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dochermes"Code Name PENTAGRAM- The Killing Machine"
6/4-6/5/1985
I.
At a few minutes to ten on a warm June evening, Jeremy Bane parked his Mustang behind a Holiday Inn just outside the city limits. He was not in the best of moods. For the past week, he had gotten nowhere with his investigation into just what John Grim Enterprises was really up to. A week earlier, he and Stephen Weaver had intercepted an assassination attempt on a Japanese researcher who was blowing the whistle on Grim, and the clash had ended with one of Grim's agents dead and the other seriously wounded. Bane had been ready for retaliation from Grim, in fact he had been actually looking forward to it since that would close the case. But nothing had happened. Weaver had been called back to his duties for the Trom in New Mexico, promising he would hurry back if needed.
Still a year or two under thirty, the Dire Wolf was so serious and intense that he seemed older. As always, he was wearing the all-black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket that was his widely recognized uniform. Thin and wiry at six feet even, Bane had a narrow face under short black hair but his most distinctive feature was a pair of pale grey eyes that alarmed even friends. Walking briskly with the excessive nervous energy that came from his enhanced metabolism, the Dire Wolf strode toward the sidewalk that ran around the hotel. He was still turning over ideas in his head how he could get a handle on the Grim organization. There had to be an angle he could use.
As he approached, an exit door opened from within. Bane froze, arms still down by his sides but suddenly even more alert and ready for an attack than usual. He had been in a secret war all his life. In the door, a stout red-haired man in his early fifties smiled confidently at him. The man wore a dark business suit, but with no tie and his shirt collar open. "Mr Bane! Glad to meet you."
"And you would be...?" the Dire Wolf responded warily.
"Oh. Fred. Fred Hogarty. I'm one of Andrew's staff, kind of a personal assistant. Come on in, he's on the phone but he should be free in a second." The redhead held the door open as far as it would go. Bane's Kumundu training analyzed the man's posture, the way his weight was distributed, the tension in facial muscles, all in an instant. He concluded that this Hogarty was not armed and not a threat, but genuinely pleased to see him. Good enough for the moment.
Stepping through the door into a cool hallway with subdued lighting, standing next to a nook with an ice machine, Bane said, "Andrew Steel is here? I was expecting to meet Shiro."
Hogarty gestured toward the door behind him. "Sorry, Shiro got sent to San Diego. Something about testifying before the State Senate. But Andrew himself is here." He unlocked the door and stepped aside to allow Bane to pass in. Against all his long-held instincts to never enter an unknown room with a strange person behind him, Bane cooperated. He walked into a neat, clean and undistinctive suite. Two large trunks were on the floor by the double beds, and an impressive video monitor had been set up on the dresser.
Standing in one corner, hanging up the phone and glancing up, was Andrew Steel.
They had met a few times and worked together in the battle between John Grim and Wu Lung a year earlier, but Bane was still not used to the strange grey man. Steel was that rarity in the Midnight War, someone known to the general public. He was in fact famous as a criminologist and philanthropist, but with his real crusade still kept secret. Just over six feet tall, slim and fit-looking in a high-collared grey jacket with a buttoned front flap, Andrew Steel had short fine-textured white hair and pale eyes almost exactly the same shade as Bane's. His face was regular, not exactly handsome but presentable with a calm, somber expression that seldom changed.
"Jeremy. I had to send Shiro to the West Coast but I am free to help you. I understand you are looking into John Grim's surviving organization." That voice was low and even, but vibrant with restrained power. It was like Steel himself. Even standing there motionless, he gave the impression of tremendous energy under tight control.
"Hello, Steel. Yeah, we should compare what we know about Grim's empire. He may be a vegetable in that hospital in Maryland, but his organization is still functioning." The Dire Wolf relaxed almost imperceptibly as he satisfied himself that he was with allies.
"Fred. I want you to go get the car ready. Fuel it up and check everything. We may be on the go shortly."
As Hogarty left the room with a compliant nod, Bane stepped closer to the grey man. "Does he know about you?"
"He has suspicions, I am sure, but the truth is beyond what he can accept," Steel said. "Should I ask what you think you know about me?"
"It's my Kumundu training. Like your partner Shiro, I can read a man's balance and co-ordination, how he breathes, how he reacts to sudden noises or motion. You imitate Human movements closely, but you are still a little too smooth, too decisive. There is no hesitation in your reactions, Steel. And you weigh more than a man your size and build should. You're denser than flesh and blood. Maybe a normal person couldn't tell but I see it."
The grey man smiled faintly. "There aren't many Kumundu masters in the world, luckily for those who keep secrets. Very well. How do you feel about my, shall we say, unique nature?"
"I'm fine with it. Look at my team. Khang. A Trom. A telepath, a Blue Guide, the Silver Skull. I'm used to working with unusual people." Bane shrugged as if to end the conversation. "Besides, your record speaks for itself."
"Good. I have been researching the John Grim organization myself for a month now. Leonard Slade retrieved the Trom technology which Grim had stolen but that's not the end of it. Grim had learned enough to produce some prototype devices which are near Trom level. I believe there is a team of Grim agents using these devices as assassins and thieves. And they are aware I know!"
Bane was studying the strange grey man at close range under good light for the first time. "You have Leonard Slade's face," he said abruptly. "Never mind, forget I said that. I have been waiting the last week for Grim's agents and it's getting on my nerves. Now I find they should be after you as well. Maybe we need to give them a more obvious opening-"
Both men swung around at the same time to face the door. "In the parking lot..." began Steel.
"I hear it, too," Bane snapped. "Come on." He was through the door and out in the hall in a blur, opening the exit door and leaping out into the parking lot before an average person would have been able to react. Yet Andrew Steel was right beside him.
Parked sideways facing them was a black Chevy van with tinted windows. As they emerged, the side door slammed open and a tall gleaming figure came out, planting heavy feet down ponderously on the parking lot surface. It rose to a height closer to seven feet than six, seemingly a big man in golden plate armor. The head was a ovoid helmet with a metal faceplate and two red-glowing lenses where eyes would be set. Weapons of an obvious nature were built into its arms and shoulders, and the bizarre figure snapped out its right fist that had a multiple-barrel submachine pistol as part of its construction.
The Dire Wolf made a running leap, seized that weapon in both hands, planted his feet and swung the barrels around toward the black van just as they burst into a barrage of gunfire. The tinted windows splintered and flew apart, and a single scream was heard from inside the van. The armored figure flung Bane away from it with irresistible strength. Thrown tumbling across the lot, the Dire Wolf rolled back up on his feet and was on the attack again instantly. Everything happened within a few seconds. Even as Bane was being tossed aside, Andrew Steel closed in on the armored figure but went unexpectedly behind it and dug his fingers into the nape of the metal-clad neck.
