Tales of the Red Panda: The Android Assassins
Read Tales of the Red Panda: The Android Assassins Online
Authors: Gregg Taylor
Tales of the Red Panda:
The Android Assassins
by
Gregg Taylor
Copyright 2012 Gregg
Taylor
Kindle
Edition
All Rights Reserved.
For Tess
Danger is your middle name
Table of Contents
Everyone agreed it was a perfect day for flying. The sun was
bright and warm but did not yet beat down with the oppressive heat that would
come later in the summer. There was just enough of a breeze to keep the day
from becoming still and hot, barely moving the windsock above a lazy sort of
lolling flap. The slight wind carried away the smell of oil and fuel that of
necessity pervaded the airfield and left behind only the promise of a fine
adventure. Mechanics in crisp white coveralls buzzed about the gleaming form of
the aircraft like industrious worker bees. The day carried just exactly the
note of expectation that such an event ought to.
Within the passenger lounge, those about to take to the air
could do little but stare out the great picture windows in impatient delight at
the fine looking craft. Truly it was a sight to see, with its mighty engines
ready to propel them to great heights and silver skin glowing with reflected
sunlight, almost obscuring the bold letters along her side that read
Bennett Aviation
. The great hangar just
beyond the airship bore a matching
standard
as did the
lounge in which the passengers waited, but the signs hardly seemed necessary.
Everyone in Toronto knew that it was Marcus Bennett who had built this airfield
just north of the city, casting his bread upon the water in the belief that the
future of air travel was as bright as this fine summer day.
Just five years ago, men had smiled indulgently when Bennett
had said that
one day
travel by air would eclipse the
passenger railways. Certainly that time had not yet come, as even this mighty
ship could only carry twenty travelers. But the same men who had once
patronized him now wondered if perhaps he had not been correct, and silently
wished that they had invested in the future as Marcus Bennett had. He had
invested all he could – money left from his family fortune, profits from
his numerous patents – and sunk it all into this venture. Bennett himself
was far from ready to crow, as his fledgling airline was not yet a profitable
enterprise, but a glorious day like this was enough to make any man dizzy with
hope.
And yet on this particular day, Marcus Bennett seemed
unusually grim. He put on a good show as he walked about the passenger lounge,
receiving handshakes and congratulations from his wealthy patrons. As the child
of a privileged family, Bennett had known many of these people his entire life.
After all, only those with a great deal of money to spend could afford this
sort of voyage, and for them, getting to New York in a fraction of the time of
a normal trip was well worth the price. Every flight he greeted was like old home
week for Marcus Bennett, and it was a role he normally seemed to relish. Today,
however, he seemed preoccupied. He left the lounge and made for the office
where his chief mechanic was due to meet him prior to boarding. As he closed
the door, the gay atmosphere of the departure lounge was replaced with a
seriousness that matched Bennett's own.
A half
dozen
employees watched Bennett quietly as he lit a cigarette and stared impatiently
at the clock.
Six minutes later the outer door opened and a big man walked
in, cleaning his hands on a cloth as he did so. The airline magnate crushed his
cigarette out as the man took off his cap and approached.
“She checks out right enough, Mister Bennett,” the mechanic
said seriously.
Bennett frowned. This report was rather more casual than he
had hoped. “You're quite certain, Zachary?” he asked sternly. “These are
unusual circumstances, to say the least.”
If Zachary took offense at the question, he tried not to
show it. “We've checked this bird from nose to tail, Mister Bennett, and then
checked it again. We've run every inspection in the book and a few more
besides. This machine is as sound as they come.”
Bennett nodded and licked his lower lip nervously. “I am
sorry,” he said. “Of course I trust your work, and that of your men,
completely. But we have never received a threat like this before.” Bennett
lowered his voice slightly, but his message was no less intense. “If we are to
go ahead, I must be certain that our passengers are to be safe.”
Zachary shook his head. “This threat, Mister Bennett,” he
began, “what did it say, exactly?”
Bennett cast an involuntary glance around the room, then
reached into the pocket of his linen jacket and produced a sheet of yellow
paper, folded over twice. Zachary opened the sheet and read the short,
typewritten message within:
The New York Special
must not take to the air. If you defy the Viper, disaster will follow, just as
it has struck Page, Welles and Church. This is your only warning.
The mechanic folded the paper and handed it back to his
employer. “What does he mean by 'Page, Welles and Church'?” he asked.
Bennett looked exasperated but
answered,
“There are a number of business concerns in the city that have suffered a
series of… accidents in recent days. This 'Viper' seems to claim that they were
not accidents at all, and that he himself may have been their cause.”
“Well, I can't speak to that, Mister Bennett,” Zachary
began, “nor about any kind of man that calls himself the 'Viper', but I know
that ship. There has been no
sabotage,
there is no
mechanical defect of any kind. She's as air-worthy as any craft that ever took
to the skies and if I didn't think so I wouldn't let anyone board her, much
less you, sir.”
Bennett smiled in spite of himself. His airline was still a
fragile concern. If others were to trust it, he had to be seen to do so
himself. He was taking the New York Special today, putting his own life on the
line if this “Viper” was to be believed, and Zachary clearly felt that this was
the cause of some of his boss' concern.
