| Midnight Ace and the Androids of the Third Reich |
[May. 28th, 2008|01:06 pm] |
Clayton Baxter was greeted by a tiny explosion as he walked into the Professor's laboratory. When the smoke cleared he was welcomed with the aged scientist's bright eyes and wild hair. The Professor smiled, "Come in lad. Come in! I have some new modifications to show you!"
Clayton shook his head and chuckled to himself. The Professor had become a father figure to him since he'd become part of the Agency a few months ago. Motioning him over a nearby table where the atomic engine lay, the professor began to speak excitedly. Laying next to the engine was a small silver wrist watch with a leather band. "I've made a special modification to the atomic engine." He held the watch up gingerly.
"What've you done, Professor?" Clayton smiled to himself at the Professor's heavy German accent.
Giddy as a schoolboy, the aged scientist took the watch and latched it onto Clayton's wrist. "You will no longer need to use the belt buckle in the harness to activate the atomic engine. I've placed a short-wave radio transmitter inside this wrist watch which will allow you to use the watch to activate the engine with the simple twist of a dial." He smiled at Clayton, proud of this new technology.
Clayton smiled at the Professor. Both he and the Professor shared an affection for the atomic engine that everyone else at the Agency believed to border on insanity. "That's great, Professor. I can't wait to try it out!" He put his hand on the scientist's shoulder and they shared a smile.
"You may get the chance sooner than you think."
Both of them turned to see Agent Langston standing in the doorway of the lab. He was wearing a grey fedora to match his suit, a cigarette sticking out of his mouth. "C'mon, kid. Get the engine and your gear. They want you down in the briefing room."
Clayton nodded to the g-man and left the lab. He went into his room and retrieved his gear. In addition to the leather jacket, scarf, and flight goggles he normally wore the Agency had insisted on issuing him a side arm. He buckled the gunbelt around his waist and holstered the weapon. As useful as they were, he hated guns.
He walked into the briefing room and it was already dark. One of the many nameless agents was already waiting for him as he entered. He spoke in an empty, monotone voice as Clayton closed the door. "Good afternoon, Mr. Baxter." A gentle click broke his dry speech and soon a slide showing a mountain side mansion appeared on a formerly empty white screen. "This is one of the many mansions of Fritz Kuhn, located outside of San Caballero. The Agency believes that Fritz Kuhn and his German-American Bund Party are somehow gathering resources to assist the efforts of Hilter's Third Reich and their attempts to subvert the American way. You are hereby sanctioned and ordered by the Agency to perform a reconassince on this mansion and gather evidence on the specifics of Kuhn's activities in San Caballero. Do you undertand, Mr. Baxter?"
Clayton paused, then spoke. "Break into the Bund offices in San Caballero and find out what fiendish plot they've conjured." He smiled, "Sure, no problem." Before the agent could say anything, Clayton stood and left the briefing room with a smile on his face. It was going to be nice to go home again.
Clayton slid the key into the lock and openned the door to his old apartment. Nothing had changed. It was still the tiny, dirty room he'd called home before joining the Agency. He smiled and looked out the window at the city skyline. Somewhere in his heart, it still was. He tossed his dufflebag into the closet and flopped onto the cot. The Midnight Ace wasn't coming out until after dark, so he had a whole afternoon to kill. After a few minutes he climbed out of the cot and made his way onto the streets of San Caballero.
Thinking of Clara, he grabbed a copy of the Gazette from a newsie. He stopped in mid-stride as he read the headline: German-American Bund Party To Hold Rally Tomorrow Night. Clayton suspected he was going to have his work cut out for him. He decided to head straight to the source to find out what was going on.
Catching a trolly, he made his way Clara's apartment building and within a half an hour was standing at her door. He felt a nervous lump forming in her throat. He hadn't seen her since the night he'd kissed her. Or rather, the night the Midnight Ace had kissed her. He could still taste her lips and smell her perfume. After a deep breath, he knocked.
Her melodious voice called out and a moment later the door openned. She was wearing a beautiful green summer dress that seemed to cling to her lithe form. Her sapphire eyes and golden hair practically glowed in the lights of the hallway. She smiled, surprise painted on her face. "Clayton Baxter!"
His face flushed red and he smiled. "Hey, Miss Conway. How's it going?"
"Great! Absolutely fantastic!" He was surprised at her apparent joy in seeing him. She normally regarded him as a simple farmboy to be treated the same way one would treat a simpleton or a puppy. "Come in, Clay! Come in!"
Clay? As long as he recalled she'd never called him Clay. Still, her beauty was stunning and he found himself enraptured. He walked into her apartment without further bidding. She offered him a drink as she closed the door behind him.
She retrieved a glass of iced tea for him as he took a seat on her couch. Her apartment was decorated in a simple elegance and made him feel self-concious of his hold in the wall. He put the thoughts out of his head and gingerly accepted the drink as he took a seat on the couch.
"So what brings you here, Clay? Last I heard, you'd gone back to Iowa." She smiled at him and took a seat.
"Something like that." He leaned closer, his tone becoming more serious. "I wanted to ask about the article in the Gazette, the one about the Bund."
Her smiled broadened. "Oh, yes! Have you met Mr. Kuhn? He's magnificent, a real leader." She stood up and walked into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of tea. She took a sip. "Please, Clay, try the tea. I'm fiddling with my recipe and could use a second opinion."
