us, the giant's body quaked. He wobbled, tail lashing fitfully. We ducked as it swished over our heads.
"Back!" I warned. "He's about to go!"
Like a falling granite mountain the green and purple giant crashed down into the road, expiring in a great hiss of steam. The tail lashed in a final, convulsive movement. And was still.
We approached him. A spreading pool of black was darkening the road around the mountainous carcass.
"Blood!" gasped Esma, putting a hand to one of her mouths.
"No," I said. "Oil."
"You mean he was —"
"A robot, what else? Kane's pet robot dragon. I just ruptured his crankcase."
"Amazing!" exclaimed Esma in hushed admiration. "What a truly amazing creation."
"They don't call Kane the Robot King for laughs," I said. "He knows how to put the wheels and cogs together. I'm sure he designed this baby himself."
Esma peered into one of the shattered eye cavities. "Gears," she said. "I see gears in there. And pipes. Long pipes and hoses."
"For the fire and smoke," I said.
"I just can't get over how lifelike he was!"
"Well, you'd better," I said. "We've got company."
I pulled Esma down behind the dragon's smoking head as a horde of hornet-mad synthetics boiled up the road toward us.
"Can you stop them?"
I sighed. "My ankle's on the fritz. The Kid's gun is gone. My .38's empty. And the laserbeam's jammed. I hate to tell you, sister, but right now the only thing that's gonna save us is a miracle."
Sixteen
We got one. A miracle, that is. At least that's what I thought it was at the time.
One second we were there, crouched behind the leaky robot dragon, with maybe two hundred of Kane's armed guards piling in on us, and the next second we were not there at all.
We were sitting on the floor of Nathan Oliver's lab under the Chicago Art Institute with old Nate dancing a circle around us and clapping his fat pink hands in delight.
"Did it! Did it! Did it! Oh, boy, it worked! It really worked!"
"What worked?" I asked him.
"My timesnapper," Nate told me. "I've been puttering for months trying to get the bugs out of it. Works on the snap-beam principal. You snap-beam things back and forth in time. I snapped a turtle into 3028,give or take a year, but I lost him. The future's pretty foggy. Then I tried to snap up a cop on a horse from Times Square back when cops still rode horses. Well, I got the horse but a 42nd St. wino was riding him. So I gave him a drink and sent him back."
"The horse?" asked Esma.
"No, the wino. I kept the horse."
"Listen, Nate …" I stood up; my ankle throbbed but it was easier to walk on. "How the hell did you know where we were and what was happening to us? How did you know we needed to be snap-beamed out of there?"
"That's not easy to explain in layman's terms."
"Try," I said.
"First," he declared, helping Esma to her feet, "I'm going to fix a drink for this charming young creature." He hesitated, jowls quivering."Or … or should I fix you three drinks?"
"One's fine," she said. "I usually switch heads with a drink, giving a sip or two to each."
Nate was fascinated. "And you have three different sets of taste buds?"
"Naturally. Just as I have three brains, three necks, three noses and three sets of eyes and ears."
"That's amazing," said Oliver. "With three brains don't your thoughts get all crossed up? I have a terrible time with one."
"Hey, Nate," I said, grabbing his elbow. "Cut the gab and fix her drink. And one for me while you're at it. Make it potent."
After Nate delivered the booze we all sat down in his crowded liveroom. He'd made chairs out of old famous actors. I sat down on Marlon Brando and Esma sat down on Johnny Weissmuller and Nate sat down on Zazu Pitts.
I slugged the double bourbon like baby's milk. Knocking off giant fire dragons builds a man's thirst. "Okay," I said, as one of Esma's heads sipped at her Scotch and water, "fill me in on just how you found us."
Nate squirmed uncomfortably. "It's complicated, Sam."
"So's life," I snapped.
"Back!" I warned. "He's about to go!"
Like a falling granite mountain the green and purple giant crashed down into the road, expiring in a great hiss of steam. The tail lashed in a final, convulsive movement. And was still.