The armored figure convulsed, tried to reach back to dislodge the grey man but Bane was upon him by then. Knowing better than to break his knuckles striking a metal helmet, the Dire Wolf had drawn his long-barreled Smith & Wesson and jammed its muzzle right between the red-lensed eyes. Before he could fire, if that was his next move, the armored figure ground to a halt and stood as still as a cast iron statue.
Stepping away from behind the still form, Andrew Steel examined his own hands as if he had hurt them. "Someone will have called the police," he told Bane. "We have to move fast."
"How did you paralyze him like that?" Bane asked, holstering his revolver again. "The way he moved.. he's not a living thing, is he?"
"I shut him down. Quick, I want you to shove the driver's body over and take the wheel. I will load this construct into the van." Steel's voice was not demanding but confident as if he fully expected to be obeyed. As Bane watched, the grey man picked the armored figure up off the ground entirely and carried him over to the van as if carrying a cardboard cut-out. How much would something like that weigh in that heavy plate armor, with all the weapons? More than three hundred pounds?
Shaking himself back to the moment, the Dire Wolf yanked open the driver's door of the van. The bloodied corpse of a dark-skinned man with curly hair, wearing a shredded tan jumpsuit with the PENTAGRAM emblem on the left sleeve, was slumped over the wheel. His open eyes still had a look of surprise in them. Bane unbuckled the man's seat belt and pushed the body hard over into the passenger side. The driver's seat was covered with fresh blood and tiny bits of broken glass, but Bane dropped down into it, anyway. From the rear compartment, Steel's commanding voice said, "Ready to go."
Driving out of the parking lot, Bane swung left and then right, heading for the parkway. "I'm guessing your plan is to head for the John Grim facility in Westchester?"
"Yes. Very good. I think we should return this assassin to its creators." There were clinking and snapping noises from the back. "Luckily, its design is familiar to me. That makes things easier."
II.
As he sped along the parkway, watching for police cars but spotting none, the Dire Wolf tried to fight down his annoyance. He was so used to being in charge, to being the captain of his team. Yes, even to enjoying the extra capabilities he possessed over the normal people he encountered. From the start, Andrew Steel had taken charge and Bane resented it unreasonably.
Over one shoulder, he said, "That's not a flesh and blood man in a metal suit, is it?"
"No, Jeremy. This is a construct. It runs on complex programs with thousands of responses for whatever contingencies it faces. I believe it also can be overidden and run by remote control if needed." Steel sounded slightly sad. "Imitation Trom technology, put to violent use. Too bad."
"So it's a robot designed to assassinate people? Really?" Bane asked, with his anger getting out of control.
"Yes. The Killing Machine. I had overheard the phrase in a wiretap but could not identify it further." There was a clank and the sound of a power drill. "Quite advanced by Human standards. Here's a tank feeding a flame thrower nozzle. The outer surface can be electrified with fatal voltage. Stainless steel blades can extend from the forearms. The more I look, the more weaponry I find."
At a red light, Bane reached over to jam the dead body next to him further down out of sight. "There's a two-way radio built in the dashboard but it's not turned on. This driver was probably going to report as soon as the death robot finished us both off."
Steel did not speak for a moment, there was a series of clicking noises and a snap as something closed. "This is more advanced than I thought," he said. "Jeremy, it was fortunate we faced this device together. It could not react to both of us in time, but I suspect it could have killed either of us separately. I believe I have it reprogrammed now."
Behind the wheel, Bane suddenly felt his spirits lift. "Don't tell me..."
"We'll see how it works out," Steel told him. "Pull over when you can. I need to switch places with that poor soul beside you."
After a few minutes, Bane saw a strip mall that was dark. It was after eleven by now, and the stores were all closed. He eased in at the end, facing a used furniture outlet and left the van running. Evidently, no one in traffic had noticed that its driver's window was missing and a row of round holes ran across the door in a line but he worried a cop car might go by and investigate. As he waited, Bane saw Andrew Steel open the passenger door and easily pick the corpse up to place it in the back next to the inert construct. The grey man closed the rear door and came around the front of the van to place his hand on the window opening. "Let me drive from here."
"Before we go any further," Bane said. "I need to know a little more. Is that thing back there out of commission?"
"It's deactivated, Jeremy. I don't know enough yet to guarantee it can't be started up again."
"Well, that doesn't make me feel comfortable," the Dire Wolf snapped. "How about we take it apart before we go any further?"
The grey man was watching Bane thoughtfully. "I have a tentative plan. Trust me."
"Yeah right." The Dire Wolf started to argue, closed his mouth and thought for a second. "All right. Fine. Anyone else, I'd throw them out and I'd go back there and demolish that machine myself. But because you're you, with your record, I'll play along for the moment." He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out to stand next to the grey man.
Steel smiled in the gloom, then vaulted up behind the wheel. "Thank you. I hope your trust proves justified. Let's get going."
"Fine." The unhappiness in Bane's voice could not be missed. He felt like he had not had any control over the situation so far. Going around, he got into the passenger seat and buckled up. "I hope you know what you're doing."
The van had been left running, now Steel backed it up and turned around to get back on the road. "The facility I located is only another six miles down this way."
Bane started to say that he had found the same place in his own investigation but caught himself. Suddenly he realized he had to cool off and be more professional about this. It annoyed him not to be running the show, but that was the way things were at the moment. He took a deep breath and held it, letting it out slowly before answering. "It's pretty small. More like an outpost for Grim Enuterprises than a nerve center."
"True. Yet I conclude the facility is from where the Killing Machine was launched at us. There we will find the people responsible."
They rolled down the road a few more miles, then Steel slowed as they neared a waist-high stone barrier encircling a property. At the entrance, there was a booth where a uniformed guard sat on a stool. Blocking the way was a thin wooden bar painted with diagonal black and white stripes. Steel pulled over close as the guard stood up and leaned out through the opening.
"Hey, you're not Fabiano-" was all the man got to say. Steel had extended his arm and a faint hissing could be heard. The guard swayed and fell forward, head and arms hanging out the opening of the booth.
"Anesthetic gas up your sleeve, huh?" Bane muttered. "You're full of surprises. Guess I might as well make myself useful." He hopped out of the van, raised the wooden bar up so it clicked into a vertical position, then climbed back in. "Who knows when he was supposed to check in or be relieved? We may not have much time."
