Tales of the Red Panda: The Android Assassins (18 page)

Andy Parker cradled his service revolver in his hands and
watched for Chief
O'Mally's
order. It came almost
instantly, just a nod of the big man's head, and Parker put his foot through
the space the door had been occupying and held his pistol high to cover the two
officers who burst into the office before him, crouched low and barking orders
for everyone in the room to freeze. As Parker followed them into the large,
plush office, he could see that there was only one man present behind a large,
ornate desk.

“Marcus Bennett,” Chief
O'Mally
said sternly, “I arrest you in the name of the law.”

“Chief
O'Mally
,” the aviation
magnate said with an eerie calm. “What is the meaning of this outrage?”

O'Mally
shook his head in wonder.
“The moment the tracker lead us to Bennett Aviation, I knew it had to be you,”
O'Mally
said, “and yet I still can't believe it.”

“Tracker?” Bennett was perfectly even-tempered. “What ever
are you talking about,
O'Mally
?”

“This,”
O'Mally
said, indicating
the tracking device the Red Panda had given him. “It tracks the signals between
your mechanical monsters and that equipment behind you.”

“This?” Bennett sounded almost amused. “My dear
O'Mally
, you have clearly had some kind of breakdown. Of
course I have radio-sending equipment. I must remain in communication with our
craft, the weather offices. I am a hands-on manager, Chief, there are people's
lives in my hands.”

“Very nice,”
O'Mally
growled, “but
it won't save you.”

“I think that Gilbert MacKinnon is right,” Bennett said,
standing. “It is high time Toronto had a new Chief of Police. First you smear
the name of young Mister Fenwick, and now this tomfoolery. You point to that
contraption as though it proves a thing. Tell me then, Chief
O'Mally
… what is it exactly? How does it work? You'll swear
in court that you understand its function, will you?”

O'Mally
sputtered slightly, and
Marcus Bennett burst into peals of laughter. “Of course you won't,” he said,
stepping from around his desk and ignoring the officers who had drawn weapons
pointed right at him, walking slowly towards the Chief of Police. “There has
only ever been one man who could have constructed such a device. Where is he,
O'Mally
?”

“Here I am, Captain Clockwork,” said voice from a corner
that Parker would have sworn was empty a second ago.

“The Red Panda!” Bennett cackled. “Working with the police?
Dear me, how cozy. But your testimony is meaningless.
A man
in a mask, an outlaw himself?
You are the only person who can truly
explain the chain of circumstance that brought poor, misguided Chief
O'Mally
to commit this dreadful mistake. And since no judge
in the country would allow you to deliver evidence from behind a mask, I will
thank you all to get out of my office. Now.”

“Like most secrets, Bennett,” the Red Panda said sternly,
“yours seems fairly obvious once it is known. The Viper broke his silence when
he threatened your company. The telephone call that got you off the New York
Special before it was destroyed was cleverly staged. It meant that a dozen
witnesses listening in could swear that Marcus Bennett and the Viper could not
be the same person. But once it was known for certain that the Viper was simply
a new
nom de plume
for a villain who
could replicate anyone's face, much less their voice, with his automatons, that
seems like less of an impediment to your guilt than it might once have.”

Bennett smiled coldly. “That is hardly proof, Red Panda.”

“True,” the masked man smiled. “But a Crown Attorney would
make much of your early patents, Bennett. The ones you mortgaged to start this
airline. They were really quite clever. You eventually realized that it might
be better for you to keep your brains to yourself, I'm sure, but those patents
are a matter of public record. I feel certain that Chief
O'Mally's
experts will find the hidden sources of wealth you used to finance your
campaign of terror, and the network of trusts and corporations you were using
to buy up stock in the companies you were savaging. You murdered dozens of
people in cold-blood, Marcus Bennett, and the system will never let you get
away with it.”

Bennett smiled and shook his head. “You have no idea what
the system will allow to a man of power and influence,” he said. “I will never
serve a day.”

“You are wrong about that, Clockwork,” the Red Panda said,
“just as you are wrong about me being the only man who could track your killing
machines back to you. If need be, the scientist who isolated the frequency
utilized by your automatons and used it to design that tracker for Chief
O'Mally
will step forward to testify against you.”

“Well, then,” Bennett smiled again, “there is really only
one thing left to say, isn't there?” He paused for effect. “Kill them!” he
ordered.

Suddenly two hidden panels in the walls beside Bennett's
desk flew open and a large, silver-skinned machine burst forward from each, red
eyes glowing with a terrible fire. There was a hail of gunfire from the
revolvers of the police officers present, but they were hopelessly overmatched.
Parker began to fall back towards the door as one of his brother officers was
sent hurtling into the wall beside him, when suddenly he heard a familiar cry.
One of the mechanical men was screaming in agony, flailing its electric whips
in the air as destructive power tore apart its mechanical mind. It fell to the
carpet, smoke pouring from every part of it and for an instant the room was
silent as every pair of eyes, human and machine alike, turned to focus on the
girl in the grey
catsuit
who stood behind the
monster. She flipped her hair and blew the smoke from the electric knuckles on
her right hand.