He nodded and took a sip. "It's good. But, seriously Clara, I've hard things about Kuhn. Bad things. I'm worried about you getting so close to him. They say he's got ties to the Nazis, maybe even Hitler himself."
Clara laughed. "Don't be silly, Clay!" She walked across the living room and sat down next to him on the couch. He felt his heard skip a beat at her closeness. "Now listen here, you goose." She put her hand on his leg. He almost leapt out of his skin in excitement. "Herr Kuhn is a great man. He's gotten past all the propaganda and slanted news reels we see, Clay! He's shown the Furher for what he is: a hero. Mr. Speilman has seen the truth, and so have I. That's all Kuhn wants. He wants us to understand the truth of the Furher's plan. He wants to show us one united world under the iron cross."
"Clara!" Clayton was mortified. Clara was such a strong willed woman. To see her so enraptured by Kuhn both terrified and hurt Clayton. "Do you know what's going on on the other side of the Atlantic? In Poland? In France? Have you heard about the camps?" He knew he had to get the recon done and get back to the Agency as soon as possible. This was big.
"Lies, Clay. It's all lies." She leaned closer to him, almost whispering to him. He started to feel light-headed. "Clay, it's all propaganda, smoke and mirrors to scare those who are afraid of the Furher's vision. But we have the potential to be at the forefront of a united earth! C'mon, Clay. At least give it a chance." She moved closer to him, her nose almost touching his.
He felt a drowsiness start to creep over him and his senses began to feel muted. "What? What's going..." He blinked hard and tried to force his vision to clear. Before he could balance himself enough to stand Clara suddenly and passionately kissed him. As he slipped into unconsciousness, he realized she wasn't wearing any perfume.
Clayton awoke to find his hands bound. He'd been shoved into the back of a green sedan which was speeding along some dusty back road. Next to him in the back sat Clara Conway, a still picture of smiles and charm. The car was being driven by a man in a dark trench coat and a fedora. Clayton couldn't make out any of his features except the black hair covering the back of his head. Blinking the last of the false sleep from his eyes, he looked angrily at Clara.
"What's going on, Clara? What've you done?"
She didn't respond. She didn't move. She didn't blink.
The driver called out from his seat, "Yer talkin' to a wall, mack. She's not on. Now if I was you, I'd sit back and enjoy the drive unless you want a face full of lead."
"What do you mean?" Clayton cried out, ignoring the threat. "What've you done to her?"
The driver laughed. "You'll find out soon enough."
Clayton struggled with his bonds but they were tied tight, and given the confines of the car he knew he wasn't going to be able to get loose. Sighing, he relaxed and looked at the unmoving Clara. After a moment he noticed there was no gentle rise and fall in her chest. She wasn't breathing.
He began to scream that driver. "She's dead! You've killed her, you bastard!" He began to thrash and rage in the back of the car. As he writhed, he managed to drive his elbow through the window beside him, shattering it. Glass spilled onto the street and across his arm. A few traces of blood began to stain his shirt.
The driver slammed on the brakes and Clayton found his face pressed into the back of the driver's seat. The driver whirled around and grabbed Clayton by the neck, squeezing. "Now listen here, pencil neck. If you don't calm down and quit acting like some half-crazed jew, I'm gonna have to gack you. The lady ain't dead, now calm down!"
Through Clayton's gasps for breath came a defiant, "Prove it."
The man let go of his neck, tossing him back into his seat. He turned around and began driving again and after a moment he burst into german. "Maßeinheit sechs sieben zwei geben Ihre Warenbestandzahl undzweck an."
Clayton watched in awe as Clara replied to this, her voice suddenly sounding hollow and passionless. It sounded as if it were spoken by something that wasn't human, "Clara Conway, Mittel-Fachmann." She spoke perfect german. Her eyes were blank as she spoke, she stared at nothing.
The driver began to laugh to himself, "So you see, Herr Baxter, that your Clara is quite a different woman now."
Clayton was awestruck and said nothing. He stared at nothing, lost in his own thoughts. After a few minutes he felt the car stop. He looked up to see a familiar sight. They were parked in front of the mansion of Fritz Kuhn. Clayton's mind raced as he tried to piece things together, as he tried to figure out exactly what was going on. The only conclusion was that he had to get out of here, and he had to get out of here fast.
The driver climbed out of his car, and openned Clayton's door. "C'mon, Herr Baxter. You have an appointment."
Clayton climbed out as the driver ordered Clara to do the same. The driver barked something in german at Clara who turned and began to walk towards the mansion. Turning his attention to Clayton, the driver approached the bewildered prisoner and began to reach into his jacket pocket.
Siezing the moment, Clayton ran head-long into the man and drove his knee into the driver's groin. A gunshot cracked the silence and the driver fell to the ground, a blood stain forming on his jacket. Clayton quickly looked to Clara, fearing her reaction. She walked blankly towards the mansion, as if she noticed nothing. He stared at her for a moment, desperate to save her. He realized there was nothing he could do now, so he dove into the car and made a clumsy effort to drive the car away with bound hands.
The Midnight Ace would deal with this.
