Tales of the Red Panda: The Android Assassins (11 page)

August Fenwick stood in the great central chamber with his
arms bound behind his back, staring straight ahead as if transfixed. He had
been brought here from his cell by one of the flesh-covered androids and walked
up to the command platform where Captain Clockwork had stood the last time the
supervillain
had granted him an audience.

On the walk up from his cell, Fenwick had been mentally
testing the reaction time of the man-like robots to see if they were markedly
different than their simpler cousins by varying his own pace and movement. It
had not been a perfect test, and Fenwick was not entirely certain how much
useful data he had gathered, but he had recovered his full capabilities now and
knew there was no more time to waste. He knew he would have to make his move
soon.

However, all such thoughts vanished the moment the
mechanical man brought him up to the empty platform. Suddenly Fenwick could see
what he had missed entirely the first time he had been in this room, restrained
as he had been: the high wall behind where he had stood, directly across from
the platform, was hung with a vast, illuminated schematic of one of these
fiendish clockwork men! It was clearly intended as a trophy, a celebration of
one's own genius,
the
sort of gift that a megalomaniac
with no one but robots to talk to might bestow upon himself. But whatever the
purpose, the plans appeared to be complete in every detail, far more so than
any analysis he and Doctor
Chronopolis
would have
been able to make had they had a month to conduct it and nothing else to do.

August Fenwick stood and drank in every detail with his
eyes. He did not know how much time had passed when he finally heard footsteps
on one of the catwalks above.
Irregularly paced, human
footsteps.
His host had made his entrance at last. Fenwick did not turn
away from the precious plans.

“It is frustrating, is it not, Mister Fenwick?” Clockwork
said, almost gleefully. “The answer must be there somewhere, mustn't it? Some
hidden weakness, some flaw in my designs that could be exploited to stop me, if
only you were not such an empty-headed fool.”

Fenwick said nothing, but cocked his head slightly to one
side and stared quite intently at the schematics, as if he had seen something
for the first time.

The footsteps were now coming down a set of metal stairs
headed towards him. More time, he needed more time.

“Oh, give it up, Fenwick,” the villain scolded. “You are
just what your father always feared that you would be: a prodigal.
An empty suit.
And even if you were not, even if you had the
business acumen and Protestant work ethic that made the Fenwick fortune what it
is, you could never possibly hope to unravel my secrets, even though they lie
before you for the taking.”

Fenwick said nothing. He raised his left eyebrow sharply.
Could it be? Could it really be that simple?

There was a flick of a switch on a control panel beside him
and the illumination of the panels began to fade. Fenwick's gaze seemed to burn
holes in the screens until there was nothing left to see. August Fenwick
blinked at last and hung his head. Captain Clockwork enjoyed that, and his
metallic laughter rang throughout the hall.

“Forgive me, my dear Mister Fenwick, but you were making it
rather more convincing than I was comfortable with,” Clockwork said. “But even
if there were a flaw to find, and even if you were capable of finding it, what
could you possibly do about it? You are utterly in my power, guarded by my
mechanical marvels and far below the city.”

“You just untie my hands, old man,” Fenwick said, trying to
stay in character, “and we'll see what I can do about it.”

“Ah, the tough talk of the idle rich,” Clockwork sneered.
“Is it to be Queensbury Rules, then? It is weaklings like you that have got the
world into this state, August Fenwick. Got it to a state where the last of the
old world must be pulled down by force before the new world can rise.”

“Oh spare me,” Fenwick almost yawned, “you aren't an
anarchist, Clockwork. You aren't a communist, or a fascist. You're a
dyed-in-the-wool capitalist trying to dress up the ultimate hostile takeover as
some sort of movement.”

The man in the crimson hood hissed at the unexpected
strength of will of his guest. “My name is the Viper, little man,” he said.

“If it means that much to you, I shall be quite sure never
to use it, Captain Clockwork,” Fenwick rolled the syllables of the name to make
it sound as outlandish as possible, a suit of motley fit for a fool.

“You seem distressingly pleased with yourself, Fenwick,”
Clockwork growled. “Perhaps I should show you what you've been missing while
you've been away.”

