The Falling Machine (28 page)

“I am what…Sir Dennis made me.”

“Cast in the image of his god.”

“Just so.”

Eschaton stood silent. His eyes traveled across Tom, following his outline up and down. “This has been a most enlightening conversation.” Lord Eschaton shrugged off his coat and threw it in the direction of Murphy. “But now I know your position, and I don't think words change anyone's minds.” The Irishman had managed to get to his hands and knees, and the coat landed on his back.

“But I'll be sure to keep your ethical dilemmas in mind after I've activated your brother. He will be a being created in my image. I'm sure he'll want to know something about you.” Underneath his jacket Eschaton was wearing a clean white shirt stuffed sharply into a pair of tweed pants. Suspenders held them high up on his broad frame. The Omega symbol had been stitched into the hem in yellow thread.

Pulling down the suspenders he began to unbutton the shirt. The body underneath of it wasn't defined as much as chiseled. The flesh almost seemed to be a stone relief, except for the occasional twitches that rippled through the muscles. It was as if his every fiber were held on the verge of contraction, and only sheer force of will kept him from rolling up into a ball.

“You were the one who stole my replacement body, then.”

The tall man let his shirt drop to the ground. “Not all by myself, no. I had some help—from more than one person in the end.” He flexed his muscles. They moved like steel plates scraping across each other.

There was a sound of ripping fabric as the hatch in Tom's left shoulder tore through his shirt. With a hiss, a rocket ignited inside of him and flew into the night on a column of smoke. It was quiet for an instant, and then the firework exploded, bathing the park in a shower of bright light. After the pattern faded, a bright flare floated slowly to the ground, illuminating everything around them in a shimmer of green.

The look on Eschaton's face instantly turned from amusement to anger. “But why tell them you're here? You're still a fugitive.”

“I am still a…Paragon.” Tom clenched his left hand into a fist. “You and…Murphy McAuliffe will remain here until the…authorities arrive.”

“No. We'll be gone long before then.” He folded his hands into fists and raised his arms. “But you still have something I need, and I'm curious to find out the limits of your power.”

Tom's left arm shot out in a blur and latched onto Lord Eschaton's left wrist. “I would ask you to listen to reason.”

Lord Eschaton smiled. “We've tried that.” White bolts raced down across his skin and gathered together at his hands. “But we simply lack common ground.” He smacked Tom with his right fist, sending electricity crackling through the air.

Tom was thrown backward, the force of the blow wrenching him away from Lord Eschaton.

“You see, Automaton? I'm more than just a man now.”

Tom had managed to stay on his feet. “Eli had the same reaction in his skin.”

The sparks were gathering around Eschaton's hands again as he stepped forward. “Because we were both bathed in fortified smoke.” This time the left fist crashed into Tom's face, denting his mask and throwing him sideways.

He followed his attack with an uppercut, and Tom stumbled backward a few steps before crashing into the park fence.

“The…smoke killed him.”

“A just punishment. He failed to capture you, and your destruction of my warehouse set my plans back by months.”

Using the gate as a brace, Tom launched himself toward his opponent. As he got close he swept out with the iron broadside of his massive right arm. It caught Eschaton along the side of his chest and swept him around. He landed on his knees in the snow.

“I
felt
that!” He rose up to his knees and clapped his hands together twice, each smack sending out a small cascade of sparks from his palms. “I actually felt it!” He clapped them together a third time, and tiny arcs of energy leapt into the air. After the fourth time, he opened them up wide to release a lightning bolt that arced across the gap between them.

The electricity sizzled and danced around Tom for an instant, and then faded away. Steam rose up from Tom's exposed metal parts, condensation dripping down onto the ground, the hot water poking small holes into the fragile crust that had formed over the surface of the snow.

Tom held up his left arm. “Is it my turn now?”

Eschaton smiled, the split of his grin revealing his dazzlingly white teeth. “We don't take turns.” He charged at Tom directly, jumping into the air, and kicked his right leg into the Automaton's torso.

There was a solid thud, but the grunt that rose up didn't come out of Tom.

Lord Eschaton tried to use his momentum to step back, but Tom grabbed the tall man's left arm. He pulled up his knee and punched it into Lord Eschaton's stomach.

