drug? A sedative?”

Rad nodded. “Dope of some kind, could be. Keep you docile, cooperative. The fever and delirium are probably just side effects. Maybe he thought if you knew the power you had inside you, you would have caused problems. You could just have blown yourself out, without my help.” Rad looked around, at the walls of the alley and the buildings around them. They were at the side of the theater; looking up, silhouetted against the sky, he could see the branches of the King’s lucky tree as they stretched up through the roof at the back of the theater. The tree was in full leaf, untouched by the winter outside.

“Huh,” he said.

“What?”

“The tree. The King said it brought luck. Seems he was right.” Rad turned back to Kane. “So… suit working OK?”

Kane laughed, then placed both hands on his chin. Using his thumbs for leverage, he lifted the edge of the mask. Immediately a brilliant white-blue light shone out, forcing Rad to look away, shielding his face with his hands.

“Neat,” he said. “We’re gonna have to figure out how to get all that back where it should be and get the city plugged in again.”

“First things first,” said Kane.

Rad nodded and looked down at Jennifer just as she groaned. For a moment it sounded like the mechanical voice of a robot, but then she mumbled something and it was her, albeit muffled behind her golden mask. Rad offered his hand.

“You OK, agent?”

Jennifer pulled herself up, and dusted her coat down. As Rad watched, her hands went to her face, and she trailed her gloved fingertips over the contours of the mask. Then she nodded, and looked at Kane. “Where’s the Corsair?”

“He’s fine,” said Kane. “Secure. The police can collect him.”

Jennifer took a step forward. “No! We’re going back to get him. Now.”

Rad reached out for her arm, but she shook him off and spun around. Rad jerked back from the mask. “She’s right,” he said. “We should bring him in now, not wait.”

“And what about the robots, Rad? This whole place is crawling with them.”

Rad shook his head. “We’re safe out here so long as the green light is on.” He pointed, and immediately the green light went out, leaving the alley in darkness.

Kane sighed. “You were saying?”

There was a sound from the other end of the alley, from 125th Street itself — a shuffling, metallic, meshed with the organic rustling of ordinary people. The robots were moving.

“There,” said Jennifer, pointing. Rad turned and saw long shadows dancing on the street, thrown from around the corner of the alley. Lots of shapes, people — robots — moving in their direction.

“Kane, can you fly in the suit?”

Kane shook his head. “No. Jets are all missing. Whole system has been stripped out.”

“You got anything that can hold them back?”

“Not sure.” Kane examined the watch-like panel on his wrist.