"This will be resolved soon," Steel answered as he drove into the parking lot. There were only four cars in sight, all near the main entrance. The grey man pulled up so his side of the van was facing the twin glass doors. "They won't be able to see you from their angle, Jeremy."
"Got it."
As Andrew Steel got out of the black van with its gruesome cargo, he brushed broken glass off the seat of his trousers absently. By the glass doors was a sign on a post JOHN GRIM ENTERPRISES and below those words CYBERNETIC RESEARCH 12. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. The grey man approached the doors and found they were locked.
Slipping out to the passenger side, hidden from view of anyone inside those doors, Jeremy Bane crouched low on toes and fingertips and peered out just in time to see another security guard sneaking up around the side of the building. He plunged forward in a dark blur, so quick that guard had only a flash of awareness that something was moving toward him before a rigid open hand slashed down at the nape of his neck. The Dire Wolf caught the guard before he could fall, lowering him to the sidewalk and rolling him up against the brick wall with its neat hedges.
Steel had watched this. He nodded approval, took a flat metal device from a pocket and pressed it to the door locks. Bane recognized the gadget, he had a similar one Slade had given him. The Trom device extended wire thin filaments that reshaped themselves and rotated to open the lock. No alarm sounded. He pulled the doors open and walked through, while Bane remained outside for the moment, surveying the area suspiciously.
III.
Striding into a reception room, Steel faced a man behind a plain metal desk just inside the door. The man was not wearing a guard uniform, but a dress shirt with a tie, the jacket draped over the back of the swivel chair. He was bent over a mess of loose papers, folders, folders, and he glared up at the strange grey man in obvious annoyance. "NOW what," he began. "Hey, you.. you're Andrew Steel."
"Look at this," the grey man said as he extended his open palm. That low hissing sounded and the man slumped over the desk with a sigh. Steel took a second to examine the papers, saw they were mundane budget and schedule forms, and moved on. The room was not unusual, fitting with a short couch and a magazine rack on one wall, two standing lamps, a framed painting on a lighthouse with a storm approaching. The stylized red letters JG, intertwined, were on a plaque, with JOHN GRIM ENTERPRISES beneath them.
Steel approached the double metal doors that were set in the far wall, with no handles or pushbar. To one side was a box with a screen and a slit from sliding an ID card through. He gripped it with both hands, and apparently without effort, snapped its cover off to reveal the electronics inside. Taking a tiny tool no bigger than a toothpick from his tunic, Steel made some adjustments and both doors slid open with a hiss.
A huge high-ceilinged lab was revealed, brilliantly lit by overhead fluorescents, all gleaming chrome and glass and scrubbed white walls. Only black rubber mats on the floor gave the eye any relief. A cluster of chest-high consoles stood in a circle in the middle of the lab, thick power cables running across the floor into them. Jumping in surprise as the doors unexpectedly opened were three old men in crumpled white smocks. All three were holding styrofoam coffee cups and one of them spilled some as he gave a start.
"Steel? Aren't you Andrew Steel? What on Earth are you doing here?" said the tallest scientist, the one with a prominent nose like a beak and blue eyes under shaggy white brows.
"I recognize you men as well. Wesley Canavan. Gerhart Weichert. And you, Albert Meade. Top men in your field." He sighed audibly. "I am disappointed to see men of your caliber working for John Grim!"
"He funds research," Canavan snapped. "No arguing with government bureaucrafts for every penny. He provides all we need."
"Making weapons used for criminal purposes. Assassination devices. A Killing Machine." Steel's voice was stern and sad. "I expected better from you three."
"Oh, please. I get my sermons in church," Canavan scoffed as he went back to adjusting the controls on the consoles. "What do you want here, Mr Steel?"
The grey man stepped closer. "Your machine won't be responding to that signal. The murders are over now. I am taking you three into custody."
One of the three held up pudgy hands and waved them pleadingly. Weichert had a moonface and the white stubble of three days without shaving. "Wait. Wait. You can't prove we have done anything wrong. What do you mean, 'murders?' Killing Machine? We are only doing cybernetic research."
"Please listen to me, all of you. Do not attempt to reactivate that construct. You will be placing your own lives in jeopardy. I am warning you for your own safety..." Steel began to say something more, then hesitated. He seemed suddenly dazed and uncertain, so out of the character for him that it was unsettling to see. The pale eyes turned toward where Canavan was turning up a dial into the red zone.
"The signal is dangerously high now," Canavan said. "It should ahh, jumpstart the Mobile Unit, if anything can. The Unit should start returning here now."
"The signal is doing something to Steel," Weichert yelped in alarm. "Look at him. He's going to pass out. Turn it higher!"
"It's at maximum now," said Weichert. The vulture face leered. "I think you're right. Feeling a little disoriented, Mr Steel?"
The grey man did not answer. Stiff and unseeing, he fell over backwards without trying to catch himself. The crash when he hit the floor sounded as if a refrigerator had toppled. Steel lay rigid, one arm still raised in the same position it had been when he had frozen.
"Finally," Weichert laughed. "This means fat bonuses for us! Maybe a new facility all our own. When the Mobile Unit arrives, it can dispose of this fool and then.. then.."
His voice trailed off. He had glanced up and saw a young man all in black, staring at him with murderous grey eyes. In one hand was a long-barreled revolver. "Go on," said Jeremy Bane coldly. "Don't stop incriminating yourself now."
IV.
Despite that, all three techs stood absolutely silent as they stared at the gun. None of them had ever had a firearm aimed right at them, and the anger in Bane's face made them terrified beyond any fear they had ever known in their pampered lives. They looked like deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing car.
"Now what?" asked Bane as if to himself. Covering the three scientists with his revolver, he crouched down and touched Steel. He tried not to show it, but he was at a loss what to do. What would the lack of a pulse or not breathing prove? Was Steel "dead" or just inactive for the moment, like a machine with its batteries removed? He gripped the gray man's wrist and the skin was room temperature. It felt exactly like human skin but the bones were harder than bones should be. He decided he had to get Steel out of here and back to that guy Hogarty, who might know what to do in this situation.
Rising, the Dire Wolf extended his arm, swinging the barrel of his Smith & Wesson back and forth over the trio. "All right. Now I want you birds to turn around, hand up at the backs of your heads. I'm going to tie you guys up to keep you from operating your little robot assassin any more tonight."