Captain Clockwork moved towards the controls that had been
just beyond August Fenwick's line of sight last time he had been in this
chamber. “Do you know what this is, Fenwick?” he asked, waving his hand over a
square, black panel of glass. It was curved, ever so slightly, and nestled
amidst a series of dials and
switches which
the
villain began to manipulate.

“It's a
tele
-vision setup,”
Fenwick said with some contempt. “I've seen some of the early experiments.
Probably never work and even if it does, probably never catch on.”

“You see?” Clockwork said. “No vision.”

“Oh, I invested a few million,” Fenwick stifled a yawn
again. “Sometimes even the most obnoxious fad is good for a few dollars. If it
ever works.”

Clockwork seemed to quake with rage. “A few million,
invested on a whim. How easy life has been for you, Mister Fenwick. Would you
like to see how much that is changing?” Clockwork passed his hand over the set
again and grainy images began to resolve themselves, real moving pictures, in a
space much smaller than any cinema screen.

“These are not recorded images, Mister Fenwick,” Clockwork
said. “Real events, as they happen, and they are happening fast.”

The room shown on the screen was empty but for a single man
sitting at a desk. Clockwork turned one of the dials and three different rooms
appeared and disappeared quickly, each fading into the other through a haze of
snow-like interference. Finally the villain found the location that he wanted
and the screen was filled with the colorless images of men engaged in furious
debate. The volume was turned low but the meaning of the discussion was clear
to both watchers.

“You recognize this room, Mister Fenwick?” Captain Clockwork
gloated. “These are the chambers of Judge Anthony West. How fortunate for you
that an old friend has drawn this case. He has stalled on your behalf
admirably.”

Fenwick smiled. “Well, one tries,” he said.

“Do not look quite so pleased, my young friend,” Clockwork
hissed through his mechanical voice box. “Even as we watch, Chief
O'Mally
and the special prosecutor assigned to the Captain
Clockwork case, a Mister Houseman, are demanding that Judge West recuse himself
from this matter due to a conflict of interest. They wish to freeze your
assets, raid your plants and factories and search your home.”

“All of which will yield them nothing,” Fenwick insisted,
trying not to think of just how untrue his words were. “And where will you be
then?”

“Oh, Mister Fenwick, how do you imagine I got my hands on so
many of your companies' components for my machines? One of these tunnels leads
into the heart of your very own industrial complex.” Clockwork's smile could be
heard in his voice. “If only you knew which one.”

Fenwick looked grave and looked at the rabbit's warren of
catwalks and tunnels above him. He had been unconscious when he was brought in,
and now wondered how many different exits there were, how far Clockwork's
armies could travel beneath the city. The only way he would ever be found here
was if it was on Captain Clockwork's terms, discovered by police to have
committed suicide within his command complex moments before the police burst in
to stop his reign of terror. That was how it would play out, and few would
bother to deny it. Those who had stood by him, like Judge West, and Kit, would
have their reputations in tatters.

Captain Clockwork must have read his thoughts upon his face,
because the shrill metallic laughter tore through the near-empty chamber again.
The Red Panda's thoughts stayed with Kit for a moment. She would not have given
up. He wondered just what she was planning, how violent it was and exactly how
much damage it would do. He almost smiled in spite of himself. Instead he
listened to the single robotic voice reverberate off every surface in the great
hall.

“Not playing to much of a crowd tonight, Clockwork?” he
sneered. “No hordes of tin men to all-hail your greatness?”

“They are otherwise engaged,” Captain Clockwork smiled,
turning the dials of his
tele
-vision machine again
until it revealed the office of the Mayor, where Ian James stood furiously
lecturing His Worship on the finer points of Chief
O'Mally's
incompetence.

“You see?” Clockwork gestured. “I have transmission panels
hidden in the corridors of power all through this city. While Chief
O'Mally
lobbies for your head, Ian James calls for the
Chief's on a platter. There is such balance in nature.” The villain turned
sharply towards Fenwick, the cold eyes under the hood watching him for any
reaction at all. “You see, a short time ago, I sent in one of my duplicates to
the James Research Laboratory. Young Wentworth James himself set the new power
plant to overload, and the explosion wiped out half the plant and killed a
dozen men.”

“You monster,” Fenwick said through gritted teeth.

