The Falling Machine (3 page)

“What?” The Professor lowered the device and shook his head slightly before gazing back. “Not now, Nathaniel! You're standing at the top of the world—enjoy it!” He compacted the lenses by pressing them back into their case. “Come by the Aereodrome when we're back at the mansion and I'll show you what I've put together.” He slid the box back into his pocket.

Sarah's voice rang out urgently. “Professor—”

Nathaniel cut her off with an impatient growl. “Not
now
, Sarah. Can't you see we're talking about something important?”

“Oh, she knows it, lad,” Barry said. “But I think she's referring to me, and I'd like yer attention as well.”

The two men turned to look at the Irishman. A metal frame was lashed around his upper body. It was a complicated affair made of brass pipes, springs, and gears, all held together by a leather harness and straps pulled tight enough to dig into the cloth of his coat. But the most noticeable items were the two steel cages around his arms; each one holding in place a short harpoon tipped with a shining barb that sprouted out a foot from the end of it.

The Professor's voice was calm and even as he gave the command: “Tom, fire the emergency rocket.”

A brass hatch in the Automaton's shoulder popped open, ripping through the fabric of his jacket. A cloud of white smoke sprayed up from the hole, followed by a small rocket flying up and out of him. In an instant it rose a hundred feet into the air above them and then exploded with a green phosphorous glow that burned like a tiny second sun in the New York City sky.

“Neat trick, metal man,” Moloney exclaimed as he leaned back. Two long rods were attached to the back of the harness. When they touched the ground he braced himself against them. “But it won't save you.” He put his right leg up against the Automaton and gave him a solid shove. One of Tom's gloved hands scrabbled against the stone as he tumbled, but with his legs bent backward he couldn't find any purchase against the granite. The mechanical man teetered on the edge for a moment; then his momentum carried him over and he disappeared from sight.

Darby bolted to where the Automaton had disappeared. “No!” He turned back to look at the Irishman. “What have you done?” Nathaniel knelt next to the Professor and held him back from the precipice.

Moloney nodded. “Removed a threat, Sir Dennis….But that's not my main job here today.”

Nathaniel jerked forward threateningly. “Who are you, really?”

“Easy now.” The Irishman smiled broadly through his red whiskers. “You've probably figured out that I'm not Moloney the foreman. But you can call me the Bomb Lance.”

T
he shock on Sir Dennis's face transformed into anger. “Whatever it is you want, sir, you won't get it from me.”

Sarah had quietly edged up behind the Irishman. Keeping his eyes, and weapons, locked on the two men in front of him, he only moved his head slightly to the left to acknowledge her. Get with the others, lass, before you force me to do something unpleasant to yer friends.” He prodded her slightly as she walked around him toward Nathaniel. “I would have guessed that the Industrialist's daughter had a bit of her father's courage, but being a fool will only get someone hurt.”

Darby raised his cane and shook it. “Don't threaten her, villain! The Paragons will put a stop to you!”

“Oh, I'm counting on it.” He took a step back. “I'm not alone, Sir Dennis, just the first.” He thrust out his lance toward the old man. “Now let's have that key from around yer neck.”

“How…?” There was an obvious tone of shock and surprise in the Professor's voice that he tried to hide in his next word. “Key?”

“No need to pretend.” The Bomb Lance waved Darby forward with his right harpoon. When he was close enough, the Irishman hooked the front of the Professor's starched white shirt on one of his barbs and ripped it open. He nudged the ascot aside, revealing a dull, gray metal key hanging around the Professor's neck. “Take it off and hand it to me.”

“It's nothing you'd want—a keepsake,” the Professor protested. He picked it up and showed it to him. “It's lead, not even brass. It couldn't possibly have any value to you.”

“I'm not the one who wants it. I'm just the man getting it for him.” The Bomb Lance pressed the barbed end of his harpoon into the Professor's chest with just enough force to break the skin. “Now hand it over.”

Darby unbuttoned his overcoat, then reached his hands around behind his neck and undid the clasp that held the key in place. He dropped it into the open palm just underneath the harpoon pressing into his flesh. “You have no idea what that is, do you?”