The binds fell loose, finally severed by the jagged edge of the rusty old sink. Clayton rotated his wrists as the blood flowed freely once more. Within a few moments he was dressed in his trademark jacket, scarf and goggles. For the first time since the Agency had issued it to him, he gladly strapped the gun belt to his waist. Whatever Kuhn had done to Clara, he was going to pay. And the price of lead had just gone up.
He reached into his duffle bag and pulled out some of the papers the Agency had given him on the mission. He looked at a map of San Caballero and Kuhn's mansion. After he had a firm idea of where it was located, Clayton climbed out onto the fire escape and turned the dial on his newly crafted wrist watch. The now comforting metallic click and high-pitched whine began to fill his ears, and a moment later he was airborne.
It had been several hours since his escape and by the time he neared the mansion and a fading purple twilight painted the sky. He saw scores of cars surrounding the mansion as he flew up at a break neck pace. It seemed as though Fritz Kuhn had invited everyone who was anyone to the mansion. Filled with rage and concern over the Clara, the Midnight Ace tossed subtlety to the side and made a reckless entrance.
Once he was clear of the trees surrounding the complex, he descended dangerously close to the ground. Leaving shock and chaos in his wake, the Midnight Ace sped over the heads of both guests and dark suited guards brust through the giant bay window on the front of the Kuhn Mansion. He came to a rough landing, the sound of crushed glass on broke the shocked silence. The Ace found himself in a large parlor with lavish furinshings. Before his feet touched the ground a trio of men rushed in from the foyer.
Fearless and enraged, the Midnight Ace grabbed a solid brass candle stick from a nearby table and hurled it end-over-end at the first man. Striking him cleaningly on the forehead, they muscular goon hit the carpet like a ton of bricks. The other two men weren't so unfortunate. The first man pulled a knife from his coat while his companion simply raised his fists.
"Where's Clara Conway?" The men didn't respond, seemingly blank to his question. The Ace raised his own fists and tried to remember some of the moves the Agency had taught him. Taking a step forward, Clayton came at the first man with a quick one-two punch. What he was met with was a hollow metallic ringing and a pair of blooded knuckles as the pain reverberated up his arms.
The pain and shock of having struck a piece of solid metal stunned Clayton as the two men came at him. The one he struck grabbed him in a massive bear hug, clenching him in his iron grip. The second goon moved into position and struck the restrained Clayton across the jaw. He felt as if he'd been struck by a lead pipe and felt the ringing in his head that was a precursor to unconsciousness. His vision blurred as the goon raised his fists in a hammer-punch, a killing blow.
A clear and beautiful voice rang out and brought Clayton back from the edge of terror and oblivion. "Gentlemen, stop."
Though still entrenched in this thing's steely arms, the violence was halted as both goons turned to face their commander. Clayton felt a wave of horror and terror sweep over him as saw mounted in a prefect mirror of Clara Clayton's beautiful body was a sold steel head and skeletal face crafted from metal painted with wires and lights. As it spoke its mouth moved up and down, without flesh or a face to form an _expression the melodic voice only seemed to echo. "Herr. Kuhn will have uses for him," it said.
Struggling in vain, Clayton was lead through the mansion and into the wine cellar by the monstrous thing with Clara's voice. She uttered a quick command in german and one of the wall-mounted wine racks slid away, revealing a shadowy passage that descended beneath the mansion.
The goon who still held Clayton in his steely arms lumbered after Clara as she lead the way into the darkness. They moved through the musty passage for a few minutes, the only light being offered came from the diodes and lights glimmering on the robotic Clara's skull. Eventually Clayton saw a light in the distance and soon after he found himself standing in what he could only call a monument to Nazi insanity.
A giant stone hall came into view, lit by flickering lights that hung from the ceiling and offered all present a view of what the room contained. Lining the walls were two dozen massive glass cylinders. Each was nearly ten feet long and filled with a transulcent red liquid. Wires and dials were on the side of each cylinder. It wasn't until a few moments later that Clayton noticed that inside two of these cylinders were living human beings with some kind of device that seemed to keep them in a suspended animation.
The rest of the room was filled with instruments of science of every kind. Lights, switches, wires, arcs of electricity, a chaotic dance of beakers carrying fluids to and from contains all converged on the center of the room where two large tables stood side by side. On one table was a skeletal looking robot, laying motionless. The other table was empty, except for restraints bolted to its surface.
At the center of all this madness was a man who, despite his minimal frame, radiated an imposing aura. A widows peak and a pair of tiny spectacles added a leathered age to his arleady sharp and intimidating face. As the Clara-bot came into the room, he looked up and smiled. It was not a smile of mirth.
"Ah! Welcome back, Ms. Conway. I see you've brought me a present." His voice was serpentine, but echoed in the massive room with a german accent. He walked away from the robotic creation and approached Clayton. The Ace struggled in the arms of the goon who held him, trying to get some motion in his arms. "I presume I need no introduction?"
Clayton's eye cut daggers at the man, "No, Mr. Kuhn," and spit in the Bund leader's eye. "I can smell sewer scum long before I see it." He continued to wiggle in the arms of his captor, and soon his hands were pinned against his chest, not as his side.
Kuhn wiped the spit off his face and simply smiled. "You, if I recall properly, are the Midnight Ace that Ms. Conway is so taken with?"