“Hi,” she said.

And with that she threw herself into the air, over the
fallen form of the destroyed robot and towards its brother. Sparks flew from
the soles of her feet as she arched her back to carry herself high in the air
between the savage whips of the remaining machine, and turned from the hips to
right herself as she thrust her entire form, fist-first into the body of the
second attack android. Moments later the great metal beast fell with a terrible
crash.

She turned with a wild grin towards the Red Panda, ignoring
the Chief and his men completely. “Aw,” she pouted, “I didn't save any for
you.”

He smiled. “Yes, you did,” he said.

“Where?” she said, flipping head-over-heels to face the room
again and landing in a
Squirrel-Fu
stance with such a burst of speed that one of the other uniformed policemen
raised his pistol at her in fright. Andy Parker frowned and shook his head at
the rookie, who lowered his weapon again, shame-faced.

“You think you're awful funny,
dontcha
?”
she said crossly.

“I do,” the Red Panda said, “but not in this instance.”

“So where's the robot?” the Flying Squirrel asked, confused.

“Right here,” he said, suddenly bringing his leg up in a
roundhouse kick that caught Marcus Bennett in the mid-section just above the
belt buckle. Bennett shuddered and seemed to collapse, as if he were a puppet
whose strings had been cut.

“Good gravy!” Chief
O'Mally
thundered. “What in blazes did you do to Bennett?”

The Red Panda shook his head at the twitching form that lay
at his feet. “That was not Marcus Bennett,” he said, and held his hand up for
silence. The strange assembly could just hear the sound of a small aircraft
receding in the distance. “That is.”

“That is what?”
O'Mally
barked.

“You should get your men to the control tower,
O'Mally
,” the Red Panda said seriously. “Unless I miss my
guess, a few minutes ago a light aircraft made an unscheduled and hasty
takeoff, carrying Marcus Bennett to parts unknown.”

“
But…,”
O'Mally
was flustered.

“He must have known you were on the way,” the Red Panda
grinned. “Get after him, man. Bring that plane down and you have all the
evidence you could ever need, without even bringing us into it.”

“Yes…
well…,”
O'Mally
hesitated.

“Don't get sentimental, Peaches,” the Flying Squirrel said.
“Go.”
O'Mally
seemed to snap to attention at this and
bellowed orders to his crew. Kit resisted the urge to wink at Andy Parker as
the police raced from the room after their quarry, but he had the good grace to
blush anyway.

“Explain one thing to me,” the Flying Squirrel said that
night, as they stood on a rooftop across the street from a certain boxing gym.

“Name it,” he said, tearing his focus away from the door he
had been quietly watching for twenty minutes and turning towards his partner.
She was almost a foot shorter than him but somehow she never seemed small, even
when they stood still and close like this, which wasn't often. The warm night
breezes that blew gently through the streets below were more ambitious at this
height, and her red bob of hair whipped behind her dramatically in the
moonlight. “Better yet,” he said, “let me guess.”

Kit was surprised, but nodded her agreement. He didn't play
games often and she couldn't bear to miss this.

“How did I know that it was Bennett in that airplane?” he
said, raising an eyebrow as if he had been waiting to be asked for hours. “I
didn't. It seemed logical, probable even. But I sent the police after the
aircraft just in case. That way if Captain Clockwork had some other, much more
clever and dangerous endgame in mind, we'd still be on hand to deal with it.”
He smiled and shrugged. “Besides, as it turns out,
O'Mally
had no trouble getting the plane to turn around, and Marcus Bennett is in a
holding cell awaiting trial. And since we stayed out of the big finish, at
least as far as John Q. Public is concerned, I thought a certain Chief of
Police just might start to come around on us.”

She snorted. “You really think so?”

He shrugged modestly. “Perhaps. It would make things a great
deal easier, would it not? And some days I think I'd very much like to live
through all this.”

“Oh really?”

“I'm not fanatical about it, you understand,” he grinned.
“But yes. It might be nice.”

“Living
through
this suggests an ending,” she said.

“I hadn't thought of that.” His brow furrowed. He looked at
the lights of his city spreading far and wide below and all around them. Miles
and miles of souls that looked to the Red Panda for justice in the face of
cruelty. For hope where there was none before. He could not imagine not
answering that call one day. He shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, “I can't
even think of such a thing. What about you? Do you suppose it'll ever end for
you?”

She stared up at him with bright eyes, watching him gazing
over the city they fought to protect. “God, I hope not,” she said.

He smiled and turned back to her. If he caught any hint of
portent in her eyes, he certainly hid it well. “Good,” he said, holding out his
red-gauntleted right hand to her.

They shook hands, each quietly admonishing themselves for
the racing of their hearts induced by a handshake, of all things.

“Now can I ask my actual question?” she said gently.