“Temper, temper,” Clockwork scolded. “The company will
survive, in the short term. But without access to operating funds or new
investment, it will be very difficult for them to rebuild. In the end they
shall be forced to accept a number of offers of cut-rate investment.
Partnerships that would still leave Ian James in control of the company, if
only
all of the interests were not owned by myself
.
The final transition may take a year or more, but the James Labs will belong to
the Viper. There is no one now who can stop me.”

“The police will find you, Clockwork,” Fenwick said. “They
will find you and make you pay for what you have done. And so will the Red
Panda.”

“The police and the man in the mask are both shortly to have
far too many problems on their hands to worry about another industrial
accident,” Captain Clockwork said gleefully. “You see
,
August Fenwick is about to unleash another horrific attack of his mechanical
monsters upon Toronto. The city will burn, Fenwick. People will die, and they
will die with a curse on their lips against the man who did this to them.
Your name, Fenwick.
They will fall cursing you as Captain
Clockwork!”

August Fenwick leapt forward with a speed that astonished
his captor, but it was to no avail. The android that had brought him from his
cell now sprang to life. It had been still so long that the Red Panda had quite
forgotten it was there, and it dropped him with ease with a punch to the
kidneys that would have crippled a man without the skill to roll with the blow.
Still, he was sent to his knees in agony.

The crimson robes of the arch criminal brushed against
Fenwick's hand as he lay prone and gasping upon the platform.

“You are a weak little man,” Clockwork proclaimed. “It has
been a pleasure destroying you thus far.” Fenwick could hear the footsteps climbing
the metal stairs again. “Take him back to his cell and guard the door,”
Clockwork called to the robot, “and see that you do not injure him further. It
would not do for him to appear to have been beaten before his eventual
suicide.”

The mechanical man lifted August Fenwick off the floor as if
he were a rag doll. “Viper!” Fenwick called. “Stop this madness! What can I
offer you that will prevent the senseless slaughter of innocent people? Name
your price!”

The
supervillain
turned around and
looked at his captive almost sadly. “Oh, Mister Fenwick,” he said. “There is
nothing that you can offer me that I do not intend to take from you by force.”

And with that, he was gone.

The taxicab roared through the streets at speeds no paying
fare could ever expect to travel. Andy Parker gripped the wheel with white
knuckles and pressed his foot still harder on the accelerator as he wove around
the evening traffic on Bloor Street.

In the seat next to him, Mac Tully sat relaxed with his foot
up on the dashboard. Mac had been in enough scrapes now that he never seemed to
get too excited until he absolutely had to, but Parker still thought he was
probably showing off for the new guys in the back. Next to the oversize form of
Tank Brody was a scared looking kid named Anthony that Parker hadn't worked
with before. Most of the teams had been picked, with only a few leftovers, and
Andy had been obliged to select one of the unknown quantities. He had chosen
this gangly youth only because the Flying Squirrel had signaled him to do so
behind everyone else's back, but Parker wasn't at all sure that he hadn't
misinterpreted the signs. The kid seemed like a paperboy who'd taken a wrong
turn. They'd been in the car two hours before they got the radio signal, and
Anthony hadn't said anything that changed Parker's mind.

The signal had roared over the radio setup only ten minutes
ago, and they were close. Captain Clockwork's earlier targets had been small
neighborhoods within the city. Now the word came that a legion of mechanical
men were marching up
Yonge
Street straight through
downtown, destroying everything they encountered. Parker couldn't escape the
feeling that their foe had stepped up his attacks, and they might not be
prepared for what lay ahead. Within the warehouse, the assembly of agents had
seemed like enough to handle anything, but now they were spread out over the
entire city. Parker's unit was roaring east, passing Bay and only moments from
the fight, but when they arrived they might very well be the first on the
scene.

“Mac, hit the beacon,
wouldya
?”
Parker said.

Tully leaned forward and flipped a toggle next to the radio
set. A small, red light began to flash regularly. “There we go,” Mac said
cheerfully. “Now the other teams can find the car, anyway.”

“Well, that's a load off my mind,” Brody said from the back.
“I'd hate for the cab to get towed.” Everyone laughed except Anthony.

“Get set boys,” Parker said as he turned a hard right onto
Yonge
. “We should be able to see something…” Parker trailed
away as they saw the street, nearly empty of people now, abandoned vehicles
everywhere, and an advancing troupe of mechanical monsters just a block away.
Parker coaxed still more speed out of the taxicab and closed the distance in
moments. He then skidded the car to a halt, spinning it to a stop with the
driver's side facing their foes less than twenty feet away. Parker threw his
door open and raced around to the other side of the car for cover where Mac and
Tank were crouched, waiting.

