Time Was (32 page)

They'd spotted her easily from the roofs—the Stompers had electronic surveillance equipment installed on most of the rooftops in Cemetery Ridge, particularly those areas near Cinnamon Road—and she'd shown up during one of their routine scans.

A call to Rudy, giving him the direction in which she was heading, a description of what she was wearing, and he was on his way.

He'd spotted her from half a block away, going in precisely the direction he'd been told. He made sure to keep a big distance between them.

He was still riding the adrenaline high from last night. Sure, he hadn't managed to dust the Doc, but he'd shaken the dude up pretty badly—and taken a piece out of him, to boot.

Rudy imagined that he could still taste the Doc's blood on his lips.

It wasn't all that bad, the taste of blood. A little coppery and sharp, but not too bad, when you got right down to it.

He reached up and patted down his hair. He'd removed most of the bandages from his face and head, leaving only the medicated gauze pads and medical tape that held them in place over Gash's handiwork.

He pulled a baseball cap from his back pocket, put it on his head brim forward, then clasped his hands behind his back and leaned against the newsstand.

They were up to something.

Stinkin' robots. They might look like human beings, but they were still robots.

Future scrap material.

Wreckage-to-Be.

But he couldn't show his face to the Stompers, not yet. Not until he had something more solid.

Like one of the robots.

Preferably alive, but he'd be more than happy to fry their brains, if he needed to.

He'd be
really
happy to fry the redheaded bitch's brain.

He wondered, for a moment, if
all
of her was constructed like a real woman.

She
was
mighty tasty-looking.

Rudy laughed to himself.

Might be kind of fun finding out, if he could pull it off.

But, for now, he'd wait for her, follow her back to DocScrap's building and see if he could figure out what the hell was going on.
Then
he'd go back to the Stompers and show them he was worthy.

 

Psy–4 nodded his head and looked up from the blueprints and various notes. “Looks good.”

“
Of course
it looks good,” said Itazura. “Familiar, too—it's the backup plan we
didn't
use the other night.”

“That's because it would have taken too long,” said Psy–4.

“Like we've got tons of time this go-round?”

“No, but we
do
have a couple of advantages we didn't have before.”

“Such as . . .?”

“For one, we know exactly where we are going, how to get there, and what systems' energies need to be redirected in order to achieve the goal; for another, we have a wider window of opportunity than before.”

“Only by fifteen minutes.”

“Give or take sixty seconds,” said Stonewall.

Itazura winked at him. “Pick nits, why don't you?”

Psy–4 stood and exhaled. “We can brief Killaine on this when she gets back. I'd like to build a mock-up of the bottom floor of Preston's main building—nothing fancy, cardboard and plywood will do. I don't think it would hurt us to do a couple of dry runs.”

“Is the cellar big enough for that?” asked Radiant.

Stonewall checked the measurements. “With a yard to spare on three of the four sides—if Itazura doesn't mind losing his labyrinth.”

“Not gonna have any time to walk it again before this,” he said.

Psy–4 clamped a hand on Itazura's shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

“Wait till you get my bill.”

Psy–4 laughed, but not too loudly. “Okay. Now we need to pick up the supplies on the list. Just make sure that we hit stores in
this
area. Use black-market dealers if you have to. I know that Annabelle will probably still be able to trace any sales of this type, but if we go the BM route, it'll take her a bit longer to—”

“Take
who
a bit longer?”

All of them turned to see Zac standing in the doorway.

He looked from one of them to the next until he'd made eye contact with all five of them.

Even Singer found it difficult to return his gaze.

“Okay,” said Zac. “I give up. You've stumped the band. I heard the name ‘Annabelle' and the words ‘equipment,' ‘trace,' and ‘mock-up'—that last one being particularly interesting. Someone care to tell me what's going on?”

His body turned at enough of an angle that Zac couldn't see his hands, Singer looked at Psy–4 and signed,
Oh, shit.

No one could find good reason to disagree with his assessment of their current status.

 

Morgan watched Karen walk over to one of the pay phones along the midway. She was going to call her boss and tell him she was taking the assignment.

He hoped his jaw hadn't dropped open again.

He hadn't expected anything like her.

Not even close.

Not at all.

Everything about her was ethereal to him—her eyes, her smile, her laugh (
Oh, yes
—her laugh!) . . . he was a goner the minute he saw her.

He'd never believed in anything like love before. Oh, sure, friendships, however brief or transient, those he could believe in; the occasional one-nighter was the closest he'd ever come to romance, but love?

Not even close.

Not at all.

Probably wouldn't have recognized it if it had sprouted fangs and bitten him in the Very Tender Parts.

Oh, how he
didn't
need this little complication.

Still, there were worse things that could happen to a person.

Much
worse things.

He saw her punch in the phone number, then turn, smile at him, and give a short wave so filled with dormant little-girl innocence he felt himself blush as he returned the gesture.

This was nuts! She was right there in plain sight, only ten yards or so away from him, and he
missed
her.

That wasn't a good sign.

He suddenly felt another set of eyes looking at him, and turned his head enough to see one of the game booth operators smirking at him.

He gave the man a puzzled look.

The operator jerked his thumb toward Karen, then pointed at Morgan, then rolled his eyes skyward while shaking his hand.

Morgan sneered at the guy and flashed him the finger.

This wouldn't last long, this feeling he had, this immediate symbiosis.

For him, it never did.

But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it while it was here.

He looked back and saw that she was still staring at him.

Her eyes so clear and green; Summer Eyes.

Just don't smile
, he prayed.
If you smile at me now, I'm done for.

She smiled.

So did Morgan.

Just shoot me now
, he thought.