“You mean, that wasn't…”

She shook her head.

“About the plane?”

She shook her head again.

“No, of course not,” he said, “you probably guessed all of
that.”

“Yes, Boss,” she said.

“Fine,” he said. She could tell he was embarrassed because
he didn't quite seem to know what to do with his hands. Kit never ceased to
wonder how someone could be the strongest, fastest, richest and cleverest
person in any room he happened to be in and still come across as a big goof at
times. She also never seemed to notice that it only happened when she was
around. He cleared his throat. “And what was your actual question, Miss
Baxter?”

She made a little curtsy at the formality. “It was about
Wentworth James and the maze,” she said.

“The maze?” he said, as if he had quite forgotten.

“Yeah,” she was buying none of this, “the giant,
robot-confusing maze that he built overnight. You seemed pretty sure that he
would be able to come up with something.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“And it had to work, or we were done,” she continued.

“Yes.” He was not making this easy.

“So how come you farmed out the inventing to James?”

“I didn't exactly,” he said sheepishly. “I knew precisely
what Wentworth James would construct once the idea was planted in his head. I
was the lab partner that built the original model with him back at school. I
knew he'd have the plans somewhere, he always was a terrible pack-rat.”

“
You
nearly got
expelled for that?” Her grin was so wide she seemed to show every tooth in her
mouth.

“I nearly got expelled for lots of things,” he shrugged,
“until the time came around for my father's annual contribution. Then all was
forgiven, or at least forgotten. I knew that James would be so excited to be
involved that he would keep all the credit for himself.”

“He did seem to like being asked,” the Flying Squirrel
smiled.

The Red Panda nodded. “More adventure than a Wentworth James
sees in a lifetime,” he agreed. “It'll give him something to bore the people at
the club with for the next few decades.”

“Unless he gets a taste for it,” she teased.

“God help us all,” he smirked.

“Boss,” she said, pointing to the door of Spiro's gym below.
“There's our boy.”

He nodded. “Looks like he's turning up the alley. That's as
good a spot as any.”

Two minutes later, the masked marvels hit street level on
either side of a very startled Tank Brody.

“Oh, it's you,” the boxer said. “I guess I should have
expected someone.” He reached into his pocket and produced the set of electric
knuckles that had been issued to him a few nights earlier. “These were fun to
play with, but I'm just as glad to know there aren't any floating around out
there.”

The Red Panda held out his hand and took the devices from
Brody. “No indeed,” the masked man said, “but you certainly put them to good
use.”

Brody shrugged. “I was glad to help,” he said. “To feel like
I was doing more than running and hiding. Been a long time since I felt like
that. I ought to thank you both.”

The Red Panda looked serious. “And what have you been
running and hiding from, Tank Brody?”

Brody shifted slightly. “Does it matter?” he said curtly.

“Normally, no,” the Red Panda said. “Today it might.”

Tank held the gaze of the blank eyes in the bright red mask
as long as he could. His eyes finally shifted to the girl in the grey
catsuit
who looked just as serious, but nodded at him
encouragingly.

Brody sighed. “There was a lawman in a little town out
west,” he began. “Thought he ran the town and owned all the people in it. I
tried to help them. He trumped up a bogus manslaughter charge against me, and
I've been running ever since.”

The Red Panda nodded. “The experience hasn't put you off
helping people, I see.”

Tank nodded. “Maybe not,” he said. “Maybe I just got too
thick a head to learn what's good for me. So what happens now?”

The Red Panda raised an eyebrow. “Now is the part where I
tell you that the sheriff who ran you out of that town was jailed in disgrace
over a year ago, Morris Brody. And the charges against you were thrown out when
his corrupt reign ended. The people that you tried to help took inspiration
from you even in defeat. They stood up and fought for you as you had fought for
them.”

The three of them were silent for a long moment. It was
Brody who spoke first. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice almost
breaking. “How could you know?”

“It is my job to know things,” the masked man said simply.
He looked at the girl standing to his right. “My partner took a chance on you
and you didn't let us down. Indeed, you passed every test with flying colors.
If you have a mind to keep helping people, I think we can certainly help that
to happen.”

Brody blinked at them. “Work for you?” he asked. “Like the
others?”

“You could go back if you wanted, Tank,” the Squirrel offered.
“There's nothing stopping you. You don't have to run any more.”

Brody shook his head. “If I went back, I'd just be running
again. Running back to a place that is probably better off without me. If I
stand and fight here, at least I wouldn't be doing it alone.”

“Never,” she promised with a grin.

“So… what do I do?” Brody asked awkwardly.

“Keep training,” the Red Panda said, melting back into the
shadows. “Spiro says your uppercut needs work.”

“And I say you lead too much with your jaw,” the Flying
Squirrel said, darting up the brick wall of the alley at astonishing speed.

“We'll be in touch,” said a voice from nowhere.

And with that, Tank Brody was alone.
But
not really alone, not anymore.

Never.

--THE END--