At the mention of her name struck Clayton like a blow. "What have you done with her, you shnitzel schelping kraut?"
Kuhn leaned closer to the Midnight Ace, his breath warm on Clay's face. "She simply sleeps, Ace. Her memories and her mannerisms have been programmed into that magnificent creation over there so that America can be prepared for the arrival of the Fuhrer. It all begins here, with the leaders of San Caballero. Soon, you will see the strength of the Third Reich and the beauty of the Fuhrer's vision. Now, Ace, I will take what belongs to the Fuhrer." He looked over Clayton's shoulder towards the robotic Clara. "Take the Atomic Engine from his back."
He turned his attention back to Clayton as the Clara-bot moved towards him and the goon began to loosen his grip. "Soon, my American friend, your country will be on its knees."
Clayton let a grim smirk cross his face as he slid his fingers over the face of his wrist watch. "You first." He spun the dial of the watch and launched himself free of his captor and into the air just as he shot his leg out and caught Fritz Kuhn in the groin. As Clayton shot towards the ceiling, Kuhn crumpled to the floor in pain.
Fritz Kuhn's lab erupted in complete chaos. The Midnight Ace shot like a bullet from the grip of the thug and crashed immediately into one of the nearby glass cylinders, spilling a soupy red liquid onto the stone floor. Clayton leapt to his feet as the robotic Clara and the brute both began to move across the lab towards him. Fritz Kuhn struggled to his feet, still reeling in pain. He jerked open a drawer and pulled out a luger.
"Get that engine!"" Kuhn cried, pointing the pistol at Clayton.
Both Clara and the thug began to close as the Ace looked franticly for an escape. He knew that if the Clara-Bot or the goon got a hold of him, it was over. Perhaps direct assault had been a bad choice in tactics, Clayton decided. Suddenly, a realization hit him like a bolt from the blue.
Kuhn hadn't taken his gun. In a surprisingly fluid motion, Clayton drew his gun and pointed at directly at the mad German. He looked directly into the dark eyes of the madman. "Call them off."
A nervous smile crossed Kuhn's lips. "You’re bluffing. If you kill me, you'll never find out how to save your precious Clara." A tiny drop of sweat formed on his forehead.
Though he was right, there was no way that Clayton was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing the truth. He hoped that behind the scarf and goggles, Kuhn couldn't see the truth in his eyes. "Then call my bluff. Tell them to crush me and take the Atomic Engine. It'll be the last thing you ever do, Kuhn." The Ace cocked the hammer of the pistol, trying to hide the tremor in his grip.
Kuhn held his breath. The robots did not move. The Midnight Ace buried his fear.
"Kill him!" Kuhn cried as Clayton's pistol erupted to life. The room became an explosion of pandemonium. Kuhn fell to the floor, crying out in pain as blood poured from his shoulder. Both the Clara-Bot and the thug robot lunged at the Midnight Ace as he dove beneath a massive table covered with beakers of chemicals and scientific madness.
The robotic goon wasted no time in getting to the Ace. Grabbing the massive oak table, the mechanical man easily tossed it aside. A resound crash of glass filled the lab. The hiss of burning chemicals against stone and the pungent scent of various compounds filled the air. Suddenly, Fritz Kuhn's screams grew louder.
The Clara-Bot moved to aid Kuhn, while the larger goon made a grab for Clayton's leg. But the Midnight Ace quickly scrambled away from his burly arms and ran towards the stairs that lead into the mansion's wine cellar.
The last sounds Clayton heard before the secret passage closed behind him was the horrible screams of Fritz Kuhn and the sound of sizzling acid.
The Midnight Ace tore through the ground floor of the Kuhn mansion, making a hasty beat for the exit as he left the kitchen and made his way into the parlor. He came to a scrambling halt as he saw the front door was guarded by a pair of Kuhn’s thugs who were already admitting guests. Among the first in line was Oswald Remington, Mayor of San Caballeros. The Ace shook his head at the people who’d been taken in by Kuhn’s false charm and free money.
His political musings were brought to an end as he heard what he presumed to be one of Kuhn’s robotic guards lumbering up the wine cellar. Looking from one side of the room to the next he dove into the parlor’s coat closet as the robot made its way into the room. The mechanical thing scanned the room for a moment and despite his racing heart, the Midnight Ace tried to calm himself.
It didn’t take the thug long to figure things out, despite the Ace’s hope that the robotic version of goons were just as stupid as their flesh counterparts. Within less than a minute the construct made its way towards the coat closet and began to reach for the handle. The Ace tried to get a good grip on his pistol, but found it difficult with his palms so sweaty. He readied himself as the creature began to open the door.
"Excuse me, sir."
The android let go of the door knob and turned to face the new voice that had come into the room. As a local of San Caballeros, Clayton immediately recognized Mayor Remington. His mind raced as he thought of the mayor’s fate if he fell into the hands of Fritz Kuhn.
If Mayor Remington got replaced by one of Fritz Kuhn’s robots, then the whole city would follow the words of their long beloved mayor. First San Caballero, then Los Angeles, then New York; it wouldn’t take more than a few months and a few key replacements before Fritz Kuhn could prepare an entire country for the Fuherer. Clayton knew that with a few key replacements, Kuhn could take swift control of America with his devilish robots.