“Don't know, and don't care.” The Bomb Lance held it up for a moment. “But I'll agree it doesn't look like much.” He took three steps back. “Just so you can rest easy, I'll tell you that I'm going to let the girl live. She gets to tell her father and the rest of the Paragons that the Children of Eschaton are coming, and there's not a damn thing they can do to stop us.”

There was an audible “clack” as the metal rods locked into place behind him. Black smoke coughed out from behind his right elbow as the harpoon fired. The bolt plunged through the side of Sir Dennis's chest, the momentum spinning him around and throwing him backward at the same time. As he began to fall, the energy from the attack carried him over the edge of the tower, and he vanished. “No!” Nathaniel shouted as he leapt toward the Professor, but there was no hope of rescuing him.

The Irishman let out a rasping laugh. “And that's what a Bomb Lance can do to a man.”

Nathaniel spun around to face him. “You piece of Irish filth! I'll kill you!”

“Now now, don't judge the whole country by me,” the Bomb Lance said. “It was good Irishmen what built the tower yer standing on!”

Sarah's voice was soft, measured, and almost without emotion. “But you're not a good man, are you?”

The Bomb Lance looked over at her and sighed. “Not anymore, lassie, no. I haven't been
good
for quite a long time.” Keeping the left harpoon pointed at Nathaniel, he lifted his right arm straight up over his head. The wheels and wires attached to the frame slid around as he did so, pulling up one of the small harpoons resting in a bandolier on his back into the frame on his upper arm. “I was never good enough for the people in yer world anyway.”

He lowered the arm straight down from the shoulder with a single sharp movement, and a fresh harpoon slid down and snapped into place. Once again he had two of the barbed spikes facing them. His face softened for a moment, as if he was having a pleasant memory. “But the Children of Eschaton aim to change all that: who's up, who's down…” The edges of his lips curled up in a dark grin. “And once that's done, we'll see about what it really means to be good or bad.”

Nathaniel took a defiant step forward. “You've just murdered in cold blood one of the greatest minds the world has ever known!” Then he took another step, bringing the two men within a few feet of each other. “Why?”

The Irishman clenched his jaw, bristling at the question, and then brought the harpoon up to bear on Nathan's head. “I don't need any more reason to kill a man than that he's in my way.” He swung his left arm like a club, slamming it into Nathaniel's head. “But I have a better one for you.” He hit Nathan again as he reeled from the first blow. The boy dropped to the ground, the wind catching his hat as it came off his head. It rose up in the air for a moment before tumbling into the river below. The Irishman looked down at Nathaniel with contempt. “You're a rich, pompous prick.” He aimed his left harpoon down at Nathaniel and fired. The barb shot straight through Nathan's thigh, making a deep ping as it sank into the granite below. The young man screamed. Blood began to pool beneath the trapped leg, steaming in the cold winter air.

The Bomb Lance turned toward Sarah and pointed a harpoon straight at her chest. “As I told Sir Dennis, lovely girl, I'm going to let you live. But I need you to give the Paragons a message.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “They'll kill you for this.”

“That's as may be, but it's not yer business, and it's not right now. I just need for you to tell them that the Eschaton is coming. Can you do that for me?”

Sarah pressed her lips together.

He poked her slightly with the tip of the harpoon. “You just say yes, and we're all done here.”

“Wait.” She lifted up her left hand and bowed her head slightly.

“Wait for what? Your Professor and his machine are dead. And yer boyfriend is going to bleed to death if you don't do something.”

“Wait for that,” she said, as the Automaton's arm slammed into the side of the Bomb Lance's head. When he fell to the granite he was unconscious.

She looked at Tom and gave him an order. “You must help Nathaniel.” He stepped forward, and she saw the crumpled form behind him.

She ran toward Darby. “Professor!” The harpoon was still in him, hanging out of his chest. Tom had managed to catch him, interrupting his fall from the tower, but the jolt had made the wound far worse. He looked up at Sarah and tried to smile as she ran toward him, but the blood-flecked grimace he produced was terrifying.

Tom kneeled down by Nathaniel's side, wrapped his hand gently around the shaft of the spear, and pulled slightly. Nathan screamed as it moved. “Stop it! Just stop!” he gasped out.