Thank you, Zachary,” Bennett said, his smile growing tight
with his resolve. “You may get her ready for boarding.”
Ten minutes later the procession from the passenger lounge
to the aircraft began, with all the gaiety of an Easter parade. Within an
impossibly short time these wealthy sons and daughters of Toronto would be
ready to take in the shows and nightclubs of New York City, and upon their
return each of them would speak of the grand adventure of it all. It was
exactly the sort of word-of-mouth that Bennett needed if his vision were to be
realized, and yet his heart was leaden as he made his way across the tarmac and
ascended the stairs into the craft.
As he boarded he caught the eyes of Tom Morrison, his most
experienced pilot. The two men spoke not one word before the other passengers,
and exchanged no more than the most professional of nods, but Bennett could
tell that the airman shared the confidence that Bennett's chief mechanic had
expressed. In a profession that lent itself to bravado, Tom Morrison was the
kind of pilot who let his flying do the talking. But when he did speak, it was
easy to get the feeling that if wings were attached to an old rain barrel,
Morrison could fly her, and make excellent time.
Just beyond Captain Morrison, Bennett could see his co-pilot
sitting at the controls, busily engaged in his pre-flight checklist. Bennett
had spared no expense and hired the best for his fledgling airline, and there
was no reason on Earth for him to doubt the capabilities of a single man. He
settled into a seat near the doors and watched the remaining passengers climb
aboard, each rustling past him down the aisle engaged in excited conversation
with their fellows.
The last of them was seated as the mighty engines roared to
life and began to warm up, filling the interior of the craft with the low, dull
throb of the great motors. At last Bennett breathed a sigh of relief. If he was
still concerned about the threat of this so-called “Viper”, there was no sign
of it upon his face.
Just then, he chanced to glance out of the window and saw
the lanky form of Jerry Olson, one of his office boys, racing through the
expanse of space between the offices and the ship, waving his long arms
frantically. The air crews halted their removal of the steps that led to the
craft, and moments later Olson was aboard with a frantic look in his eye as he
squinted to find his employer in the cool darkness of the plane's interior.
Bennett quickly waved the young man over and motioned for
him to sit down in the open seat next to him. Jerry was an excitable young
fellow, and Bennett did not want his passengers to catch the fever of his
consternation, whatever the cause might be.
“Mister Bennett,” the young man began, gulping for air as he
did so, “there's a telephone call, sir.”
“A telephone call?” Bennett hissed in disbelief. “Jerry, you
are aware that we are about to take off for New York City, are you not?”
“Sir, yes, sir. But the caller, he says… that
is…,”
Olson was sputtering now, and the passengers seated
nearby were beginning to notice. Bennett calmed him with a gentle wave of his
hand and a forced smile, and Olson remembered his place and leaned in close to
whisper. “The caller says that he has information that you need, sir.
Information about this man who calls himself the 'Viper'.”
Bennett started in spite of himself. Olson could understand
why. This call could be the break his boss had hoped for, that the police would
need if they were to have a chance to stop this fiend before his campaign began
in earnest. Bennett nodded to the young man and rose from his seat. As he made
his way to the door Captain Morrison caught his eye.
“You want us to wait, sir?” the pilot asked gravely. He knew
that Marcus Bennett believed that if air travel were to succeed, it must
overcome its reputation for delays.
Bennett shook his head. “Keep to the schedule, Tom. Best of
luck.”
“No worries, Mister Bennett,” Morrison smiled. “It's a fine
day for flying.”
Bennett could hear the throb of the engines grow to a roar
as he hurried back to the office. He opened the door to see that half of his
staff appeared to be listening on extensions, waiting for their employer to
appear. One of his secretaries pointed him to an open line. He lifted the
receiver to his ear and everyone in the room held their breath.
“Marcus Bennett speaking,” he puffed, a little winded.
On the other end of the line a cold voice cackled. The girl
on the switchboard turned quite pale.
“What is the meaning of this?” Bennett barked. “Who is
this?”
“This is the Viper, Mister Bennett,” the voice droned. “You
have defied me. You must now pay for that insolence, but it was not yet time
for you to pay the ultimate price. You must not yet share the doom of your
aircraft.”
Bennett held the receiver away from his face. “Someone stop
that plane!” he hissed. But the sounds from just outside told everyone that it
was too late. The New York Special had taken to the air. “Call the tower, get
them back!” Bennett implored.
The voice on the telephone resumed its hard, cold laughter.
“Too late, Marcus Bennett.
Far too late.
You have
defied the Viper, and the penalty is due!” The laughter began again, and the
staff began to race to the windows. Bennett did not have to look. He could hear
the mighty engines of the New York Special tearing themselves apart as they
flew faster than they were ever meant to, straight towards the ground. He could
feel the shudder through the acres of concrete as the airship plowed into the
runway from which it had just departed. And over the cries of his staff and the
sounds of the great explosion that followed, Marcus Bennett could hear one
thing:
The cold, hard laughter of the Viper.