In an instant, his gun heated up so quickly it turned red and he flung it away with a gasp at the unexpected second-degree burns on his hand. The pistol clattered across the room but the bullets did not explode from the heat as he thought they might. Clutching his injured hand, the Dire Wolf glared at the newcomer standing in the doorway to the lab.
Wearing one of the tan jumpsuits with the PENTAGRAM logo high on the left sleeve, he was a man of average height, maybe thirty or thirty-two. Not much of his face could be seen, he wore a leather helmet with thick goggles. Cables ran down the outside of both arms to where heavy metal cuffs at his wrist were set with red lenses two inches across.
"Another one of John Grim's prototypes, right?" demanded Bane, coldly furious. The pain in his hand was already easing and no blisters were developing. His years on the tagra diet from Tel Shai had boosted his body's healing factor way beyond what medical science could explain. In a few minutes, he would be able to use that hand normally.
"Kill him, Pulse!" screamed one of the white-smocked techs, gesturing with a trembling finger.
"You guys are awful quick to order killings," Bane yelled back. "As long as it's not you who has to do it!"
The one they called Pulse was holding his right arm out, aiming that red lense like a weapon. Beneath the goggles, a wide heavy face was expressionless. "What's the situation, Weichert?"
"That's Andrew Steel on the floor. You know about him. He came in here and started trying to arrest us for some reason." The old white-haired scrawny man dug in his smock pockets with both hands, not looking for anything but just fidgeting. "Canavan started up the console to retrieve the ME-42 and Steel seemed to have a stroke. He just fell to the floor."
Pulse kept that lens trained exactly on Bane's face, hand steady. "Who's this joker?"
"No idea," Weichert answered. "He came in while we were still staring at Andrew Steel falling over. "When he started waving that gun around, I thought he was some lunatic. Luckily you were nearby."
Watching closely, Bane was in a loose stance, weight evenly distributed and ready to move in any direction. This man Pulse was armed with some sort of lasers. Bane didn't know if the flexible Trom armor under his clothes would protect against that sort of concentrated heat and he wasn't eager to find out. Acting calm, the Dire Wolf folded his arms in front of his chest and waited. To the men in that room, this gesture seemed to be just bravado but actually it placed Bane's hands within reach of the silver daggers sheathed under his sleeves. In a second, he would grasp their hilts and bet his throwing speed and accuracy against the reflexes of the man called Pulse. The moment was almost right...
The crash of breaking glass made them all jump. The Killing Machine stomped in through the doors without seeming to notice them and loomed up with its red lenses flaring brilliantly. The construct was moving stiffly, off-balance but still functioning.
"Weichert! Quick, shut it down, something has gone wrong!" screamed one of the scientists.
Bane dropped down to the floor, seized Steel under the arms and began to haul him across the lab even as the deadly robot extended its right arm and opened fire. A stream of .40 mm shells tore through the men in that room, cutting them open as if an invisible blade had sliced across their bodies. As the Killing Machine ripped up its creators, it ignored the Dire Wolf tugging Steel past him. The thunder of gunfire in that enclosed room would have deafened any one who would hav been in there and survived.
V.
Out in the cool night air, Bane dragged the stiff form of Andrew Steel across the parking lot. Anyone witnessing it would probably have thought the grey man was a statue of some sort. Although he was strong for his build, the Dire Wolf found hauling away three hundred pounds of rigid Steel was going to take a while. He headed for the black van they had arrived in, only to see that the rear door was hanging off one hinge where the Killing Machine had broken out. Bane shook his head angrily. With all the visible damage on that van, driving it away was asking to be stopped by the police. He would have to hot-wire one of the cars lined up alongside the building instead. Crouching, he lowered Steel to the ground. It was unsettling to see that face so lifeless, the eyes unseeing. Yet it was not like being near a corpse and he couldn't have explained why.
The screams and yelling from inside the lab had only lasted a few seconds. Then there had been smashing noises as of systematic destruction. It sounded as if the Killing Machine was thoroughly wrecking the lab, Bane thought. He decided he had to get out of there in case that robot came back out and attacked. All the lights in the facility winked out at once. In the starlight, there was complete silence.
Turning from where he was jimmying a car door open, Bane looked around in puzzlement. What had happened to the power? He guessed the Killing Machine had done enough damage that every circuit in the place had blown, but why? The Dire Wolf fiddled a little more with the piece of wire and tugged up to pull the knob of the door lock up an inch. That did it. The door opened easily. He turned to see Andrew Steel smoothly get up on his feet as if nothing had happened.
"You all right?" asked Bane. "You froze up like instant rigor mortis had set in!"
The grey man's voice sounded at ease, "I'm back to normal function, Jeremy. Evidently, the radio signal they used to control that construct was so strong at this range, it jammed my processes. That has never happened before."
"Good to see you moving again. I'll have this car running in a minute. It's a Chevy, they're easy to hotwire." Bane slid one of the silver daggers from beneath his sleeve and got down under the dashboard. "Give me just a second."
"I have to see for myself," Steel said. He strode quickly in through the open glass doors and was back in less than a minute. "Did you fight the man with the laser lenses?"
"They called him Pulse. You bet, and it was way too close for comfort. I wouldn't want to face him again like that." The car started up, and he got out, returning the dagger to its sheath. "We've got a new Chevrolet with a full tank, Steel. I suggest we get some distance between ourselves and this place."
The grey man sounded melancholy as he approached. "The three scientists are dead, as if Pulse. The Killing Machine executed its basic protocols on them, then smashed as much of the control apparatus as it could. Once the electric power for the facility went off, so did its motive."
Bane glanced toward the open doors to the lab, barely visible now in the gloom. "I have two resonance caps on me. Before we go, I'll set them on that robot and be sure it's blown up. I want to demolish it. If it's a prototype that John Grim built himself, like you said, hopefully they won't be able to build another one."
"No. I don't think they will have the capacity. Jeremy, I reset the construct's programming to make it return here and destroy the controls." Steel's voice had a noticeable sorrow in it. "There was a good chance it would try to kill any people in its sights. I couldn't override that. That was its fundamental drive. When I warned those men not to revive the construct, I was sincerely trying to save them."
Something in Steel's remorseful attitude touched Bane. He knew that the grey man always tried to use non-lethal methods even against the most brutal enemies. "Hey. You gave them fair warning, Steel. Don't forget, they were trying to use that thing to kill both of us."
Steel sighed. "I suppose it's only a kind of poetic justice that they brought on themselves what they were intending to do to us."
"'The schemer falls into the pit that he digs for another,'" quoted the Dire Wolf in the dark.
