Untitled (10 page)

"
his is the end for all of you," shouted Fleetwood, thrusting Ruby away with such force she was flung across the room and landed heavily on the floor.

   "Men, ladies," responded Hartwell, standing and drawing his sword. "It has been an honour. Now, for honour, we die."

   "For honour!" yelled his crew, drawing swords, daggers and short sticks from a variety of unlikely hiding places as they stood and faced the rush of Fleetwood's men into the room.

   Outnumbered, the new crew fought bravely but badly. Keating was punching and kicking at any of Fleetwood's men who came too close, many of whom immediately saw through her disguise and pressed in toward her with evil leers on their faces.

   Bardon was duelling well, but his diminutive stature told against the longer arms and taller bodies of his opponents, while Blake was hampered by his deafness, which affected his balance and weakened his defence. Anatole clearly had no idea how to fight and instead relied on his fearsome appearance and huge frame to intimidate and crush any who got too close. Lucky Pete was flailing wildly in any direction with his arms, unable to see his attackers or to hear them over the melee, and though Susanna fought well with fists and sword, her size counted against her.

   This left Madrigal, Hartwell and Fitch to take the bulk of the fight. Madrigal was one of the dirtiest fighters ever to grace the Caribbean, Fitch was devious with a sword and Hartwell brilliant, but he merely defended rather than attacked, turning his blade left and right as he blocked and parried the increasingly infuriated Fleetwood and two of his henchmen.

   Mechatronic, blocking the strike of one of Fleetwood's goons with a smooth movement before dropping the man with a vicious knee to the groin, wondered at Hartwell's tactics before having to face another attack by two more henchmen. She blocked the blow from the first man, though it rocked her back on her heels to do so and her counter punch lacked any real force. She cursed at the damage she had taken during the crash landing and the weakness it inflicted on her.

   As suddenly as the violence had begun, it ceased. A few of Fleetwood's men lay on the floor, dead or dying, and while all of Hartwell's crew were still standing, they were all panting with exertion and fear, and most had livid welts or bloodied slashes about them from the enemy attack.

   "It's no good," crowed Fleetwood. "You have been lucky, but luck will only take you so far. How long can you stand against the next attack? How long before we crush you with our superior numbers? You are finished, Hartwell!"

   It seemed that Fleetwood was right. Both the exits were blocked, more of Fleetwood's men waited outside, unable to enter the fray simply because the room, though large, wasn't large enough to hold them all and Hartwell's crew was already tiring under the onslaught.

   "Men!" roared Fleetwood. "Victory is ours! Prepare for the final attack!" He raised his sword, as did his crew, and they rushed once more at their prey.

ne of Fleetwood's men leapt forward and swung his sword down at Fitch, who didn't have time to jump aside and could only fling up a bare arm against the blow. The sword struck his forearm, but rather than sever the flesh, muscle and bone, the sword instead bounced off with a metallic shriek. Fitch roared in pain as his blood sprayed outward, but incredibly, the pain eased almost immediately. He stared and saw the damage was superficial. The flow of blood stopped as the muscle and skin grew back over a fine metallic mesh briefly visible in his arm.

   Fleetwood's man drew his sword back for another swing. Reacting purely in selfpreservation, Fitch let fly a thunderous punch and again, a flash of metal was seen as iron studs erupted from his knuckles and smacked into his attacker's face. The man fell unconscious to the floor, his nose and cheek split wide open.

   "Kill them!" screeched Fleetwood hysterically.

"Kill the demons!"

   His men ran forward. Madrigal, with no conscious thought except to strike against his attackers, roared as the skin on his fingers erupted and strange rhythmic pulses of green light spewed out, leaping from his hands and into the five men rushing toward him. Each man screamed in pain as the power surged through them and they fell, burning, to the floor.

   At the same time, another of Fleetwood's goons pushed Susanna back savagely and she instinctively swept out her fist in a backhand punch. As she did so, her hand speed increased exponentially as something erupted from her, something that whipped the man across the face, knocking him unconscious.

   Hartwell caught a glimpse of what looked like a small, dainty cat o'nine tails retract into his sister's arm, leaving her white faced and shocked.

   Fleetwood's men ran out of the room and clustered at the door as Susanna wailed in despair "I'm a monster!" and stared in horror and shock at her hand, which once more looked and felt completely normal.

   Cries of "They're possessed!" and "They're demons!" sounded out from Fleetwood's crew. "Kill them and all their magic!" screamed Fleetwood in fear. "Kill them all, they are all damned!"

   At that moment, another sound could be heard. It started as a series of faint vibrations like the notes played upon a tin whistle, though more regular and mechanical sounding. The noises grew, becoming more intense, the individual notes harmonizing from a discordant set to a regular rhythmic pulse, almost a tune, which undoubtedly came from the woman in the purple dress.

   Mechatronic paused as her internal system's maintenance report activated and played out in her head and an astonished smile spread over her face. She reached up and dropped the hood from her face and cloak from her body, revealing her silver skin and unmuffling the sounds of her internal diagnostic system.

   Fleetwood and his men slammed the door shut with yelps of terror, cries echoed by Blake, Anatole and the rest of Hartwell's new crew at the sight of the silver demon who seemed to whistle and chirrup without moving her lips. Eventually, the sounds ceased and silence fell once more.

   "It's the first phase of my adaptive program," said Mechatronic. "The molecular technology that exploded outward when my craft disintegrated swarmed around me in the ocean and hence, you absorbed much of it when you jumped into the sea. The molecules have permeated you and have been building within you ever since, changing your body chemistry, improving, adapting, evolving you to new forms."

   Fitch looked at Mechatronic and demanded hoarsely, "What has happened to us? What have you done? Have you cursed us, you silver demon?"

   "Of course not," said Mechatronic. "It is technology, advanced technology from my world. It is upgrading you, changing you physically, but not in character or personality. Your will, as always, is your own."

   "But what was that in my arm and in Fitch's skin?" asked Susanna.

   "You have a molecule whip," replied Mechatronic. "Fitch is developing metallic subcutaneous armour, as well as attacking prongs. The rest of you will also develop similar upgrades soon, but your ability to handle them will vary until you learn control."

   "You've infected us and control us?" demanded Fitch in fear.

   "No!" shouted Mechatronic emphatically, her eyes flashing at the accusation. "I would never attempt that, not after what I—" The silver woman stopped and controlled herself, the look of anguish on her face disappearing as she bit down on her emotions. "You are not being changed mentally, you are still… you. Do not be afraid, but trust me," she said, imploringly. "Let go of all thought and simply react—your instinct and the technology within you will harmonize and work together. Let your thoughts go, be of the moment and we shall live!"

   "So, we are affected by this technology but remain mentally unchanged," spoke Hartwell, his voice and tone calm and measured to reassure the crew, though he was as frightened as they were. He was also furious with Mechatronic, who was clearly in some way responsible for the changes within them. "We are the same people we ever were, you are still the same crew and I would not change you for any other, not now, not ever. You are still you," he added gently to Susanna. "I still love you as much. Nothing can change you on the inside. Your character, your courage, your loving nature—all these are the true Susanna Hartwell."