The gray man staggered backward from the blow but managed to find his balance after a few short steps. “Tom, you are a most surprising and outstanding piece of machinery.” As he rose up his hands started to glow again, brighter this time. “Darby's crowning achievement.” White streaks had started to coalesce around his fingers, snaking up from the rest of his body. The streaks of energy continued to gather until his arms were solid white all the way up to his shoulders. “I'm almost sad that I'm going to have to defile his memory.”

Tom brought up an arm to block the glowing forearm that smashed down toward him. “How is it that…Eli died and you survived?”

“I don't actually know.” A massive electric arc snapped out as their limbs pressed against each other. The crackling energy forked up to a nearby tree branch. It ripped through the wood and left it burning. “If I live for another hundred years, there may be no reliable way to rid myself of this curse, or share it.”

For a moment, neither man nor machine moved. They were locked together like a single statue, connected arm to arm. Then, almost imperceptibly, Eschaton faltered.

The gray giant crossed his right arm over the left and redoubled his efforts. “I only wish you could see the body that Darby made for you, Tom. It surpasses the one you have now in every way.”

And then it was Tom who was slowly being pushed back. “If only you weren't so much like your creator—so sure of your rightness about the future—I could have used you.”

There was a high-noted “tink,” the sound of metal snapping, and Tom dropped a few inches toward his knees. “It is not a…moral issue—it is what I was created for.” He lifted up his right arm and pointed the handless wrist at Eschaton. Pressurized white steam poured out of it.

Everywhere it touched Lord Eschaton's skin he turned from gray to pink. Tiny electrical arcs flew into the air, leaving dark welts behind. He let out a scream and fell to his knees.

Holding the arm out in front of him, Tom continued to let the steam pour out of him until the cloud had enveloped them both.

When the vapor slid toward the ground, Eschaton's skin was white, with a slightly golden hue. It was clear from his features that he had at least some Asian heritage. The tall man looked down at his own hands, shocked. “What have you done to me?”

“Something you thought would take more than your lifetime.” Tom whacked him expertly, almost surgically, with his left arm. “I cured you.” He bashed Lord Eschaton repeatedly about the head and shoulders, driving him to the ground. With each blow the skin turned red, but didn't break. After a few strikes the tall man landed in the snow with a crunch. “Unfortunately it won't last long.”

A wire extruded itself from the end of Tom's right arm. “Hopefully a few of these will hold you.” It curled into a circular shape as it came out of him.

As Tom bent down to apply the impromptu restraint there was a nearby clank, and before he could respond a harpoon smashed into him, throwing him backward. The lance failed to penetrate the iron armor of his right shoulder, shattering as it struck. Metal shards flew in every direction.

“You forgot about me, didn't you?” the Bomb Lance said, as he stood in front of Tom and smiled.

Tom rose up, snow falling off of him. “I misjudged how long it would take for you to regain your…bearings and load your weapon.”

“None of us are perfect.” As Murphy moved his left arm upward there was a quiet whistle. A four-inch metal rod was now sticking out of his shoulder, appearing out of nowhere. The Irishman turned to look at it with disbelief. “What in hell?”

Tom was aiming his right arm directly at Murphy. “A new trick that I learned from you.”

“Damn you!” He tried to aim and fire, but two more metal rods appeared next to the first. Murphy fired wildly, his harpoon making a ringing sound as it pierced the copper skin of the arm of Liberty.

Tom fired two more of the tiny spears into the Irishman's legs. Murphy dropped to the ground, screaming in agony. “You're a monster! A damned monster!”

Tom got to his feet. “I'm a…machine. Something you should be very…glad of, since I do not have an urge to take…revenge on you for killing my creator.” He fired another rod into the fallen man, pinning his shoulder to the ground. “Not…much of one, anyway.”

Lord Eschaton's voice boomed up from behind him. “So you do have emotions—the ability to hate, perhaps?” The gray had rolled back over him, covering him completely except for two small spots in his chest where it seemed unable to retake its hold. White lines pulsed around the place where shards of iron—broken splinters of the Bomb Lance's harpoon—were still sticking out of his body. He grinned his black grin and then pulled one of the shards out of his skin. The blood on it was white.