8/5/2015
6/4-6/5/1985
I.
At a few minutes to ten on a warm June evening, Jeremy Bane parked his Mustang behind a Holiday Inn just outside the city limits. He was not in the best of moods. For the past week, he had gotten nowhere with his investigation into just what John Grim Enterprises was really up to. A week earlier, he and Stephen Weaver had intercepted an assassination attempt on a Japanese researcher who was blowing the whistle on Grim, and the clash had ended with one of Grim's agents dead and the other seriously wounded. Bane had been ready for retaliation from Grim, in fact he had been actually looking forward to it since that would close the case. But nothing had happened. Weaver had been called back to his duties for the Trom in New Mexico, promising he would hurry back if needed.
Still a year or two under thirty, the Dire Wolf was so serious and intense that he seemed older. As always, he was wearing the all-black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket that was his widely recognized uniform. Thin and wiry at six feet even, Bane had a narrow face under short black hair but his most distinctive feature was a pair of pale grey eyes that alarmed even friends. Walking briskly with the excessive nervous energy that came from his enhanced metabolism, the Dire Wolf strode toward the sidewalk that ran around the hotel. He was still turning over ideas in his head how he could get a handle on the Grim organization. There had to be an angle he could use.
As he approached, an exit door opened from within. Bane froze, arms still down by his sides but suddenly even more alert and ready for an attack than usual. He had been in a secret war all his life. In the door, a stout red-haired man in his early fifties smiled confidently at him. The man wore a dark business suit, but with no tie and his shirt collar open. "Mr Bane! Glad to meet you."
"And you would be...?" the Dire Wolf responded warily.
"Oh. Fred. Fred Hogarty. I'm one of Andrew's staff, kind of a personal assistant. Come on in, he's on the phone but he should be free in a second." The redhead held the door open as far as it would go. Bane's Kumundu training analyzed the man's posture, the way his weight was distributed, the tension in facial muscles, all in an instant. He concluded that this Hogarty was not armed and not a threat, but genuinely pleased to see him. Good enough for the moment.
Stepping through the door into a cool hallway with subdued lighting, standing next to a nook with an ice machine, Bane said, "Andrew Steel is here? I was expecting to meet Shiro."
Hogarty gestured toward the door behind him. "Sorry, Shiro got sent to San Diego. Something about testifying before the State Senate. But Andrew himself is here." He unlocked the door and stepped aside to allow Bane to pass in. Against all his long-held instincts to never enter an unknown room with a strange person behind him, Bane cooperated. He walked into a neat, clean and undistinctive suite. Two large trunks were on the floor by the double beds, and an impressive video monitor had been set up on the dresser.
Standing in one corner, hanging up the phone and glancing up, was Andrew Steel.
They had met a few times and worked together in the battle between John Grim and Wu Lung a year earlier, but Bane was still not used to the strange grey man. Steel was that rarity in the Midnight War, someone known to the general public. He was in fact famous as a criminologist and philanthropist, but with his real crusade still kept secret. Just over six feet tall, slim and fit-looking in a high-collared grey jacket with a buttoned front flap, Andrew Steel had short fine-textured white hair and pale eyes almost exactly the same shade as Bane's. His face was regular, not exactly handsome but presentable with a calm, somber expression that seldom changed.
"Jeremy. I had to send Shiro to the West Coast but I am free to help you. I understand you are looking into John Grim's surviving organization." That voice was low and even, but vibrant with restrained power. It was like Steel himself. Even standing there motionless, he gave the impression of tremendous energy under tight control.
"Hello, Steel. Yeah, we should compare what we know about Grim's empire. He may be a vegetable in that hospital in Maryland, but his organization is still functioning." The Dire Wolf relaxed almost imperceptibly as he satisfied himself that he was with allies.
"Fred. I want you to go get the car ready. Fuel it up and check everything. We may be on the go shortly."
As Hogarty left the room with a compliant nod, Bane stepped closer to the grey man. "Does he know about you?"
"He has suspicions, I am sure, but the truth is beyond what he can accept," Steel said. "Should I ask what you think you know about me?"
"It's my Kumundu training. Like your partner Shiro, I can read a man's balance and co-ordination, how he breathes, how he reacts to sudden noises or motion. You imitate Human movements closely, but you are still a little too smooth, too decisive. There is no hesitation in your reactions, Steel. And you weigh more than a man your size and build should. You're denser than flesh and blood. Maybe a normal person couldn't tell but I see it."
The grey man smiled faintly. "There aren't many Kumundu masters in the world, luckily for those who keep secrets. Very well. How do you feel about my, shall we say, unique nature?"
"I'm fine with it. Look at my team. Khang. A Trom. A telepath, a Blue Guide, the Silver Skull. I'm used to working with unusual people." Bane shrugged as if to end the conversation. "Besides, your record speaks for itself."
"Good. I have been researching the John Grim organization myself for a month now. Leonard Slade retrieved the Trom technology which Grim had stolen but that's not the end of it. Grim had learned enough to produce some prototype devices which are near Trom level. I believe there is a team of Grim agents using these devices as assassins and thieves. And they are aware I know!"
Bane was studying the strange grey man at close range under good light for the first time. "You have Leonard Slade's face," he said abruptly. "Never mind, forget I said that. I have been waiting the last week for Grim's agents and it's getting on my nerves. Now I find they should be after you as well. Maybe we need to give them a more obvious opening-"
Both men swung around at the same time to face the door. "In the parking lot..." began Steel.
"I hear it, too," Bane snapped. "Come on." He was through the door and out in the hall in a blur, opening the exit door and leaping out into the parking lot before an average person would have been able to react. Yet Andrew Steel was right beside him.
Parked sideways facing them was a black Chevy van with tinted windows. As they emerged, the side door slammed open and a tall gleaming figure came out, planting heavy feet down ponderously on the parking lot surface. It rose to a height closer to seven feet than six, seemingly a big man in golden plate armor. The head was a ovoid helmet with a metal faceplate and two red-glowing lenses where eyes would be set. Weapons of an obvious nature were built into its arms and shoulders, and the bizarre figure snapped out its right fist that had a multiple-barrel submachine pistol as part of its construction.
The Dire Wolf made a running leap, seized that weapon in both hands, planted his feet and swung the barrels around toward the black van just as they burst into a barrage of gunfire. The tinted windows splintered and flew apart, and a single scream was heard from inside the van. The armored figure flung Bane away from it with irresistible strength. Thrown tumbling across the lot, the Dire Wolf rolled back up on his feet and was on the attack again instantly. Everything happened within a few seconds. Even as Bane was being tossed aside, Andrew Steel closed in on the armored figure but went unexpectedly behind it and dug his fingers into the nape of the metal-clad neck.
