Wild Cards V (80 page)

“Pardon me, sir,” the man said. His voice was an educated, somewhat theatrical baritone. “Could you take me with you?”

Modular Man's software wove swift subroutines to eliminate the man's smell from his sensory input. “I don't believe I know you.”

“Mr. Gravemold.” A minute bow. “I am a member of the good doctor's joker squad.”

“Can't you travel with them in the ambulance?”

The android sensed a smile behind the dramatic mask. “I'm afraid that in the close confines of an automobile, my scent becomes rather … overwhelming.”

“I see your point.”

“Gravemold.” Tachyon's voice was strangled. “What are you doing in my secretary's office? Were you trying to eavesdrop?”

“That's
Mister
Gravemold, Doctor.” The deep actor's voice was sharp.

“Beg pardon, I'm sure.” Tachyon's voice was denasal.

“In answer to your question, I was waiting to speak to our artificial friend. I wished to spare the other squad members the burden of my … perfume.”

“Right.” Through clenched teeth. “Do as you please, Modular Man.”

The android and Mr. Gravemold left the clinic at a fast trot, and then Modular Man wrapped his arms around the joker from behind and lifted him into the air. Air ruffled the feathers on Mr. Gravemold's mask.

“Sir,” the android said. “Are there any abilities you have besides, ah…”

“My smell?” The deep voice was barren of amusement. “Indeed I have. As well as smelling as if I were dead, I have the powers of death. I can bring the cold of the grave to my enemies.”

“That sounds … useful.” Crazy, the android thought. The joker had been smelling his own perfume too long and it had driven him mad.

“I'm also fast and tough,” Mr. Gravemold added.

“Good. So is Croyd.” Quickly the android explained about the albino and his abilities, and also about the nature of his bodyguard. “Oh, yes,” he added. “And Croyd is carrying a gun. A forty-four Automag.”

“A preposterous weapon. He must be feeling insecure.”

“Glad it doesn't bother you.”

The Perry Street brownstone came in sight below. Modular Man dropped to the ground a few feet downwind of a slim, long-haired, middle-aged woman wearing shades and carrying a white cane. She was standing in the shadows by a doorstoop. The woman looked up. Her nose wrinkled.

“Gravemold,” she said.

“
Mister
Gravemold, if you please.”

“In that case,” said Blind Sophie, “I'm
Miss
Yudkowski.”

“I have never referred to you by any other name, madam.”

A pair of ears, round like those of a cartoon mouse, seemed to inflate on either side of Sophie's head, rising like balloons past concealing strands of long, dark hair. She cocked her head toward Modular Man. “Hello, whoever you are. I didn't hear you till now.”

“I didn't know I made any noise.”

“You're a little late, gentlemen,” Sophie said. “The two men left a couple minutes ago. Just after I got back from the telephone.”

Annoyance flickered through the android's circuits. “Why didn't you tell us?”

“God forbid I should interfere with Mr. Gravemold correcting my speech.”

“Where did they go?”

“They didn't say. I believe they took the back way out.”

Without saying anything more Modular Man seized Mr. Gravemold again and rose into the sky. He swiftly quartered the district, radar searching out. Mr. Gravemold lay passively in his arms. Silent, the android thought, as the grave.

“We're on the way.” Tachyon's voice crackled on Modular Man's receivers.

“There's a problem,” Modular Man said, pulsing silent radio waves toward the clinic. He explained quickly.

“We shall continue heading in your direction, Modular Man,” Tachyon said.

“There,” said Mr. Gravemold, pointing. A pair of human-size radar images detached themselves from the shadow of a rusting iron pillar that helped support the deserted West Side Express Highway.

The android was surprised. The joker had incredibly good night vision. The android drifted silently toward the pair. He had to come within three hundred yards before he was certain the two were Croyd and his companion.

Uneasiness stirred him. The last time he'd almost died.

Burning bright.
Kate's voice echoed in his mind.

