Lust Plague (Steamwork Chronicles) (16 page)

Emily shrugged. “Sure. And thanks for asking.”

“Hmm. Just doing my job—taking care of the babies like you has always been my job.” She paused and couldn’t decide what to say next. What she’d said was true, but she’d not always showed it before. Wearing your heart on your sleeve was a big no-no.

She checked the safety on her pistol and holstered it, then hopped down to join Sten and Cadrach.

The rust color of the wall wasn’t just paint—the wall and gate were metal. At the top, four yards up, sharp tines arched out.

“Can’t climb it easily,” Sten remarked. He walked up to the gate and hammered his fist on it. The clangs echoed away into silence; then something hummed and clicked. In the middle of the gate, a split appeared. Slowly it opened. Fine flakes of rust spun away in the wind.

“Looks like we’re invited in.” Emily swaggered up with a four-foot-long rifle in the crook of her arm. The sheen of oil on the blue steel barrel and the brass scope nestled on the top with innumerable little dials and knobs screamed either hunting or sniper rifle.

“Hey, ladies, it is open.” Sten looked Emily and the rifle up and down. “Nice. Where’d you get that?”

“Compartment above the windshield.” She grinned. “A beauty, isn’t it?”

“Mmm. For sure. I’ll go first. Wait here.”

Wait here?
Kaysana pursed her lips. “With that sign there? Shot, frozen, and dismembered for parts? Not happening, sir.”

“No?” He studied her, then smiled. “I like the ‘sir.’ Not sure about you coming with me, though.”

His eyes met hers, and for the first time ever, she truly weighed him up and it seemed to her, he did the same. A little frisson ran through her.
This man does mean something to me. I don’t want him hurt, and I think…I’m sure he thinks the same of me. Oh hell, am I in trouble
. She drew in a deep breath. “Well, we are. We’ll all go in together.”

He nodded slightly. “Okay. Agreed, then.”

“Uh. Good.” Torn between the imminent danger and wondering whether to confiscate Emily’s newfound firearm, Kaysana swept her hand over the top of her hair, rearranging her ponytail. Cadrach padded in by Emily’s side with the canary perched on his head. “Emily. How long have you known the weapon was in there?”

“All day. Why?”

“So while we were looking for more weapons… Never mind. That box of napalm ammo Sten found may fit your rifle.”

After traversing a tiled courtyard, they walked up a flight of steps and into a two-story-high foyer. A hare hopped between pots of carmine flowers, then froze to watch them go past. A sweet scent meandered in the air. The three of them stopped midway and looked about. The hallway ahead led through open double doors into a large chamber. At the far end was a chair.

Empty. Quiet. Yet Kaysana inched her hand onto the butt of the pistol.

“Come closer.” A man’s amplified voice boomed through the dwelling. “Just make sure your dog does not eat my hare, or Clavis. I like my pets.” A gleaming python, as fat as a fire hose, made its way toward them through the doorway. The snake scrunched up the green carpet under its belly. “That is Clavis.”

Hissing and clicking, the snake undulated nearer. Kaysana stared. The skin shone like polished chain mail, and suddenly she understood why. Clavis was no flesh-and-blood snake. The skin was silver and black metal. The eyes were red as the finest rubies.

“We have no dog,” Sten called back. “He is a wolf, the biggest one you’ve yet seen. Tell that damn snake to back off.” He added in a low mutter, “Hate snakes.”

“Clavis will not bother you. Please, enter.”

With the clockwork snake circling around behind them, they walked along the carpet and entered a room where a double row of square columns supported the ceiling. Like many Tibetan buildings, the walls and columns were painted with an eye-scalding palette—blues, greens, oranges, and a spattering of red. A man stood beside a pile of traveling trunks and suitcases. A decorated rifle hung from his fingers.

“Welcome. I spotted you through my periscope.”

Midforties, thought Kaysana—silver-gray cropped hair and goatee, and fine wrinkling about the face. Distinctive blue eyes… She scanned the rest of him—the white cravat was in disarray, the shirt was untucked, and the dove gray frock coat was terribly creased.

“I saw you.” He rubbed absentmindedly at his lip. “One animal, two women, and this man who is more than he seems.” At that he whipped up the rifle and pointed it at Sten. The
snick
of the first stage of the trigger being depressed was loud.

By then Kaysana had her pistol trained on the man. The snake hissed and twined about Sten’s feet.