The armored figure convulsed, tried to reach back to dislodge the grey man but Bane was upon him by then. Knowing better than to break his knuckles striking a metal helmet, the Dire Wolf had drawn his long-barreled Smith & Wesson and jammed its muzzle right between the red-lensed eyes. Before he could fire, if that was his next move, the armored figure ground to a halt and stood as still as a cast iron statue.
Stepping away from behind the still form, Andrew Steel examined his own hands as if he had hurt them. "Someone will have called the police," he told Bane. "We have to move fast."
"How did you paralyze him like that?" Bane asked, holstering his revolver again. "The way he moved.. he's not a living thing, is he?"
"I shut him down. Quick, I want you to shove the driver's body over and take the wheel. I will load this construct into the van." Steel's voice was not demanding but confident as if he fully expected to be obeyed. As Bane watched, the grey man picked the armored figure up off the ground entirely and carried him over to the van as if carrying a cardboard cut-out. How much would something like that weigh in that heavy plate armor, with all the weapons? More than three hundred pounds?
Shaking himself back to the moment, the Dire Wolf yanked open the driver's door of the van. The bloodied corpse of a dark-skinned man with curly hair, wearing a shredded tan jumpsuit with the PENTAGRAM emblem on the left sleeve, was slumped over the wheel. His open eyes still had a look of surprise in them. Bane unbuckled the man's seat belt and pushed the body hard over into the passenger side. The driver's seat was covered with fresh blood and tiny bits of broken glass, but Bane dropped down into it, anyway. From the rear compartment, Steel's commanding voice said, "Ready to go."
Driving out of the parking lot, Bane swung left and then right, heading for the parkway. "I'm guessing your plan is to head for the John Grim facility in Westchester?"
"Yes. Very good. I think we should return this assassin to its creators." There were clinking and snapping noises from the back. "Luckily, its design is familiar to me. That makes things easier."
II.
As he sped along the parkway, watching for police cars but spotting none, the Dire Wolf tried to fight down his annoyance. He was so used to being in charge, to being the captain of his team. Yes, even to enjoying the extra capabilities he possessed over the normal people he encountered. From the start, Andrew Steel had taken charge and Bane resented it unreasonably.
Over one shoulder, he said, "That's not a flesh and blood man in a metal suit, is it?"
"No, Jeremy. This is a construct. It runs on complex programs with thousands of responses for whatever contingencies it faces. I believe it also can be overidden and run by remote control if needed." Steel sounded slightly sad. "Imitation Trom technology, put to violent use. Too bad."
"So it's a robot designed to assassinate people? Really?" Bane asked, with his anger getting out of control.
"Yes. The Killing Machine. I had overheard the phrase in a wiretap but could not identify it further." There was a clank and the sound of a power drill. "Quite advanced by Human standards. Here's a tank feeding a flame thrower nozzle. The outer surface can be electrified with fatal voltage. Stainless steel blades can extend from the forearms. The more I look, the more weaponry I find."
At a red light, Bane reached over to jam the dead body next to him further down out of sight. "There's a two-way radio built in the dashboard but it's not turned on. This driver was probably going to report as soon as the death robot finished us both off."
Steel did not speak for a moment, there was a series of clicking noises and a snap as something closed. "This is more advanced than I thought," he said. "Jeremy, it was fortunate we faced this device together. It could not react to both of us in time, but I suspect it could have killed either of us separately. I believe I have it reprogrammed now."
Behind the wheel, Bane suddenly felt his spirits lift. "Don't tell me..."
"We'll see how it works out," Steel told him. "Pull over when you can. I need to switch places with that poor soul beside you."
After a few minutes, Bane saw a strip mall that was dark. It was after eleven by now, and the stores were all closed. He eased in at the end, facing a used furniture outlet and left the van running. Evidently, no one in traffic had noticed that its driver's window was missing and a row of round holes ran across the door in a line but he worried a cop car might go by and investigate. As he waited, Bane saw Andrew Steel open the passenger door and easily pick the corpse up to place it in the back next to the inert construct. The grey man closed the rear door and came around the front of the van to place his hand on the window opening. "Let me drive from here."
"Before we go any further," Bane said. "I need to know a little more. Is that thing back there out of commission?"
"It's deactivated, Jeremy. I don't know enough yet to guarantee it can't be started up again."
"Well, that doesn't make me feel comfortable," the Dire Wolf snapped. "How about we take it apart before we go any further?"
The grey man was watching Bane thoughtfully. "I have a tentative plan. Trust me."
"Yeah right." The Dire Wolf started to argue, closed his mouth and thought for a second. "All right. Fine. Anyone else, I'd throw them out and I'd go back there and demolish that machine myself. But because you're you, with your record, I'll play along for the moment." He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out to stand next to the grey man.
Steel smiled in the gloom, then vaulted up behind the wheel. "Thank you. I hope your trust proves justified. Let's get going."
"Fine." The unhappiness in Bane's voice could not be missed. He felt like he had not had any control over the situation so far. Going around, he got into the passenger seat and buckled up. "I hope you know what you're doing."
The van had been left running, now Steel backed it up and turned around to get back on the road. "The facility I located is only another six miles down this way."
Bane started to say that he had found the same place in his own investigation but caught himself. Suddenly he realized he had to cool off and be more professional about this. It annoyed him not to be running the show, but that was the way things were at the moment. He took a deep breath and held it, letting it out slowly before answering. "It's pretty small. More like an outpost for Grim Enuterprises than a nerve center."
"True. Yet I conclude the facility is from where the Killing Machine was launched at us. There we will find the people responsible."
They rolled down the road a few more miles, then Steel slowed as they neared a waist-high stone barrier encircling a property. At the entrance, there was a booth where a uniformed guard sat on a stool. Blocking the way was a thin wooden bar painted with diagonal black and white stripes. Steel pulled over close as the guard stood up and leaned out through the opening.
"Hey, you're not Fabiano-" was all the man got to say. Steel had extended his arm and a faint hissing could be heard. The guard swayed and fell forward, head and arms hanging out the opening of the booth.
"Anesthetic gas up your sleeve, huh?" Bane muttered. "You're full of surprises. Guess I might as well make myself useful." He hopped out of the van, raised the wooden bar up so it clicked into a vertical position, then climbed back in. "Who knows when he was supposed to check in or be relieved? We may not have much time."
