Steamrolled (37 page)

Robert didn’t either, but this seemed like a bad time to admit it.

“You don’t launch a frontal attack against an enemy that is bigger and stronger than you.”

“So steampunk is a military strategy?” the Belle asked, lingering in mulish, but still trying to flirt.

“It is a strategy,” Robert agreed, suppressing a flinch. She really needed to look in a mirror. She’d passed scary a long time ago. “A plan.”

Yeah, plan sounded better, even though it wasn’t close to a plan yet. It was more of a hope and prayer. Whatever he called it, they weren’t going to like it. It was his plan and he didn’t like it.

* * * *

The cutters blades snapped together—and the automaton index finger sagged.

Emily sagged. Tried to breath. It wasn’t as good as it should have been, on account of the broken ribs—that began to feel better. She breathed in some more, cautiously at first. She breathed out, more boldly this time.

That is seriously cool. The fixing the pain thing, I mean.

You are welcome.

It almost felt like they blushed, which was sweet and felt weird, but didn’t get her hips clear of the still tightening pinkie grip. If she got away, she’d need her legs, so time to save them now. Easier to move with her shoulders free and easier to see. But stability was a problem since the automaton continued its teeth-jolting walk, seemingly unaware he’d lost the use of a finger.

She hooked her arm around the loosened finger, and then applied her Wonder Wrench 2000 to the pinkie bolt. It took less time, which was good because her legs were running out of it. It seemed pain could almost make one pass out, too. Through a fog of it, she felt her way to the cables and snipped. The pinkie relaxed. No warning or time to react before she slid down to thump onto the cobblestone street in a less than dignified heap of relief. Felt the nanites rush in to help that pain. Kind of embarrassing having them working on her butt. Her first instinct was to go anywhere the automaton wasn’t, but a caution from the nanites had her freezing instead.

Wait. He might have motion-sensing capability.

All the best automatons probably did. Not that she thought he was the best when he’d been outsmarted by a girl with a Wonder Wrench and some wire cutters. It continued its plodding, knuckle dragging—and ground shaking—progress down the street, which seemed to confirm her conviction it wasn’t the best.

Try it now, but slowly.

She could do slow, since her legs and head depended on it and she didn’t feel speedy anyway, despite the nanite first aid. She eased toward the minimal cover of the tenement stoop with a real, though thankfully not painful, sigh of relief. In the minus column, she was lost in this version of New York, separated from Robert-oh-my-darling, who believed she’d been captured by an automaton and she’d missed the airship ride.

But you are free.

She looked around again. Free didn’t look as good as it should have, but it beat having her head cut open and getting turned into a mindless zombie. Or having said head popped off by automaton squeezing, so yeah, had to put in plus column, though with an asterisk.

Perhaps we can find Robert-oh-my-darling?

He doesn’t know I’m free.
Now that the automaton was getting further away, she heard the chug of the airship. She looked up, and saw an airship pass from sight behind the buildings, but was it the right airship? They moved slower than a geriatric with a walker, but that didn’t make it
her
airship.

Robert-oh-my-darling will follow the automaton if the motley crew will let him.

Emily could tell the difference in the two voices in her head, which was kind of cool, kind of weird. They had a point about the motley crew, though she knew, in her heart, Robert would find a way to follow that automaton.

Maybe I should follow the automaton, too.
She knew she sounded unenthusiastic about it. He was already almost out of sight, and even moving slow, he could cover like twenty times more ground than she could, and the airship could go over buildings she had to go around. The automaton might be heading the same direction as the airship that may or may not hold Robert–oh—she cut that off. If she didn’t quit thinking it, she was going to say it. If she ever caught up with him again. She had to sigh. While she knew she’d needed to bail on the automaton before her head or legs popped off, it was a pity to lose two rides in like, five minutes. Even shrinking like it was this—whatever the place was—it wasn’t that small.