Sten froze in the midst of reaching up for his shotgun, his broad shoulders bunching.

Instinctively Kaysana sidestepped to stand in front of Sten, shielding him. Shock hit as she saw the stranger’s mouth gape and the small shift of his finger… He was about to fire, but she only set her feet firmly on the floor.

“Move, Kaysana.” Sten’s hands fastened at her waist, and he lifted her, swung around until he’d turned full circle and put himself between her and the stranger.

His back’s to the gun
. She’d made it worse, and she cringed inside, waiting for the terrible sound of the gun firing.

“No! He won’t shoot me!” She squirmed about in Sten’s hands, went on tiptoes, and peered over his shoulder.

“Get your damn head down!” He crushed her to him, smothering her face into his shoulder.

“Mmm!” She wriggled, pushing at him with her hand—keeping the pistol pointed at the ceiling. She couldn’t budge him.
The man’s a stone wall.

“Do you know what he is?” the stranger asked. “He’s a variant of the frankenstruct. Double muscled, strong, prone to uncontrollable rage. He’s a killer. I should shoot him.”

“No!”

“If you shoot now, you might get someone else.” Sten’s voice rumbled in his chest, right next to her ear. “Let me get clear of everyone. Please.”

Oh God
. The thought of a bullet thumping into Sten while he held her, of feeling him jump, of his life draining away.
Not again, not another person I—

“Decent of you,” the stranger said, sounding puzzled.

She wouldn’t let him die. “No! How can you condemn him? I know him. I trust him.” She looked up into Sten’s eyes. “I do.”

“Well, and I guess you’ll have to shoot me too.” From the sound of it, Emily had moved between the man and Sten.

Thank you
, Sten mouthed to Kaysana. Then he leaned down and, despite the threat behind him, kissed her slowly.

When he pulled away, she jerked up on tiptoes to check, then slumped back down and whispered, “He’s stopped aiming at us.”

He searched her face. “Good. Why’d you do that? Step in front.”

“I’m not sure.” She shot him a withering look. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

That drew a chuckle from him.

“Here.” Emily nudged Kaysana’s elbow. “When you two lovebirds are done, he’s stopped aiming that fancy gun at you and’s got something to say.”

“I do indeed.”

This time Kaysana faced him with Sten’s arm about her midriff. Emotions played havoc with her insides. “Who are you?”

“Me? You may call me Dr. F. I might ask the same question of you.” He sat on the pile of suitcases, letting his rifle rest on his thighs. Something whirred when he bent at the hip.

The weapon clattered against something as if Dr. F.’s grip was shaky. “You’ve convinced me about him.” He pointed at Sten. “He’s shown none of the telltale signs of aggression. How have you achieved this?”

“Whoever he is”—she gazed up at Sten—“he’s his own man, not some creation of mine. How do you know so much about frankenstructs? How do you know what signs there might be? I thought you were the last of your line, Sten?”

“I am. How
do
you know, Dr. F.?”

“I helped create you.”

At her waist, Sten’s fingers dug in. The man smiled.

“Perhaps you can help me load all of this”—he indicated the suitcases—“into my airship. Later I’ll dig out my old notes on frankenstructs.”

The snake, Clavis, traveled over to the pile, then wormed up to the top suitcase to lie quietly clicking, its ruby eyes vigilant.

Kaysana swept a lock of hair from her eyes. “Perhaps we can help you, but we need your airship to reach Perihelion. Also there may be information here that can aid us.”

“To Perihelion?” His eyebrows rose. His brow wrinkled. Something in his dark gaze spoke of hidden knowledge. “What information?”

She took a breath. Once, she would have been ashamed to reveal who she was while accompanying Sten. “I’m a GAM officer. You must have noticed the strange happenings?” He nodded. “Perihelion is the cause. I’ve been informed this was a secondary base, and the cure or a way to destroy the plague is here.

“We’re going to Perihelion, to fix what’s going wrong. If this isn’t done, the world will suffer.”

Quietly, yet loud enough for his rumbling voice to carry, Sten added, “Armageddon. Proliferation of zombies—that sort of crap.”

“They were asking for trouble with that experiment.” Dr. F. clicked his tongue. “I’m not keen on putting my life on the line. But information?” He shrugged. “There is nothing here. There is no cure, no grand and sure way of stopping this plague.”