"This will be resolved soon," Steel answered as he drove into the parking lot. There were only four cars in sight, all near the main entrance. The grey man pulled up so his side of the van was facing the twin glass doors. "They won't be able to see you from their angle, Jeremy."
"Got it."
As Andrew Steel got out of the black van with its gruesome cargo, he brushed broken glass off the seat of his trousers absently. By the glass doors was a sign on a post JOHN GRIM ENTERPRISES and below those words CYBERNETIC RESEARCH 12. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. The grey man approached the doors and found they were locked.
Slipping out to the passenger side, hidden from view of anyone inside those doors, Jeremy Bane crouched low on toes and fingertips and peered out just in time to see another security guard sneaking up around the side of the building. He plunged forward in a dark blur, so quick that guard had only a flash of awareness that something was moving toward him before a rigid open hand slashed down at the nape of his neck. The Dire Wolf caught the guard before he could fall, lowering him to the sidewalk and rolling him up against the brick wall with its neat hedges.
Steel had watched this. He nodded approval, took a flat metal device from a pocket and pressed it to the door locks. Bane recognized the gadget, he had a similar one Slade had given him. The Trom device extended wire thin filaments that reshaped themselves and rotated to open the lock. No alarm sounded. He pulled the doors open and walked through, while Bane remained outside for the moment, surveying the area suspiciously.
III.
Striding into a reception room, Steel faced a man behind a plain metal desk just inside the door. The man was not wearing a guard uniform, but a dress shirt with a tie, the jacket draped over the back of the swivel chair. He was bent over a mess of loose papers, folders, folders, and he glared up at the strange grey man in obvious annoyance. "NOW what," he began. "Hey, you.. you're Andrew Steel."
"Look at this," the grey man said as he extended his open palm. That low hissing sounded and the man slumped over the desk with a sigh. Steel took a second to examine the papers, saw they were mundane budget and schedule forms, and moved on. The room was not unusual, fitting with a short couch and a magazine rack on one wall, two standing lamps, a framed painting on a lighthouse with a storm approaching. The stylized red letters JG, intertwined, were on a plaque, with JOHN GRIM ENTERPRISES beneath them.
Steel approached the double metal doors that were set in the far wall, with no handles or pushbar. To one side was a box with a screen and a slit from sliding an ID card through. He gripped it with both hands, and apparently without effort, snapped its cover off to reveal the electronics inside. Taking a tiny tool no bigger than a toothpick from his tunic, Steel made some adjustments and both doors slid open with a hiss.
A huge high-ceilinged lab was revealed, brilliantly lit by overhead fluorescents, all gleaming chrome and glass and scrubbed white walls. Only black rubber mats on the floor gave the eye any relief. A cluster of chest-high consoles stood in a circle in the middle of the lab, thick power cables running across the floor into them. Jumping in surprise as the doors unexpectedly opened were three old men in crumpled white smocks. All three were holding styrofoam coffee cups and one of them spilled some as he gave a start.
"Steel? Aren't you Andrew Steel? What on Earth are you doing here?" said the tallest scientist, the one with a prominent nose like a beak and blue eyes under shaggy white brows.
"I recognize you men as well. Wesley Canavan. Gerhart Weichert. And you, Albert Meade. Top men in your field." He sighed audibly. "I am disappointed to see men of your caliber working for John Grim!"
"He funds research," Canavan snapped. "No arguing with government bureaucrafts for every penny. He provides all we need."
"Making weapons used for criminal purposes. Assassination devices. A Killing Machine." Steel's voice was stern and sad. "I expected better from you three."
"Oh, please. I get my sermons in church," Canavan scoffed as he went back to adjusting the controls on the consoles. "What do you want here, Mr Steel?"
The grey man stepped closer. "Your machine won't be responding to that signal. The murders are over now. I am taking you three into custody."
One of the three held up pudgy hands and waved them pleadingly. Weichert had a moonface and the white stubble of three days without shaving. "Wait. Wait. You can't prove we have done anything wrong. What do you mean, 'murders?' Killing Machine? We are only doing cybernetic research."
"Please listen to me, all of you. Do not attempt to reactivate that construct. You will be placing your own lives in jeopardy. I am warning you for your own safety..." Steel began to say something more, then hesitated. He seemed suddenly dazed and uncertain, so out of the character for him that it was unsettling to see. The pale eyes turned toward where Canavan was turning up a dial into the red zone.
"The signal is dangerously high now," Canavan said. "It should ahh, jumpstart the Mobile Unit, if anything can. The Unit should start returning here now."
"The signal is doing something to Steel," Weichert yelped in alarm. "Look at him. He's going to pass out. Turn it higher!"
"It's at maximum now," said Weichert. The vulture face leered. "I think you're right. Feeling a little disoriented, Mr Steel?"
The grey man did not answer. Stiff and unseeing, he fell over backwards without trying to catch himself. The crash when he hit the floor sounded as if a refrigerator had toppled. Steel lay rigid, one arm still raised in the same position it had been when he had frozen.
"Finally," Weichert laughed. "This means fat bonuses for us! Maybe a new facility all our own. When the Mobile Unit arrives, it can dispose of this fool and then.. then.."
His voice trailed off. He had glanced up and saw a young man all in black, staring at him with murderous grey eyes. In one hand was a long-barreled revolver. "Go on," said Jeremy Bane coldly. "Don't stop incriminating yourself now."
IV.
Despite that, all three techs stood absolutely silent as they stared at the gun. None of them had ever had a firearm aimed right at them, and the anger in Bane's face made them terrified beyond any fear they had ever known in their pampered lives. They looked like deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing car.
"Now what?" asked Bane as if to himself. Covering the three scientists with his revolver, he crouched down and touched Steel. He tried not to show it, but he was at a loss what to do. What would the lack of a pulse or not breathing prove? Was Steel "dead" or just inactive for the moment, like a machine with its batteries removed? He gripped the gray man's wrist and the skin was room temperature. It felt exactly like human skin but the bones were harder than bones should be. He decided he had to get Steel out of here and back to that guy Hogarty, who might know what to do in this situation.
Rising, the Dire Wolf extended his arm, swinging the barrel of his Smith & Wesson back and forth over the trio. "All right. Now I want you birds to turn around, hand up at the backs of your heads. I'm going to tie you guys up to keep you from operating your little robot assassin any more tonight."