“Where's Anthony?” Parker called. Mac pointed up, which made
no sense, until Andy looked up and saw the scrawny youth on one knee on the
roof of the taxicab.

“Anthony, you
wanna
get down
here?” Parker snapped.

“One sec,” the boy said. And without further ado he produced
perhaps the largest handgun Parker had ever seen and squeezed off five rounds
of rapid fire. Brody and Mac were in no position to see the results, but to
Parker it was crystal clear. Every single shot flew straight and true and hit
the nearest mechanical man
centre
mass. The machine
staggered and began to emit a small amount of black smoke, but it didn't
exactly stop either. Anthony spat and dropped to the ground behind the taxicab.

“Okay, good news is the exploding bullets work,” the boy
said seriously. “The bad news is they don't work all that well.”

“Nice shooting, Tex,” Parker said. The boy just nodded, but
he seemed pleased.

“Do we have a plan beyond hiding behind this taxicab?” Brody
asked.

“Okay,” Parker said, “here's what we do…”

“Car!” Mac yelled, pointing up again.

The four agents barely had time to scramble away before
their vehicle was demolished by a small coupe that fell from the sky. The gas
tank of the taxicab caught fire in the collision and both cars exploded.

“Did they just
throw
that at us?” Anthony shouted, sounding less pleased than before.

“Oh, man,” Mac groaned, “she's
gonna
kill us.”

Parker called, “The Squirrel is the least of our problems.
Let's move!”

“Something's coming!” Tank bellowed.

There was a furious roar closing at great speed, and the
advancing mechanical men turned to face it. As they scrambled for new cover,
the team of agents could see metal bodies of the tin soldiers thrown high into
the air as the
Pandamoblie
burst through their ranks,
fitted with a stylish new battering ram that none of them could remember seeing
before. There did not seem to be a mark on the sleek, black roadster as it
turned a hundred and eighty degrees in a controlled skid and fired four rockets
from hidden chambers as it thundered to a halt.

The rockets' flight plan did not seem to be terribly
controlled but it didn't matter much, as they encountered a solid wall of tin
soldiers and tore them to pieces. Shrapnel damaged a few more, and a dozen
others that followed were knocked off their feet by the shock wave.

The Squirrel stepped from the car and surveyed the scene.

“What did you idiots do to my taxicab?” she called before
climbing
up
the side of the building and disappearing.

“We're dead,” Mac said, matter-of-factly.

Parker barked orders to his men. “Kid! Lay down some
covering fire! Tank! Serve up a round of grenades for our guests.”

“Got it!” Brody yelled as Anthony's pistol blazed, and he
sent the first grenade a country mile into the advancing ranks of the
mechanical men, followed quickly by a second and third.

“Maybe save a couple for the ones right in front of us,” Mac
called nervously.

“What's the difference?” Brody called as he launched another
mighty toss. “They're all headed this way.”

“I think you'll find out the difference in a minute, my
son,” Mac responded, firing his automatic into the nearest unit to little
effect.

Behind them, Parker could hear the roar of another engine on
the way, and knew that there would soon be more agents on the ground. He wanted
to find a way to soften up the ground for them if he could.

“Mac!” he called, dodging the flailing electric whips of an
advancing machine. “What about Doctor C's toy gun?”

“Holy cats!” Mac said, holstering his pistol. “I clean
forgot!” Strapped to Tully's back was a large
power
generating
unit, with a heavy cable on the side that fed into what
appeared to all the world to be a length of pipe with a funnel on the end.
Doctor
Chronopolis
had called it a sonic disruptor,
which Mac did not think sounded violent enough, so he had named it Debora. Why
this sounded more dangerous to him he did not bother to explain, but he
probably secretly hoped that someone would ask him. So far no one had.

Mac pointed the end that looked like a funnel at a cluster
of mechanical men closing in on Tank Brody and released the switch that
Chronopolis
had told him was the safety.

“Everybody cross your fingers!” he said, and pulled the
trigger.