Nothing? Fear stirred. This place was supposed to hold the answer.

“Please. Help us, Doctor.” Kaysana flicked on the safety and shoved her gun in the holster, stood there at ease with her hands clasped. No use prodding and hurrying the man. Panic him and he’d duck for cover. “We need your ship, sir. We need any data that may be stored here.”

“Yes, I understand. I understand that you think some miracle answer is here. But trust me. There is nothing! If it were that simple, it would have been done by now.

“I also understand that things are going to pot. Why do you think I’ve been here, hiding in the basement? When things looked iffy up there, I left. Just unfortunate the plague spread so fast.”

Kaysana hooked her thumbs in her belt. How could he be so sure? “Doctor. We are the solution.”

“Well, yes, so I gathered. Might I also add that I’ve seen women being dragged past here. Most of the zombies are men, and it appears they're targeting the few women who are left.”

Sten grumbled. “Damn. And how many of the weird ripples do you get here, Doctor?”

“Ripples?” His brow corrugated. “Look, you may borrow my airship, you may pick my brain for information, but I shall have to accompany you if you take my ship.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Why? I don’t trust you to bring it back. I’ve yet to see a zombie that could fly, and I can remain in the ship while others sally forth. However, you and the young lady”—he inclined his chin toward Emily—“should consider staying here.”

“Excuse me”—Emily dragged a suitcase to where Cadrach sprawled, watching the snake’s tail tip. She sat with her hands on her knees. “I’ve had a hard day driving. But I’ll say this—I’m going with them. The captain will go, and I won't stay by myself.”

“Staying here alone?” He shuddered, fingering his goatee. “The swarms of zombies going past are unsettling. It’s why I’ll take the cases up the stairs instead of landing the ship outside the wall.” He stood. “I’ll be taking off at dawn tomorrow. Why don’t we discuss the details at dinner? After we load my cases.”

What are the odds of him trying to go without us if we get his equipment aboard?
She couldn’t decide. Emily looked exhausted, though. The toll from seeing the killings on the rooftop might finally be hitting her.

We can’t walk across the mountain.

Sten spoke up while she was still deciding. “Sure, we’ll do that, Doctor.”

Carrying the cases up six flights of stairs was easy for Sten. He could have done it in half the time but chose to go up with only one case on the first trip while he followed the doctor. Ever since Dr. F. had announced he’d helped create frankenstructs, questions had simmered up. Zen helped him keep a handle on his emotions, but he still
needed
to know about his past.

After that one trip, however, Dr. F. begged off.

“Place the cases here.” He pointed at the back bulkhead of his airship, the
Emshalley.

“Right.” Sten lowered the steel case to the timber floor with a
thump
. “Gotcha. I’ll strap them down after they’re stacked.”

The command cabin was no more than four by four yards, and with suitcases along the back wall, any swinging of cats would have to be done somewhere else. At the opposite wall was the long, polished arc of the timber flight panel with the altimeters and velocimeters, the steering column and air pressure gauges. A wide yet narrow armored glass window looked out over the rooftop. Brass inlaid the panel and encircled the gauges. The rest of the cabin, though… Sten raised his eyebrows. A painting of the Dalai Lama was riveted to one wall, and the rainbow color scheme from the monastery was here too.

“Where’d you get the ship?”

“It belonged to the monastery. The monks donated it to the PME when they left.”

“Donated?” More like the PME evicted them and claimed it. He didn’t push the point.
Need the doctor on my side, to get answers
. “No weapons, then?”

“No. None on board. I don’t especially like guns.” Dr. F. pulled down his waistcoat.

“Tell me, Doc, where’d the others go? This place must have had more people?”

The doctor studied him. “Most evacuated earlier. I stayed behind with four others at the last moment, afraid of what might happen on a large airship if the virogen hit.”

“Ah-huh. So where are the other four?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a cautious man. I watched and waited. Stayed down in the shielded basement mostly.” His mouth twisted. “I came up and shot those who became zombies.”

Who’d’a thought? The man looked as tough as a daisy. “You did right.”

“Thank you. I will never forget seeing my colleagues become mindless
things
.” He shuddered. “Ahem. Dinner will be served up here on the roof in an hour—before the light goes. The steam generator is almost out of fuel, and I’ll be recharging my legs and Clavis before we take off.” He lifted his trouser cuff enough to show a shiny metal joint in the gap between sock and trouser.