Lost in his own thoughts, Clayton almost didn’t realize it when android replied to Mayor Remington. "Right this way, sir."
Throwing caution to the wind, the Midnight Ace leapt from his hiding place and drew a quick bead on the thug with his pistol. "Freeze!" he yelled.
The thug reacted with surprising acuity. Stepping in front of the Mayor, the thug cried out. "Don’t worry, Mr. Mayor! I’ll protect you!"
The Midnight Ace realized that he was in the suddenly precarious situation of having the appearance of the would-be assassin of Mayor Remington. Not only that, but now it appeared as though the agents of Fritz Kuhn were his "rescuers." So much for another heroic headline in the Gazette.
Stunned at his own stupidity, the Midnight Ace was unprepared as the robotic thug smacked the gun from his hand and cuffed him across the head with his massive metal hand. Crumpling to the ground he dizzily heard the thug yell for the mayor to flee into the kitchen and heard him follow behind.
Struggling to his feet, the Ace shook off the stunning blow and gave a quick pursuit of the goon. With a swiftness that surprised even himself, Clayton caught up to the android and leapt onto the thing’s back. Wrapping his arm around its steel neck, he began to beat furiously upon its metal cranium with the butt of his pistol.
The mayor, mortified as he watched a masked man assault his protector stumbled backwards into the kitchen. A moment later, he lost his footing and tumbled down the kitchen stairs and into the wine cellar.
Realizing the danger the mayor was now in the Ace released the metallic brute and took a step towards the wine cellar. He was stopped short as the thug whirled around and pulled his pistol, firing several shots at the terrifyingly close hero. The Midnight Ace felt the wind of a bullet graze the side of his head as he dove to the ground. What immediately followed were a metallic clang and the sound of a suddenly arriving and swiftly rising fire. Clayton turned behind him to see that the gunman’s wild shot had struck the stove and started an instant and growing blaze in the kitchen of the mansion.
The Ace rolled away from the rising fire as the thug made his way into the wine cellar. By the time Clayton got to his feet the robot thug had scrambled down the stairs and was already in the wine cellar. He scrambled down the stairs and the swiftly spreading flames followed quickly at his heels.
As he sprinted down the stairs he saw Kuhn’s iron goon grab the half-conscious mayor and slip into the still open secret passage. The heavy stench of smoke began to spill into the wine cellar as he stepped once more into the still chaotic laboratory of Fritz Kuhn.
As he came into the now destroyed lab, he was forced to pause at the horror before him. Fritz Kuhn, or the man that was once Fritz Kuhn was standing on weak legs and leaning heavily against a now destroyed table. His clothes were burnt and corroded, but what truly terrified the Ace was Kuhn’s face. The flesh on the left side of his face was burnt and boiled, and some of it appeared to be completely missing and revealing chemical bleached bone like some living mockery of a mythic zombie.
Both Kuhn and his men took notice of the Ace as he entered the room. The robot musclemen and the still skeletal Clara-bot paused and looked momentarily from the Midnight Ace to Kuhn.
The madman smiled a hideous smile, part of his lips now burnt away. "Ignore the hero. Get Clara Conway."
Kuhn turned away from both his men and the Midnight Ace and pulled a metal lever jutting from the stone wall as his robot underlings moved to murder the comatose Clara Conway.
Ignoring the Bund leader, the Ace raised his pistol and took aim at the giant glass vat that held the ace reporter in a vat of translucent red liquid. Praying that his aim would be true, he squeezed the trigger. The sound of shattered glass filled the room and the flood of mysterious red liquid spilled onto the floor of the already half-destroyed lab. Clara Clayton’s still unconscious body crumpled to the floor.
Kuhn’s robots were forced to slow themselves as the red liquid wrapped their metallic feet, up to the ankle. The Midnight Ace took the initiative and quickly turned the dial on his wrist watch. The familiar snap-whine of the atomic engine filled the room and an instant later he sliced through the air and came to a halt at Clara’s feet. As he came to the ground, he turned to stand between his unconscious beau and the collection of robotic monstrosities. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fritz Kuhn slip into a hidden passage in the stone wall.
He raised his pistol and looked at the Clara-bot. "You don’t need to do this. Your master is gone now."
The metal skeleton of a face spoke in an eerie copy of Clara’s voice. "No, Mr. Baxter. Regardless of his presence, Mr. Kuhn’s orders are final."
Clayton swore beneath his breath. She must’ve matched up his voice. There was no way he could let the Clara-bot return to Fritz Kuhn now. If Kuhn found out his identity, all would be lost. "Can we make a deal?" he asked.
"There is no deal, Mr. Baxter. You will give us Ms. Conway and we will leave." Her voice was as sweet as wine.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Clayton nodded, "Alright. At least she’ll be safe. That’s all that matters." Slowly, he lowered his pistol. Reaching down he grabbed the unconscious Clara by the wrist and pulled her up, leaning her body against his.
The Clara-bot motioned for the other robots to halt and stepped forward to take the woman who’d been the source of her existence. She didn’t seem to notice the kismet of the situation. The robot leaned forward, wrapping her unnaturally strong metal arms around her progenitor and pulling her away from Clayton’s grasp.
Before Clayton finally let go, he leaned forward, held to Clara’s hand and kissed her on the back of her head. As he pulled his lips from her wet and matted hair, he whispered softly into her ear, "I’m sorry."