None of the men could have told you exactly what came out of
the funnel end of the weapon, but for twenty seconds, whatever Mac Tully
pointed it at shattered as if it were made of crystal. Mac ran towards their
foes laughing, the air before him seeming to blur, almost as it might over
far-off roads in the summer heat. But there was no sound beyond the tearing of
metal and the whooping of the agents. Just as suddenly as it began, the effect
sputtered and finished.

“Don't stop the music!” called Anthony.

“Um… I think it's out of…
whatever…,”
Mac called from the position he had gained, deep within the advancing robot
lines.

“Doctor C said it recharges in an hour,” Parker called.

“Oh, Debora,” Mac cursed, “
you
've
finally gone and killed me.”

There were mechanical men closing on Mac's position fast
from all three sides. They seemed to be approaching cautiously, as if he had
been identified as a threat, but they were rapidly losing whatever fear they
might have felt. The rest of Mac's team was too far away to be of much help.

The machine closest to Tully was one of the tin soldier
models, and it swung its musket towards Mac with a graceless motion. The young
agent looked vainly for any cover. Suddenly the metal skin of the monster was
pierced by what appeared to be a black arrow, followed quickly by a second. Mac
Tully did not ask questions, he just dropped to the ground and covered his head
with his hands. He heard a series of explosions and when he looked up, all
three robots lay in smoking ruins. He rolled over and saw the Flying Squirrel
standing atop a nearby
lampost
, a large, black
crossbow in her hand.

“You
wanna
get off your duff
there, Mac?” she asked without further comment.

Tully scrambled back to the front line, where reinforcements
were arriving and taking stock of the situation. The machines had halted their
advance and seemed to be regrouping themselves as well. As he neared the
assembly of agents, the Squirrel swooped in and landed beside him, the crossbow
and exploding bolts strapped to her back.

“Where did you get
that
?”
Mac asked enviously.

“Santa brought it to me,” she deadpanned, though it was
almost true. If fact, it was one of several exotic weapons that the Boss had
given her for Christmas. She was probably the only girl in the world that would
have found it a romantic gesture, but she tried very hard not to think of such
things just now. “How many are we up to?” she called.

“I think sixteen,” Parker said, “with more on the way.”

“It'll have to do,” the Squirrel said grimly. “Listen up…”

“Squirrel!” a voice from the assembled agents called.
“Look!”

She turned around. At the far end of the block, the main
line of the advancing troupe of mechanical men had begun to split to reveal a
group of thirty captive men or more, each with their hands on their heads.

“Hostages,” the Squirrel hissed in disgust. “Robots that
fight like chickens. What next?”

Electric whips flailed and the men began to move forward
toward the position held by the Flying Squirrel and her men.

“What do you think their plan is?” Andy Parker asked her.
“Some sort of ultimatum?”

“What do we do?” one of the other team leaders called.

“Quiet, Peaches,” the Squirrel said, “I'm trying to think.”

The prisoners advanced slowly. There were a number of
policemen, some men in suits, and perhaps a dozen that looked like workmen of
some kind, all dressed in coveralls. The Squirrel scanned the advancing robots,
looking for any tactical advantage.

“Something's wrong,” Tank Brody said.

No matter where they struck, there seemed no way to get the
prisoners away from their captors before they could be cut down. This was bad.

“Something's wrong!” Brody said again.

“No kidding!” the Squirrel snapped, turning to Brody. “Wait!
What are you doing?”

But Brody had already completed the motion and had launched
another magnetic grenade straight towards the advancing lines.

“Are you crazy?” Kit yelled.

“Watch!” was all Brody said. It wasn't easy to follow the
path of the grenade at that distance, but the results weren't hard to see. The
magnet had done its job all right, but somehow it had stuck to one of the
prisoners! And as the charge detonated and the man was torn apart into scrap
metal, the meaning was clear. Those weren't men at all, but Captain Clockwork's
flesh-covered robots!

“They were in perfect step,” Brody said. “Even if they'd
been soldiers they couldn't have been in step that perfect.”

A block away, their cover blown, the supposed prisoners dropped
their hands from their heads and produced weapons.

“New rule, boys!” the Flying Squirrel called as the agents
hurled another volley of explosives into the coming throng. “If you don't know
'
em
, shoot '
em
!”

The sudden roar of gunfire could be heard miles away.