A flash of violet and green made her blink. When she’d unblinked, two men stood in the middle of the street. One of them could have been Cheech Marin’s really heavy second cousin and the other was pretty except his eyes were too close together.

The nanites felt like they growled inside her head.
Maybe they won’t see you.

If they could have spat the words, they would have. The two men staggered, steadied, gathered the rags of their self-importance up, and then looked around with both shock and rising outrage.

Emily hoped she was wrong, but she had a feeling they were going to be a problem. Not her problem though, she reminded herself, with a slight pang of guilt that wasn’t echoed by the nanites. If not-Colonial hadn’t helped them, they’d already be zombies, so maybe she should warn them, but that was all she could do for them.

Those two can take care of themselves.

She could admit to a bit of surprise that they didn’t want to help the pair. As if the nanite hope caught the men’s attention—something not uncommon with the self-important—both of them spotted her. Cheech’s cousin puffed up. Pretty-but-for-the-eyes arched his brows imperiously, which deleted pretty. Nothing could help Cheech’s cousin’s look good, but puffing was a bad choice, since he wasn’t on the light side before the puff. She had a feeling they were well on their way to being a new pain in her tush, one the nanites wouldn’t be able to soothe away.

“Where am I? Why are you hiding?

“I demand to speak to whoever is in charge.”

Oh yeah, they were going to be a problem.

Emily peeked at the automaton. He looked far enough away, but if these two were going to attract attention, she didn’t want to be part of it.

“I wouldn’t cause a ruckus if I were you.”

Cheech’s cousin’s brows rose in supercilious disdain, which seemed contraindicated, but somehow wasn’t.

She pointed at the automaton. Now his eyes widened in real shock and maybe a little fear. Hard to say, because important still ruled. Pretty-but-flawed kept his cool, though his pupils dilated.

“What is it?”

“An automaton.” An airship growled closer. The rising sun didn’t help the whole hiding thing. Emily shrank back into receding shadow. Both of them—
Carig
and Glarmere
the nanites supplied, though the names meant nothing to her, and apparently a whole lot to them, none of it good—looked up and flinched back from the sight of it.

“What—” He stopped, perhaps not sure what to ask.

“Airship.” They never learned not to ask. And probably too old to learn not to now.

The shadow of it tracked across the street in front of the two men, then passed from sight again. The automaton was out of sight, too. Time for her to vacate the area before the ship sent something nasty this way. And before the evil overlord realized she’d de-fingered his automaton. She jumped up, and started down the street at as brisk of a jog as she could manage—which was actually brisker than her usual, possibly thanks to the nanites. She turned a corner in the opposite direction of the airship, but trending toward the automation, because technically she was following it, though she hadn’t wholly committed to that plan. She became aware of two sets of footsteps padded after her.
I shouldn’t have made eye contact with them. They follow you home when you make eye contact.
Blynken snickered. Emily stopped and turned to face the two men.

“I don’t know where we are or why we are here or how to leave or who sent you here or me here or much of anything. I can’t take you to who is in charge and you shouldn’t want to be taken to who is in charge because bad things will happen to you. Now shoo.”

Glarmere’s brows pulled together, which made his eyes even closer together. “We know who sent us here.”

Emily’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Who could be important, though she couldn’t actually see how at the moment. It was important in the movies when dealing with the evil and overlordish, however. It could matter to Robert. Not that she could see that how either, but could admit it could be so. Glarmere’s obvious satisfaction at her hesitation was annoying, but this was not the time to be petty.

Petty is fine with us. We are sure it would be fine with Robert, too.

Knowing who might be important.

Don’t trust them. They have never known anything important.

They had a point.
No one could trust those two.

“We will, of course not share that information until you tell us—” Carig stopped, perhaps realizing Emily had already told them she didn’t know anything. Or he didn’t know what to demand.

“Where are you going?” Glarmere asked the question, either because he wanted to know what to demand in return or how to divert attention from the failed negotiation.

Probably both.