This gave the Clara-box pause and she took a moment to attempt to comprehend the human’s perplexing behavior. It was the last thing to ever go through the robot’s processor. She didn’t notice until it was too late as the Midnight Ace raised his pistol and pressed the barrel to the side of her head. The transistors in her brain never even registered the sound of the pistol as the remaining bullets tore through her metal exoskeleton and ripped apart the diodes and electronics inside her brain. The Clara-bot collapsed to the floor with a sizzle and a spark, and was no more. An empty Agency issue pistol lay atop her carcass.
The Midnight Ace didn’t waste a second and he was on the move before the robot hit the floor. Scooping up Clara Conway’s unconscious body from the now limp arms of the destroyed robot, he threw her over his shoulder and quickly activated the atomic engine. He was out of the lab before the other robot-clones had time to react to the death of their leader.
He came from the wine cellar into a wall of flame. Kuhn’s mansion had nearly been consumed with fire. The Ace began to reach for his watch, but paused and realized he didn’t know how the atomic engine would react to being used during extremely high temperatures. He’d only just gotten Clara back and he wasn’t about to blow her up. Then again, going back into Kuhn’s lab with the remaining robots didn’t exactly seem like a safe option.
Steadying himself, the Midnight Ace repositioned Clara’s body in his arms and fired up the atomic engine. The comforting snap-whine could barely be heard over the roar of the fire, but never the less, Clayton tried to look past the fire that now filled the first floor to the large window he’d shattered in the foyer. If he timed it just right, he could make it in a single straight shot and be free of the burning mansion.
He closed his eyes, trying to put the heat and smoke surrounding him out of his mind, and tried to take a deep breath. All he got was a lung full of smoke, which he promptly hacked up. As he held Clara Conway in his arms, he awkwardly turned the dial on his watch.
The engine surged him forward with an odd jerk and the Midnight Ace realized that something had grabbed him by the ankle. He barely managed to hold onto Clara as he turned and saw one of the androids had grabbed him as the atomic engine propelled him forward. As he flailed wildly under the pull of the engine and clung desperate to the still inert Clara, Clayton kicked back with his single free foot against the creature’s metal body. Again and again and again he struck, but all he received for his efforts was a solid metal clang.
The robot thug held fast to his ankle and reached with its free hand to grab his leg, reeling him closer. Frantic, the Ace lost his grip on Clara and nearly let her fall to the burning floor below. Holding onto her by the wrist, he felt himself effortlessly being pulled backwards by Fritz Kuhn’s creation.
As he looked back and watched in horror, the android drew him closer. Suddenly, the creature’s grip slackened slightly. Both it and Clayton were confused for a moment until almost in unison they realized that the robot had caught fire. Creeping onto its clothing, the fire suddenly seemed to consume him as if he were drenched in gasoline.
The Ace was completely unprepared as the robot released him and flew across the parlor in a wild spin. He desperately tried to use his body as a shield as he and Clara tumbled across the flaming interior of Kuhn’s mansion. It was a blur of flames and smoke before the Midnight Ace found himself brought to a sudden stop as he struck his shoulder against an oak on the front lawn of the mansion.
The atomic engine came to a stop and Clayton lay slumped in the front yard. Slowly he realized that the front yard was a blaze of activity. Police and the Fire Department had arrived on the scene. He forced himself to his feet and slowly released Clara to the soft grassy ground as a group of men ran up to him.
Turning his back on them he looked back at the mansion. To his amazement, he saw a mechanical thing rise from the fire and smoke. It looked like an Great War era Camel Spitfire, except it seemed to have some kind of massive whirling blade mounted above it creating lift. Fritz Kuhn was getting away.
"Freeze," cried an approaching police officer. "Put ‘em in the air, mac!"
The Midnight Ace gladly obliged. An instant later he was in the sky in hot pursuit of Fritz Kuhn.
Despite the throbbing pain in his shoulder, the Midnight Ace gave a quick pursuit of the fleeing Fritz Kuhn. As he soared through the growing cloud of smoke above the Kuhn Mansion, the Ace was able to keep a clear sight on the flying contraption that Kuhn was using to escape.
As he drew closer and closer, Clayton made out a second man on the tiny composite flying machine. A moment later, he realized who it was: Mayor Remington. If Kuhn had him, he still had a stranglehold on San Caballeros. Focusing his resolve, the Ace reached for his pistol as he pulled alongside the flying machine.
He saw Kuhn look back at him, shock and fear on his mangled face. It was an instant later that the Ace realized he didn’t have his pistol. He’d left it with the body of the Clara-bot. He felt the funnel of wind surrounding Kuhn’s flying machine unlike anything he’d ever known before. He looked up for an instant to see four blades above the plane that seemed to be some kind of propeller keeping it aloft.
Kuhn smiled as saw the realization strike the Ace’s face. He grabbed the control stick and pushed down. The flying machine took a sudden dive and the Midnight Ace suddenly found himself inches from death at the hands of this horizontal propeller.
Thinking fast, he shut the engine off and grabbed onto the side of the plane, holding on to the lip of the cockpit with a death grip. Scrambling for some kind of foothold, Clayton felt himself beginning to slip. He instinctively reached to activate the engine, but feared the sudden burst of thrust might send him into the propeller.