Each was burdened: the young man held a bulky parcel, and Croyd carried an outboard motor over one shoulder. Croyd was talking endlessly, but the android couldn't hear him. The two walked swift down a corroded concrete street and came to a stop at a chain link fence that cut off a Hudson River pier from the mainland. The albino put down his burden, inspected the padlock and chain that held the gate shut, and snapped the hasp with a quick twist of his fingers. The two moved through the gate and passed by a deserted guard box with shattered windows.

The pier was otherwise deserted. Except for a few ships caught here under quarantine, New York Harbor was empty, a contrast to the blaze of activity on the Jersey shore.

“They're going to try to get off the island,” said Mr. Gravemold.

“So it would seem.”

“Put me down. We can deal with it.”

“A moment. I've got to contact Tachyon.” He sent Tachyon a radio message, heard no answer, and had to rise another five hundred feet before his pulse carried to the ambulance. Mr. Gravemold stirred restlessly.

“What are you doing, man? They're getting away. Put me down.”

As soon as he heard an acknowledgment, Modular Man descended rapidly. Going to fight Croyd again, he thought. He remembered his first moments of existence, the confused fight around the Empire State Building, Cyndi's blond hair floating like a brilliant star above the ape's dark hand. Burning brightly, he thought.

He dropped Mr. Gravemold near the gate. The joker dusted himself off. “What was that all about?” he demanded.

“I'll explain later.”

Both jumped at the sound of a moan from nearby. The android's alarm faded as he saw a pudgy, unconscious man lying near the fence, a bottle of bourbon near his tattooed hand. The drunk wore leather trousers and boots and an NYPD cap. His chest was bare and featured steel rings hanging from pierced nipples.

Modular Man fixed this sight in his memory. Cherish it, he thought.

“We can't wait,” the joker said. “Those two will get away before the ambulance arrives.”

Mr. Gravemold turned away and removed his mask. There was no facial deformity that Modular Man could see from behind. The joker put on his hood and gas mask and began to move with speed down the pier, following a pair of rusted railroad tracks. His feet stepped in surprising silence.

“Wait,” said Modular Man. “They'll see you.”

The joker paid no attention. He moved toward the edge of the pier, ducked under a railing, and disappeared. Alarm rattled in Modular Man's mind. He took to the air and did a half-roll under the pier.

Mr. Gravemold was still moving, walking inverted on the old, corroded planks, his pace brisk, the dark and silent Hudson rolling beneath his head. The android flew up next to him.

A possibility occurred to him. His mind ran scans, cross-checks.

The possibility was confirmed at greater than ninety percent. Build, talents, race, approximate age … everything matched. The accents were wildly different, and the voices substantially different as to tone and timbre, but scans of certain key words showed a surprising correspondence.

Why, Modular Man wondered, had Wall Walker made himself smell bad and disguised himself as a joker?

Or was that another manifestation of Wall Walker's wild card? Maybe he was Wall Walker part of the time, and then he started smelling bad and became Mr. Gravemold.

Maybe he was just crazy. Why else would someone disguise himself as a
joker
?

He decided not to mention his conclusions to the inverted ace beside him.

“You didn't mention you could walk upside down,” he said.

“Did I not?” The voice was muffled by the mask. “Sometimes I'm a bit forgetful.”

“Is there anything else you can do that I should know?”

Modular Man began to hear Croyd's voice. Mr. Gravemold looked at him. “Shhh. Be silent.” The android sensed a grim smile behind the mask. “Silent as the grave.”

They moved on. Mr. Gravemold moved easily through a tangle of wood and metal pier supports that loomed around them like the ribs of some giant, extinct animal. Croyd's voice grew louder. Modular Man remembered the shower of flaming stars that signaled the descent of the Swarm. Burning bright.

“Never had a fucking chance,” Croyd said. “Jesus. Never learned a goddamn thing about the fucking world. Not algebra. Not anything.” He laughed. “I taught
them
a thing or two. Stick with me, kid. We're gonna give 'em some
very interesting
lessons, you and me.”

The android thought about Cyndi, Alice, the others.
Didn't I see you at the ape escape?
He thought about burning brightly and tried to make his movement precise, perfect. Tried to find the wonder in this situation, flying beneath a pier with the slick water waiting beneath him and a very likely insane, upside-down disguised ace walking purposefully beside him.