Tom held out his right arm again. He fired off a stream of rods, each one pinging as it bounced off of the huge man.

Lord Eschaton smiled. “It's over now.” Moving around to the side of the Automaton, Eschaton grabbed the iron arm and twisted. “Eli made that for
me.
I'm going to take this back.” There was a terrible sound of wrenching metal as the iron arm tore free. A cloud of steam hissed out from Tom's shoulder. Where it touched Eschaton's skin the darkness thinned, but didn't disappear.

“You had me, but you failed to finish me.” He raised the arm up above his head. “I'm afraid that was your only chance.” He brought the freed limb down in a vicious arc. It connected with Tom's head and spun him around.

Without missing a beat, Eschaton reversed his motion and smashed it back up again. Stumbling backward, Tom collapsed against the arm of Liberty. The copper let out a hollow ring. “Stop.” After the next blow Tom's head lolled to one side, torn free from the mechanisms that had controlled it. Water gurgled up from the tube in his neck.

Tom lifted up his remaining arm to defend himself. Lord Eschaton smacked it away, then pinned it against the copper arm with his foot. He raised the iron arm up like a club and rained down blow after blow. The Automaton's metal face was torn away, then the eyes, the glass orbs shattering on the ground as the wires holding them in place ripped free.

“I am sorry about this, Tom. You were something very special.” With the next blow the head came away entirely, tumbling toward Murphy, who was still attempting to pull one of the rods out of his shoulder.

“Stay dead, you monster,” the Irishman said as the battered brass skull rolled to a stop.

Eschaton reached down and ripped open the front of Tom's shirt. The Automaton's legs were drumming against the arm of Liberty. A heavy grinding started to rise up from his chest. “I'm not sure if you can still hear me, Tom.” He wrapped his fingers around the brass chest plates and pulled. They came away with a series of pops, and when he threw them to the ground they landed in a patch of snow with a dull thud. “But I want you to know that you did the best you possibly could.” The cogs inside of Tom were still moving, metal rods and wires sliding around toward his shoulder, trying to form some kind of rudimentary arm. “It wasn't your fault. It was too late from the moment it began.”

Throwing the iron limb aside, Lord Eschaton reached in and wrapped his hand around Tom's heart. “There has always been corruption in the Paragons.” The first tug pulled up the whole torso with it. “The seeds were planted when Darby founded that ridiculous organization, and it has taken root in the years that followed.” Then he let Tom slide down onto the ground. “All I did was water it a little bit.”

Holding Tom by the cage around his heart, Eschaton smashed the Automaton against the arm. Cogs flew out in every direction. “They think they're civilized men, but just under the surface lives their vanity and anger.” After a first few blows the legs stopped moving, simply dangling in the air. “Darby's desire to see the best in humanity blinded him to it.”

He threw Tom to the ground and stepped onto his waist. Reaching down he ripped the brass cage free from the center of Tom's chest. Cogs and springs spilled out onto the concrete.

Removed from the body, the heart was little more than a large metal sphere held in a brass cage. Spinning rods jutted out of it at different angles, a circular cog at the end of each one. The toothed wheels spun back and forth, seeming almost desperate to find something to latch onto. A small jet of steam sprayed out from it in a regular beat.

On the bottom of the brass sphere was a large bolt with a wing nut on top. “Can you still hear me now, Automaton? I wonder.” He began to unscrew the bolt. “Where does your body end and your thoughts begin?” There was a metallic squeal as metal threads twisted against each other. “We may never know.

“Darby thought his Alpha Element would save the world—a source of clean, limitless energy that would power a new Utopia.” After a few more turns the bolt came free. “But it's a lie. Technology alone won't save humanity. We aren't such noble creatures.” Eschaton slipped the bolt out with his gloved hand, and the instant he did so the heart stopped.

“Here it is.” Held in the other end of the bolt was a small, shining metal shaft. It cast a wavering, glowing light that glimmered off the copper arm standing above him. “Here is the alpha to my omega.”

Murphy's voice rose up from nearby. “Did you find it, Lord?”

Eschaton nodded without taking his gaze off the object. “I did.” He handed the empty heart to the other man, and the smile on Lord Eschaton's face grew wider.