Seeing the Midnight Ace struggle, Kuhn reached into the cockpit and quickly produced a massive wrench. With a blood curdling scream from his grotesque face, Kuhn raised the wrench above his head and slammed it down over and over and over again on the Ace’s hand. Clayton felt the bones in his right hand shatter and his grip slipped even further as he was forced to cling to the flying machine with one remaning hand. With the savagery of a wild boar, Kuhn raised his hand to strike and cackled manically. "I can see the headline now! 'Mayor rescued from crazed arsonist vigilante by Bund Party Leader!' It'll make the Fuherer's plan that much easier!"
The Ace watched in horror at what he knew would be his last few moments of life.
A sudden metallic clang and a high pitched mechanical scream filled the air as Kuhn raised his hands too far for his death blow, and sent his wrench into the flying machine's propeller. An instant later the wrench was shot into the flying machine's control panel by the sheer force of the whrilling blades. Sparks flew as Kuhn errupted in a cry of rage. The airborne contraption tilted to the side as the controls shorted out in an explosion of panels and a sharp arc of electricity that shot into the now twitching body of Fritz Kuhn
Still barely holding to the side of the flying machine, the Ace felt thing begin to tilt and knew within the next few seconds it would tumble from the sky. Relenquishing his grip on the thing, for an instant he let himself fall freely through the evening sky. He looked up and above the wind whistling in his ears, he heard the machine explode and saw a single body spill from the rear seat and tumble like a rag doll towards Earth.
Practically ripping at the wrist watch next to his mangled hand, the atomic engine sprang to life and the Midnight Ace sped across the evening sky after the descending body of Mayor Remington.
Oswald Remington, Mayor of San Cabellaros, awoke to find himself nearly one thousand feet in the air and being held aloft by a man in a bomber jacket and a pilot's scarf. He was understandably startled. His instincts caused him to suddenly panic and thrash away from the man who held him, despite the fact that he knew logically that this man was the only reason he was still airborne.
"Mister Mayor please," came a voice behind the scarf. The Ace tightened his grip, for the mayor's safety. "We'll be on the ground soon."
The Mayor stopped fighting for a second, but broke into a series of indignant demands. "Who are you? What's going on here? Where's Mr. Kuhn?"
Clayton sighed behind his disguise. "Look, Mr. Remington, we don't have time for this. Just hold on."
Without waiting for a response, the Ace kicked the atomic engine into over drive and the pair of the shot like a bullet towards the grounds of the Kuhn Mansion. A few seconds later, the two of them came to a landing amidst the chaos of police and firemen now surrounding the inferno that once was the Bund Mansion. At least a dozen men ran towards the Midnight Ace, most of them police with their pistols drawn. The Ace released the Mayor and slowly raised his hands before the first cop got the often-cliched "Freeze" from across his lips. Several boys in blue scrambled to help the mayor and the remaining men kept their guns trained on Clayton.
The mayor loudly cleared his throat as he got his footing and approached one of the policemen who had his gun on the Ace. "Excuse me, Captian Lowell, but I don't believe it would be proper to arrest the man who rescued me."
"Alright boys, you heard the mayor. Put your pieces away." Lowell seemed a bit indignant and shot the Midnight Ace a dirty look before turning his attention to the mayor. "You alright sir?"
The mayor nodded. "I'll gladly tell you all about it in just a second. But first I'd like to speak with the flying man for a moment." Oswald paused and looked sharply at Lowell. It wasn't until he added the word "alone" that the Captain called for the police to go back to helping out the various shocked and dishevelled socialites of San Cabellaros. Satisfied the mayor walked towards the Ace and motioned for him to fall in step beside him, which Clayton did without even realizing it. Once the cops were gone, the Mayor got down to business. "Who are you kid?"
Clayton smiled under his scarf. "Nobody, sir. Just a hometown boy done good."
"C'mon pal. I know you've got to be that same Midnight Ace who turned up in the papers a few months ago. Besides, you and I both know that Nobody doesn't run around with a flying box on his back. Nobody doesn't catch falling officals from the sky." The Mayor's voice became stern and serious. It was as if he were speaking to an opposing political figure.
"Look, Mr. Remington." Clayton came to a stop and turned to face the Mayor. He'd never gotten a close look at the gentleman before. Despite Oswald's salt and pepper hair and his short stature, he definated radiated charisma and leadership. Clayton found it hard not to like him. "It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is that I'm on your side."
The mayor raised an eyebrow. "What about Kuhn? We thought he was on our side too."
"I'm not Kuhn. I don't want fame and I don't want power. But when something like this thing," he jerked a thumb at the atomic engine, "falls into your hands, you gotta take responsibility for it."
The mayor smiled to himself. "Well spoken kid. Look, I owe you my life. Is there anything I can do for you?"
The Midnight Ace twisted the dial of his wrist watch and soon the atomic engine roared to life. "Tell me where Clara Conway's being taken."
Oswald nodded as several police men, lead by Captain Lowell ran towards the sound of the atomic engine. "Sir, what's going on?" His hand was already on the butt of his revolver as he came upon the two men.
"Lowell, where is Ms. Conway being taken for her injuries?" The mayor never took his eyes off the Midnight Ace. He seemed to almost be studying him.