 

That morning would go down in their personal histories as the Day the I-Bots Learned the Meaning of the Phrase “Saved by the Bell,” for as they all stood there trying to come up with a feasible excuse to explain what Zac had overheard, the phone rang.

“I'll be right back,” Zac said. “And
then
we'll have ourselves a chat.”

The moment he left the room everyone's shoulders slumped in relief.

“Oh, let's enjoy these next few moments,” said Itazura. “They'll probably be our last moments alive.”

Stonewall was already at the computer, typing away, bringing up record files.

“What are you doing?” asked Psy–4.

“Saving our butts.”

He found what he was looking for, then quickly grabbed Radiant's hand.

Myriad levels of informational energy passed between them.

“Looks like he's going to propose,” whispered Itazura to Singer.

Do you ever turn it off?

“Jealous?”

In your dreams, Funny-Boy.

Radiant let go of Stonewall's hand and turned toward the others. “Just follow my lead when Zac returns.”

“Why
your
lead?” asked Psy–4.

“Because the rest of you are lousy liars, that's why!” She then tossed her hair to the side, fluffed it a little, leaned against the console, and plastered on her most dazzling smile.

“Shouldn't you be topless and laying across the hood of a sports car?”

“Stuff it, Itzy,” replied Radiant through clenched teeth, her smile never faltering. “Here comes Zac.”

“Don't I get a last cigarette?”

You don't smoke
, replied Singer.

“No,” said Itazura. “But this suddenly seems like a good time to start.”

“Killaine?”

“Hi, Zachary. I'm just calling to let you know that I've accepted the job.”

“I thought you might. We've never had any dealings with circuses before.”

“It's a carnival, Zachary.”

He shrugged. “I get 'em mixed up.”

“Having never been to either in your life, I can understand that.”

“How are you getting along with Mr. Morgan?”

Silence.

“Killaine?”

“Oh,
Zac
, he's such a wonderful man. I've never met anyone like him.”

“Oh?”

“I can't thank you enough for making me come here.”

“No problem, I figured that—do you realize you just called me ‘Zac'?”

“Hm? I did? Sorry, I guess I wasn't paying attention.”

“How many other team members will you need?”

“Oh, I can handle him just fine.”

“Handle who? Killaine? Hello, Earth to Killaine, do you read?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry, Zac. Um, he'll need at least two more besides me. I'll be out here for the rest of the day.”

“Why?”

“He needs to train me.”

Zac put a hand on his hip like an annoyed father. “For
what?
”

“I'll explain everything when I get home tonight. Have to go now. 'Bye!”

Zac stared at the receiver for a few seconds before hanging up.

Zac—
twice
she'd called him Zac.

And he wasn't quite so out of touch with certain natural processes that he couldn't discern what was happening to her.

He'd just spoken to a woman who was ga-ga over a guy.

From Radiant, he would've expected something like this.

But
Killaine?

Zac gave a short, low whistle. “That Mr. Morgan must be quite a guy.”

Then he turned and headed back to the control room.

* * *

As soon as Zac entered the room, Radiant walked up to him and stood her ground.

“You had no right to eavesdrop like that!”

“It wasn't my intention to eavesdrop,” said Zac calmly. “I needed to check a couple of equations that I've been toying with in my head and decided to use the computer. It
is
here for everyone's use, after all.”

“But you hardly ever use it.”

“Which suddenly means that I don't have the right to?”

“I didn't say that, all I meant was—”

“Whoa!” said Zac, holding up a hand. “Just hold it right there. I didn't mean to overhear your conversation, and I apologize if any of you feel that I've invaded your privacy, but the fact remains that I
did
overhear part of it, and what I heard was a bit on the alarming side, the events of the last few days considered, and I feel that I'm within my rights to demand an explanation.”

“He sure does talk purdy, don't he?” said Itazura.

Everyone glared at him.

“I'll be quiet. Look, here I am, being quiet.”

“So you want to know what we were talking about, is that it?” said Radiant.

“I've already answered that question.”

“Fine,” she said, spinning around on huffed heels and stomping over to the computer. “We were discussing
this!
” She pointed to the monitor.

Zac came over and looked at the screen.

“My . . .
birthday?
It's not for another five weeks.”

“And a good thing, too. We were discussing your present—which, I might add, is something you've wanted for a long, long time. We were trying to figure where to buy it so that Annabelle couldn't trace the sale. Not that it matters now, Mr. Nibby, because if you heard that much of the conversation, then you know that we're getting you a—”

“I didn't hear that part,” said Zac.

Radiant gave her head a little jerk, tossing her hair to the other side of her neck. “No, no, you don't have to spare our feelings.”

“It's all ruined now,” said Psy–4.

“And we were so careful,” mumbled Stonewall.

Zac looked at Itazura.

“I'm being quiet, remember?”

Zac looked at Singer.

I have no choice but to be quiet.

Zac shook his head and turned around. “I should've just stayed in bed.”

He closed the door behind him.

Once again, there was a mass shoulder-slump of relief.

“That was close,” said Psy–4.

Stonewall shook his head. “I hate lying, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!”

Itazura put a hand on his shoulder. “But how do you
really
feel about it, Stoner?”

Radiant made certain the door was closed all the way, then turned toward the rest. “It isn't a lie if, for his birthday, we
do
get him that thing he's been wanting for a long time.”

What, exactly, is that?
inquired Singer.

“I haven't got the slightest idea,” said Radiant. “But there's got to be
something.
”

Itazura laughed. “Tune in next week for the exciting conclusion of the Great Birthday Brouhaha, same Bat-Time, same Bat-Channel.”