In an instant, his gun heated up so quickly it turned red and he flung it away with a gasp at the unexpected second-degree burns on his hand. The pistol clattered across the room but the bullets did not explode from the heat as he thought they might. Clutching his injured hand, the Dire Wolf glared at the newcomer standing in the doorway to the lab.
Wearing one of the tan jumpsuits with the PENTAGRAM logo high on the left sleeve, he was a man of average height, maybe thirty or thirty-two. Not much of his face could be seen, he wore a leather helmet with thick goggles. Cables ran down the outside of both arms to where heavy metal cuffs at his wrist were set with red lenses two inches across.
"Another one of John Grim's prototypes, right?" demanded Bane, coldly furious. The pain in his hand was already easing and no blisters were developing. His years on the tagra diet from Tel Shai had boosted his body's healing factor way beyond what medical science could explain. In a few minutes, he would be able to use that hand normally.
"Kill him, Pulse!" screamed one of the white-smocked techs, gesturing with a trembling finger.
"You guys are awful quick to order killings," Bane yelled back. "As long as it's not you who has to do it!"
The one they called Pulse was holding his right arm out, aiming that red lense like a weapon. Beneath the goggles, a wide heavy face was expressionless. "What's the situation, Weichert?"
"That's Andrew Steel on the floor. You know about him. He came in here and started trying to arrest us for some reason." The old white-haired scrawny man dug in his smock pockets with both hands, not looking for anything but just fidgeting. "Canavan started up the console to retrieve the ME-42 and Steel seemed to have a stroke. He just fell to the floor."
Pulse kept that lens trained exactly on Bane's face, hand steady. "Who's this joker?"
"No idea," Weichert answered. "He came in while we were still staring at Andrew Steel falling over. "When he started waving that gun around, I thought he was some lunatic. Luckily you were nearby."
Watching closely, Bane was in a loose stance, weight evenly distributed and ready to move in any direction. This man Pulse was armed with some sort of lasers. Bane didn't know if the flexible Trom armor under his clothes would protect against that sort of concentrated heat and he wasn't eager to find out. Acting calm, the Dire Wolf folded his arms in front of his chest and waited. To the men in that room, this gesture seemed to be just bravado but actually it placed Bane's hands within reach of the silver daggers sheathed under his sleeves. In a second, he would grasp their hilts and bet his throwing speed and accuracy against the reflexes of the man called Pulse. The moment was almost right...
The crash of breaking glass made them all jump. The Killing Machine stomped in through the doors without seeming to notice them and loomed up with its red lenses flaring brilliantly. The construct was moving stiffly, off-balance but still functioning.
"Weichert! Quick, shut it down, something has gone wrong!" screamed one of the scientists.
Bane dropped down to the floor, seized Steel under the arms and began to haul him across the lab even as the deadly robot extended its right arm and opened fire. A stream of .40 mm shells tore through the men in that room, cutting them open as if an invisible blade had sliced across their bodies. As the Killing Machine ripped up its creators, it ignored the Dire Wolf tugging Steel past him. The thunder of gunfire in that enclosed room would have deafened any one who would hav been in there and survived.
V.
Out in the cool night air, Bane dragged the stiff form of Andrew Steel across the parking lot. Anyone witnessing it would probably have thought the grey man was a statue of some sort. Although he was strong for his build, the Dire Wolf found hauling away three hundred pounds of rigid Steel was going to take a while. He headed for the black van they had arrived in, only to see that the rear door was hanging off one hinge where the Killing Machine had broken out. Bane shook his head angrily. With all the visible damage on that van, driving it away was asking to be stopped by the police. He would have to hot-wire one of the cars lined up alongside the building instead. Crouching, he lowered Steel to the ground. It was unsettling to see that face so lifeless, the eyes unseeing. Yet it was not like being near a corpse and he couldn't have explained why.
The screams and yelling from inside the lab had only lasted a few seconds. Then there had been smashing noises as of systematic destruction. It sounded as if the Killing Machine was thoroughly wrecking the lab, Bane thought. He decided he had to get out of there in case that robot came back out and attacked. All the lights in the facility winked out at once. In the starlight, there was complete silence.
Turning from where he was jimmying a car door open, Bane looked around in puzzlement. What had happened to the power? He guessed the Killing Machine had done enough damage that every circuit in the place had blown, but why? The Dire Wolf fiddled a little more with the piece of wire and tugged up to pull the knob of the door lock up an inch. That did it. The door opened easily. He turned to see Andrew Steel smoothly get up on his feet as if nothing had happened.
"You all right?" asked Bane. "You froze up like instant rigor mortis had set in!"
The grey man's voice sounded at ease, "I'm back to normal function, Jeremy. Evidently, the radio signal they used to control that construct was so strong at this range, it jammed my processes. That has never happened before."
"Good to see you moving again. I'll have this car running in a minute. It's a Chevy, they're easy to hotwire." Bane slid one of the silver daggers from beneath his sleeve and got down under the dashboard. "Give me just a second."
"I have to see for myself," Steel said. He strode quickly in through the open glass doors and was back in less than a minute. "Did you fight the man with the laser lenses?"
"They called him Pulse. You bet, and it was way too close for comfort. I wouldn't want to face him again like that." The car started up, and he got out, returning the dagger to its sheath. "We've got a new Chevrolet with a full tank, Steel. I suggest we get some distance between ourselves and this place."
The grey man sounded melancholy as he approached. "The three scientists are dead, as if Pulse. The Killing Machine executed its basic protocols on them, then smashed as much of the control apparatus as it could. Once the electric power for the facility went off, so did its motive."
Bane glanced toward the open doors to the lab, barely visible now in the gloom. "I have two resonance caps on me. Before we go, I'll set them on that robot and be sure it's blown up. I want to demolish it. If it's a prototype that John Grim built himself, like you said, hopefully they won't be able to build another one."
"No. I don't think they will have the capacity. Jeremy, I reset the construct's programming to make it return here and destroy the controls." Steel's voice had a noticeable sorrow in it. "There was a good chance it would try to kill any people in its sights. I couldn't override that. That was its fundamental drive. When I warned those men not to revive the construct, I was sincerely trying to save them."
Something in Steel's remorseful attitude touched Bane. He knew that the grey man always tried to use non-lethal methods even against the most brutal enemies. "Hey. You gave them fair warning, Steel. Don't forget, they were trying to use that thing to kill both of us."
Steel sighed. "I suppose it's only a kind of poetic justice that they brought on themselves what they were intending to do to us."
"'The schemer falls into the pit that he digs for another,'" quoted the Dire Wolf in the dark.
8/5/2015