The nanites grumbled inside her like soft snoring, or distant thunder.

The question was innocuous, but Emily already knew not to tell them anything important, in case they got captured and turned into spill-their-guts-and-secrets zombies. “That would be none of your business.” Emily said it as friendly a tone as she could manage, so it took them a minute to process what she’d said. She could almost hear their mental gears grinding.
Not the brightest bulbs on…whatever this is.

“It is if we accompany you.” Carig arched a brow and might have tried to look encouraging. It didn’t work.

“Don’t remember inviting you.” Emily turned and resumed walking, aware the two men followed. Their steps sped up just enough so they could flank her. Oddly, she felt unthreatened by the move.
I could take them both.

Yes, you could.

You’ve been helping me.
It made sense. One didn’t catch extreme ninja-ness like a cold.

Maybe.

It’s all right, in fact, way cool.

“You will need us if Faustus is here,” Carig said.

Glarmere stopped and glared at him. Emily stopped, too.

“Faustus. Right.” She started walking again.
You were right about those two. Beyond lame.

“You don’t believe us?” Glarmere’s face flooded with red. It didn’t go with the squinty eyes.

“Faustus,
Doctor Faustus,
is a fictional character from a play. One that I admit I haven’t actually seen, but I’ve read it, well, read the Cliff notes about it. And I can tell you with complete certainty that no mother would name her kid after a guy who sells his soul to the devil to get power and crap. At least, I think that’s what he wanted, though it seems totally whacked, but naming him Faustus would be like naming him evil overlord.”

The two men looked at each other like they were having an aha moment. Though on them, it was more like an a-whimper moment.

“That’s not possible. The Time Council rigorously investigates all candidates for the Council.”

“Any twelve-year-old with a computer can set up a fake ID, though you must be from outer space not to know—”

Actually, they are from outer space, Em. From another galaxy. As are we.

It was almost enough to jerk a question out of her, though not a good one. Not that there could be a good answer to any question at the moment, not with time councils and other galaxies added to mix that was already messed.

“He had access to the most powerful computer in three galaxies,” Glarmere said.

“He would have needed help from someone on the inside,” Carig protested. “Who would help him?”

“The only two we know didn’t help him are you and I.” Glarmere sounded grim enough to almost be taken seriously, until he turned to Emily and said, “We must leave this place immediately. All of time is at risk.”

Emily almost had to ask a question, but she knew the answer. They had to be delusional. And almost too stupid to live. “I’ve managed to lose two rides today. Can’t help you.”

Robert-oh-my-darling might be able to help. He is very smart.

Well, when we find him I’ll let him know about the time problem, but right now we need to find a way to warn him so he doesn’t go charging off to the rescue and get zombified instead of me.

There might be a way to contact him. The devices in the zombie heads might have been adapted from the Dusan control devices captured after the war.

It was a good thing she didn’t ask questions, because she did not know what to ask or even say to Blynken. After some thought she proffered,
Not sure I see how that helps.

We have an idea, one we believe Robert-oh-my-darling will also be executing. If you both do it, it could expedite contact.

Emily waited a few seconds, because she didn’t do questions and they should know this by now and she still couldn’t think of one that didn’t involve the words crazy or freaking. The pause continued long enough to make her uneasy.

You will not be fond of this plan.

I’m not fond of this place or being separated from Robert.

So they did something she sensed was called a data dump. It outlined the basics of the plan. They were right. She didn’t like it.

TWENTY-SEVEN

“I always thought he needed his head examined,” Chameleon said, when they were once more back in the conference room. “But Shan is a diplomat, a freaking Ambassador. We can’t just knock him out and open his skull no matter how much we might want to.” Her gaze narrowed to laser points. “And it won’t happen unless you tell me what you don’t want to tell me, because I know you can assess that device using nanites.”

There was an ancient Earth saying about confession being good for the soul. Whoever said it hadn’t met Chameleon. More likely it was a good way to get shot.