"Saint Ann's, Mr. Mayor. Probably the third floor." Captain Lowell had to almost yell, the noise of the atomic engine had gotten so loud.
Any reply made by the mayor was buried by the noise of the Midnight Ace taking to the night sky, back towards downtown San Cabellaros. As he streaked across the sky, Oswald Remington turned to the Captain . "Get me a car, Lowell."
The Midnight Ace came to a landing on the third floor of Saint Ann's hospital, on the tiny balcony of room three seventeen. The atomic engine fell silent as Clayton slid the small door open and made his way into the dark hospital room. With the exception of the beautiful woman who lay serenely lay a tiny white bed. Clayton smiled to himself, pleased to see that the odd red liquid had been cleaned from her beautiful golden hair.
He took a step closer and knelt down beside her bed, gazing at her sleeping form. Her chest was gentley rising and falling and her eyes were closed. He nervously slid his hand beneath hers and squeezed. "Hey Clara," he whispered. "It's me, Clayton."
He bit back his nervousness and fear. Thoughts flooded his mind. Thoughts of what this mysterious red liquid would do to her. Would it scar her mentally? Would she live? Was she in a coma? Sleeping? He didn't know, and that terrified him more than Tommy Two-Tone or Fritz Kuhn. He laughed sadly to himself. "You probably don't even remember me. Never more than 'Baxter in the print room,' right? But I know you know the Midnight Ace." He smiled a little more proudly to himself this time. "Well, I... I hope you're okay. When they told me I was coming back to San Cabellero, all I could think about was you. I'm sorry, Clara. Sorry I didn't get here before Kuhn did whatever it is he's done to you."
His chin quivered and he fought back the gentle film of tears over his eyes. "But he's gone now."
A familiar voice behind him broke the awkward combination of silence and sadness that now filled the room. "Clayton Baxter, eh?"
The Midnight Ace leapt to his feet and whirlled around. Standing in the shadows of the room was the small form of Oswald Remington, his arms crossed. He was smiling softly, his face barely visible in the weak evening light. "You can't tell anyone," Clayton blurted out, louder than he intended.
The Mayor took a step forward, a little more of the moonlight sharpening his features as his smile broadened. "Mr. Baxter. Telling someone is exactly what I intended to do."
"No! You can't! You don't know-"
"Sir!" the Mayor cried, "let me tell you exactly what I am going to do. I am going to tell Captain Lowell not to worry about the Midnight Ace. I'm going to tell Spielman over at the Gazette that any Midnight Ace articles go through me first, so that nothing too important comes out. I'm also going to tell you, young man, that I'll make sure Ms. Conway has the city's best medical care."
Clayton took a deep breath, relieved though not completely so. "Thank you, Mr. Remington." He looked back at Clara, "What about her? What's going to happen to her? What did Kuhn do?"
Remington smiled softly, "I checked with the administrator. According to him, she's stable. Just exhausted. She'll be fine in a few days."
"You sure?"
"As sure as the doctor." He stepped forward and put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Does she know, Ace?"
Clayton smiled down at her then looked at the mayor. "She's kissed the Midnight Ace. She barely knows who Clayton Baxter is." He slipped out from under the comforting grip on his shoulder and made his way back to the window. "See you around, Mr. Mayor."
The mayor watched for a second as the Midnight Ace made his way out the window, paused and then spoke. "She doesn't know who you are, huh kid?"
Clayton nodded as he adjusted his scarf. "That's the long and short of it." As he took to the air and the comforting snap-whine of the atomic engine filled his ears he could've sworn he heard the Mayor yell something out the window:
"Just make sure you know who you are, Ace!"
"Real bang-up job you did to Kuhn's mansion, kid." Langston guided the black sedan onto the highway as both he and Clayton made their way back to the Agency.
Clayton smirked awkwardly, "Look, Agent Langston, I just-"
Langston laughed, "Look kid, I'm just bustin' your chops. You stopped Kuhn and his robot whatever-they-ares. And you didn't compromise yourself or the Agency. That's all that matters."
The Midnight Ace remained silent for a moment before reaching for the radio dial. Duke Elington soon filled the car. "What about Kuhn?"
"Local cops found the wreckage of his flying contraption outside of town. It was burnt to nearly ashes. Only a frame was left. All that was left of Kuhn were a couple of teeth." Langston glanced briefly at the Midnight Ace, "At least that's what the reports say, kid."
"Good. That bastard deserves worse than that." Clayton clenched his fist tightly, thinking again of Kuhn and Clara.
"Worse than being incinerated after plummeting from the sky, kid? You really had it out for this guy."
Clayton nodded as a smile slowly crept onto Agent Langston's face. He looked over at the older man and raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"So, how's the girl?" he asked, as if there was no further need for an explination.
"Good. She goes back to work at the Gazette tomorrow." Clayton let his eyes drift out to the road as he spoke. He was vacant, absent.
"And you, Baxter? What about you?"
"What about me?" he replied indignantly.
"C'mon, Baxter! Did you at least kiss her?! I know you been pining for that girl long before you came to work for the Agency."
Clayton chuckled to himself, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice, "Kiss her, Langston? Hell, I didn't kiss her. I just shot her."
Agent Langston raised an eyebrow for a moment and just shrugged. "Women." |
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the_confessor's journal