“The…harpoon has penetrated your…leg and lodged into the…stone. It will need to be removed.” Tom made a fist with his right hand. The wrist bent all the way back until his fingers were flush against the top of his arm. With his left hand he reached under his shirt and into the clockworks of his stomach. When he pulled it out again he held a small saw-blade between his fingers.

“What are you…?” Nathan tried to get up on his elbows. “Aaah. Haaaah!” The pain from the metal shaft rubbing against his bone dropped him back to the ground.

Two small poles extended up from Tom's right wrist, and the blade snapped into the eyeholes at the top of them with a firm click. A gear rose up from underneath and engaged with another one on the side of the blade. It spun with a high-pitched whine. Nathan's eyes grew wide. “Stay the hell away from me!”

“Lie back, please.” Gripping the harpoon with his left hand, Tom pressed the spinning saw into the iron shaft. A jet of steam blew out from the back of Tom's neck, and a shower of sparks arced out as metal touched metal.

Sarah put the Professor's head on her lap and stroked his hair with her hands. His hat had been lost in the fall. “You're going to be okay, Sir Dennis. Tom will be here in a minute.”

Darby's voice was faint. “He's not a surgeon, my dear. But even if he were, I think my wound is clearly fatal.”

She moved her hands hesitantly toward the bloody gash, then pulled them away. “Don't say that!”

He tried to smile. “It'll be all right, I think. But I'll need you to be strong for me.”

“You can't die!” She bent down and gave his forehead a kiss. There were tears in her eyes. “I think I've been falling in love with you, Professor—perhaps for quite some time.”

He looked up at her. “You have no idea how flattered I am to hear those words coming from those delightful lips of yours, my dear. But I'm also—” He coughed. There was blood on his mouth. “—three times your age. No matter what you might feel for me, that was never meant to be.”

“No!” She looked upward, and tears continued to roll down her face. “You're going to live!”

“Wishing won't make it so. But I need to speak to Tom before I go. And I need you to—” He coughed again. It sounded worse this time. “—help him, Sarah. If you do care for me, then you'll find the best parts of me are inside of him. It will take time for Tom to discover what he is capable of, and he'll need your assistance to find out. “

When she opened her mouth to reply, she was cut off by a scream from behind them. She turned to see the Automaton lifting Nathan's leg free from the cut end of the harpoon. The young man's eye caught hers, and he called out her name. “Sarah!”

She quickly stood up. “Tom, come here. We need you.”

Nathaniel whimpered slightly as Tom pulled off his coat and wound it around the wound. “Please try to relax.” Having completed his crude bandaging, he walked over to Sir Dennis.

Tom stood above the Professor, Sarah by his side. “You are badly hurt…sir.” He held up the saw-blade. It was slightly scorched. “I should remove the…harpoon.”

Darby shook his head. “Far too late for that. Now come down here so I can speak with you.”

The Automaton folded his legs, collapsing down into a squat. “How can I save your life, Sir…Dennis?”

“You can't, Tom.” He reached up and took his left hand. “But, I need you to retrieve the Alpha Element from that Irishman if you can. Second, I want you to find the new body I was building for you in the laboratory. It's not complete, but once you're in it you'll be able to finish the work yourself.” His grip tightened for a moment, and then his hand fell away. “Sarah will help you.”

Tom reached down to grasp his fingers. “Sir…Dennis, I can…”

“You have the potential to become much more than you already are, but it won't be easy.” He started coughing again. The blood on his skin was brighter now, and there was a wet rasp coming from his lungs as he fought to draw in another breath of air. “When dark times come it is men of honor who must lead us back to the light of reason.”

“But, I am not a…man.”

“No. But you can be…the light.” He looked up at the Automaton and smiled. Then Sir Dennis's eyes grew wide as he struggled to inhale again and couldn't draw a breath. “I…I…I…” The words vanished into tiny gurgles as blood replaced the remaining air in his lungs. He closed his eyes, shuddered, and then sagged as the life left his body.

“Sir…Dennis?” Tom held him for a few moments, and then lowered his creator's lifeless body down onto the cold stone.