We approached him. A spreading pool of black was darkening the road around the mountainous carcass.
"Blood!" gasped Esma, putting a hand to one of her mouths.
"No," I said. "Oil."
"You mean he was —"
"A robot, what else? Kane's pet robot dragon. I just ruptured his crankcase."
"Amazing!" exclaimed Esma in hushed admiration. "What a truly amazing creation."
"They don't call Kane the Robot King for laughs," I said. "He knows how to put the wheels and cogs together. I'm sure he designed this baby himself."
Esma peered into one of the shattered eye cavities. "Gears," she said. "I see gears in there. And pipes. Long pipes and hoses."
"For the fire and smoke," I said.
"I just can't get over how lifelike he was!"
"Well, you'd better," I said. "We've got company."
I pulled Esma down behind the dragon's smoking head as a horde of hornet-mad synthetics boiled up the road toward us.
"Can you stop them?"
I sighed. "My ankle's on the fritz. The Kid's gun is gone. My .38's empty. And the laserbeam's jammed. I hate to tell you, sister, but right now the only thing that's gonna save us is a miracle."
Sixteen
We got one. A miracle, that is. At least that's what I thought it was at the time.
One second we were there, crouched behind the leaky robot dragon, with maybe two hundred of Kane's armed guards piling in on us, and the next second we were not there at all.
We were sitting on the floor of Nathan Oliver's lab under the Chicago Art Institute with old Nate dancing a circle around us and clapping his fat pink hands in delight.
"Did it! Did it! Did it! Oh, boy, it worked! It really worked!"
"What worked?" I asked him.
"My timesnapper," Nate told me. "I've been puttering for months trying to get the bugs out of it. Works on the snap-beam principal. You snap-beam things back and forth in time. I snapped a turtle into 3028,give or take a year, but I lost him. The future's pretty foggy. Then I tried to snap up a cop on a horse from Times Square back when cops still rode horses. Well, I got the horse but a 42nd St. wino was riding him. So I gave him a drink and sent him back."
"The horse?" asked Esma.
"No, the wino. I kept the horse."
"Listen, Nate …" I stood up; my ankle throbbed but it was easier to walk on. "How the hell did you know where we were and what was happening to us? How did you know we needed to be snap-beamed out of there?"
"That's not easy to explain in layman's terms."
"Try," I said.
"First," he declared, helping Esma to her feet, "I'm going to fix a drink for this charming young creature." He hesitated, jowls quivering."Or … or should I fix you three drinks?"
"One's fine," she said. "I usually switch heads with a drink, giving a sip or two to each."
Nate was fascinated. "And you have three different sets of taste buds?"
"Naturally. Just as I have three brains, three necks, three noses and three sets of eyes and ears."
"That's amazing," said Oliver. "With three brains don't your thoughts get all crossed up? I have a terrible time with one."
"Hey, Nate," I said, grabbing his elbow. "Cut the gab and fix her drink. And one for me while you're at it. Make it potent."
After Nate delivered the booze we all sat down in his crowded liveroom. He'd made chairs out of old famous actors. I sat down on Marlon Brando and Esma sat down on Johnny Weissmuller and Nate sat down on Zazu Pitts.
I slugged the double bourbon like baby's milk. Knocking off giant fire dragons builds a man's thirst. "Okay," I said, as one of Esma's heads sipped at her Scotch and water, "fill me in on just how you found us."
Nate squirmed uncomfortably. "It's complicated, Sam."
"So's life," I snapped.
Similar Books
Trouble Won't Wait
Autumn Piper
Trouble finding Blondie
Mimi Marten
Fair Catch (Love and Sports Series)
Meghan Quinn
Recruit
Jonathan P. Brazee
Mutant City
Steve Feasey
Master of Shadows
Mark Lamster
Friendly Fire
Lorhainne Eckhart
Play It Again
Stephen Humphrey Bogart
Old School Bones
Randall Peffer