And the Empire State would be saved, and all would be well.
He had to buy Carson time. On his hands and knees, Kane shook his head.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, pal.”
Kane looked up. James Jones, the real King of 125th Street, stepped forward in front of his army, his metal feet loud on the tarmac. Kane went to stand but James pushed him back with his foot. Kane fell backwards and immediately rolled to the side, but he couldn’t stand. His body felt like it was made of lead. He craned his neck as James took a step forward and placed one foot on either side of Kane’s body. He flexed his fingers, and Kane was sure the square metal jaw was grinning.
“Dead or alive,” said James, “you’re coming with me.”
FORTY-FOUR
Carson tutted as he worked at the control console, his soldering iron moving with precise strokes, jeweler’s eyepiece rammed into his good eye. He tutted again, then raised the board at arm’s length and admired his handiwork.
“I fear for Mr Fortuna’s safety, sir.”
The Captain hrmmed. “And what of our safety, Byron? What of the safety of the Empire State itself?”
“I can sense a change in the world,” said Byron’s voice, filling the airship cabin from nowhere.
“So can I, my old friend, so can I.”
“I can sense a change in Mr Fortuna.”
Carson looked up. “The Fissure?”
“The energy signature is weak.”
Carson frowned and returned to his work. A moment later he let the eyepiece drop into this lap.
“There,” he said, slapping the control console closed. He flicked a switch, and sat back in the pilot’s chair and stroked his beard.
“We are ready to leave?”
Carson nodded. “I’ve integrated the control systems of Ms Jones’s gun into the ship, while the weapon core itself is mounted on the nose. All we need now is to give it a little kick and we should be able to transfer across and assist our friends.” The Captain looked at the ceiling, head tilted, like he was listening to something. “It’s quiet.”
There was a click from somewhere close. The Captain turned in the pilot’s seat, but the flight deck was empty. “Byron?”
A shadow moved across Carson’s field of vision as Byron went to check.
“Anything?”
A pause, a beat. “Someone approaches,” said Byron.
“Kane!”
Kane stumbled across the threshold, one arm across his middle. His suit was intact but scuffed and dirty, covered in dust and long scratches. He collapsed at the Captain’s feet.
“Mr Fortuna, my dear chap?” Carson immediately lowered himself to the floor on the knee above his wooden leg.
Kane rolled onto his back and didn’t move again.
Carson looked up to the ceiling. “We leave at once.”
“Sir,” said Byron, and then: “Have you a plan to start the transfer? Kane is too weak. It would exhaust the Fissure completely. The energy flux is unstable as it is.”
Carson pushed himself to his feet. “I always have a plan, my friend.” Unstable on his wooden leg, he overbalanced and fell back into the pilot’s seat, then quickly spun it around and readied the controls. The sound of the engines filled the flight deck and he pulled back on the yoke. The Nimrod shook and the floor tilted as they took off, the tunnel flashing past the windows until they exited, and flew out into the night. Carson pulled back to gain altitude and turned the craft until the Empire State Building was ahead of them.
“All for one, and so on, and so forth!” Carson cried out over the roar of the engines as he pushed the Nimrod forward.
“No!”
Carson glanced over his shoulder as someone rushed towards him from the lip of the bulkhead door. Tall, silver and sleek, man-shaped but big. A robot – James Jones, the machine king.
Carson cried out. As he did, Kane’s body jerked into life and stood, then rushed towards James, tackling the robot to the floor. The King of 125th Street screamed as the pair thrashed about.
“Sir, continue,” said Byron, his voice coming from Kane’s black mask. “Kane is safe, as is the Fissure. I have him.”
Carson turned back to the windows. “Good show,” he said. The engines thrummed as he accelerated towards the Empire State Building, but his attention was on the struggle behind him reflected in the airship’s forward windows.
James had got behind Byron, thick silver arms wrapped around him. Byron grabbed hold of the metal forearms across his chest and struggled to stand, pushing backwards and lifting the attacker’s feet from the floor. Advantage in his favor, Byron ripped one arm free