Halfway down the pier was a wooden ladder that reached down into the dark water. Croyd's voice seemed to come from just overhead.

“Okay, kid. Here we go. Just follow the ol' Sleeper. I know how to survive in this world.”

Mr. Gravemold turned to the android and gestured. Despite the clumsiness of his suit, the meaning was clear: You fly over the opposite side of the pier, I'll wait here.

Great
, the android thought.
I charge, and while they're killing me, Gravemold attacks from behind. Terrific.

“Bring me the package, kid.” Croyd's voice.

There seemed no time to engage in a debate with Mr. Gravemold. The android drifted backward across the pier, weaving his way through the metal supports, and then rose from the other side.

Croyd was standing by the ladder, facing his companion, and by coincidence, the android. Croyd's friend had a small knife out and had cut away the string and paper wrapping his package.

Croyd snapped to attention. “Shit! The robot!” His arm a blur of swift motion, he reached for his gun.

Not again, thought the android. He accelerated, heading straight for the albino.

Croyd made frantic tugging motions. The huge silver handgun seemed to have snagged in his armpit. His companion, without the unnatural speed possessed by the others, slowly turned and spun between Croyd and the charging android.

Choices rained on the android's circuits. He couldn't hit Croyd's bodyguard, not without charging him with energy, and he couldn't get to Croyd without going through the other. He dove for the surface of the pier, landed on his hands, tumbled. Splinters tore at his jumpsuit. He came to a halt at the young man's feet. The man stared at him.

There was a rip of fabric. With a triumphant cry Croyd jerked his gun free and leveled it. Black pills scattered like dirty snow, spilling from a torn inner pocket.

Mr. Gravemold rose behind Croyd, sudden and ominous as a specter. His gloved hand reached out and closed over the gun. He jerked it back, and the Automag went off with a sound like the end of the world.

The joker gave a yell as the gun's action slammed back under his hand. The gun clattered to the surface of the pier. The bullet, which had hit Croyd's bodyguard in the back, fell also.

Ooops
, thought Modular Man.

The young man dived for him, right fist clenched. Modular Man rolled away. The man flopped on top of him, burning his power charge as he drove his fist into the planks. The android kicked up, throwing the man over onto his back. He had probably given him a small charge, but it wasn't enough to worry about.

Croyd in the meantime had slammed his elbow into Mr. Gravemold's sternum. The joker bounced back against the rail. Rusted nails moaned. Croyd scooped up the outboard engine, looked over his shoulder, and flung it full strength, not at his foes, but at his bodyguard. Trying to charge him up, the android thought.

He flew up into the engine's path. It thudded solidly into his shoulder, driving him back. Croyd's companion reached up and seized the android's feet. Fingers dug with desperate strength into his plastic flesh.

Mr. Gravemold flung himself off the rail, smashing Croyd from behind with a forearm. Croyd spun, his fingers talons. His pink eyes gleamed murderously. He clawed at the joker, trying to puncture his suit. Mr. Gravemold danced out of the way. Both were moving unnaturally fast.

Modular Man rose into the sky. The young man clung gamely to his legs. Kicking at him, the android thought, would only make him stronger.

Suddenly Croyd shuddered. He gasped, clutched at his middle. The balmy summer air suddenly turned a few degrees colder.

The cold of the grave, the android thought. It wasn't some fancy metaphor. The joker had actually meant what he said.

Lights flashed on the far end of the pier. A siren wailed. The ambulance from the Jokertown Clinic had arrived.

Croyd staggered back. He seized the package, flung it at Mr. Gravemold. The joker easily avoided it. It splashed into the water beyond.

“Death is cold, Mr. Crenson,” said Mr. Gravemold. His deep actor's voice rang past his gas mask, over the sound of the approaching ambulance. “Death is cold, and I am cold as death.”

The joker raised a clenched fist, and the temperature dropped again. Mr. Gravemold, Modular Man realized, was stealing heat from the air. Croyd stumbled, went down on one knee. His white face had turned blue. His companion gave a cry of outrage and dropped to the surface of the pier with the Automag right in front him. He snatched up the gun and pointed it at the figure in the biochem suit.