Chapter 6

"You are the Weakest Link"

Copper had tied into the simple (and, to Tommy, painfully out of date) PC in one of the front rooms of the house, and used it to print out basic maps of their little chunk of the town of Alosta. Zebra took off at a moderate run -- only 40 miles per hour or so -- up the street, right, right, left at the stop signs, down Lonely Hill, right at the Shell Station and the signal (still flickering a silent green-yellow-red to non-existent traffic) along old Route 66, Foothill Boulevard, and then skidding to a halt along the vacant asphalt at the next signalled street, named, curiously, Compromise Line Road.

"I wonder what the compromise was?" Zebra asked.

"One side wanted Plane Road and the other wanted Point Road?" Tommy suggested.

"Huh?"

"It's a geometry joke. See, a point is a one-dimensional --"

"Never mind." I know more of transdimensional geometry than any of the mathematicians on this planet, boy. Don't try to fob off your weak humor on me.

They were quiet for a few moments, then Tommy chuckled. At Zebra's raised eyebrow, he said, "I can just imagine them building a housing development here. 'Can't decide on a home? Come to beautiful Compromise Line Acres. You'll find a house you can both agree on.'"

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for a laugh. Her dark eyes stared back into his, and then she just snorted and shook her head.

They stood there then, silently, watching the signal cycle, waiting for Victor to give the go sign. Despite -- or perhaps because of -- the odd sky and light, it was a balmy day, somewhere in the mid-seventies. There was even a slight breeze, and no sign or scent of the smog which Tommy remembered so well from his visits to that coast.

After a minute, Sh'heyla started pacing. She walked around in circles about Kid Castle's wheelchair, her hooves click-clacking on the pavement. She came to an abrupt stop in front of him. Crouched in profile to him, pushing her arms out in front of her in a stretch, then standing up and extending her arms up and back, letting her joints crackle and pop. She gave a snap of her head, which made her hair and mane and torso wave back and and forth.

"Nice wheels," she abruptly said.

"They are! I mean -- what?" Tommy snapped his eyes back to hers.

"Your chair. Constructed well. Not many wheelchairs could go that fast."

"Oh. Uh." He collected his thoughts, looked down at the chair. "Yeah. I designed it, for stability and maneuverability. It's a special magnesium alloy in construction, but hollow-tubed for further lightness. There's actually got a disk braking system, and is set up to take a motor and transmission -- if, uh, I decided to put them in."

"Huh," said Zebra, dubiously. "Well, at least you don't slow me down too much."

"Now wait a second, you were the one who wanted me to --"

"It was Victor who wanted you along on this -- I just wanted to --

That was when they heard the scream. "Come on," she snapped, and in an instant was pushing him up the street. A self-storage place passed to one side, on the other some older homes, built on odd-shaped lots between the main boulevard and the train tracks which crossed them at an angle. Up ahead was the street they would turn right onto onto to head up to the high school and the church.

It was at that point that the woman -- blond, tight jeans, some sort of frilly white blouse -- ran out of that street, screaming, "No, no, no!!" as she attempted to run in ridiculously high platform shoes, fleeing from --

Kid Castle's blood suddenly ran cold, and there was a roaring in his ears, so that he couldn't hear whatever Zebra muttered under her breath, skidding to a halt. Pursuing the woman was something out of nightmares.

He had been human, once, and perhaps still qualified in some genetic sense. But the lower half of his body had been replaced by a steel, spider-like construct, while much of his torso and arms had grafted onto them an insane, horrific combination of grasping apparatus, weaponry, and other waving bits of metal. The bald head was scarred, and half-covered by a gleaming chrome eyepiece.

He was laughing, a horrible, hollow, mechanical sound, repeating over and over, as he skittered down the street, eight feet tall, grasping for the woman.

"Ha'ha'hashek threk!" Zebra whinnied in fury. "It's Torque, that h'herep'kash! Stay here!!" She left Tommy in his wheel chair in the middle of the road and lit off after the cyborg.

Tommy just kept staring, his gloved hands gripping the wheels of his chair almost to the point of growing numb. It was every awful dream he'd ever had about what he might become if he started tinkering with cybernetics. Losing my humanity, my sanity -- becoming something evil and horrible and --

The woman had turned and was running toward them, looking back at the terror that was almost upon her, screaming. He watched as Zebra turned into a black-and-white blur down the road, launching herself at the last minute to leap through the air, over the woman, in a flying kick that slammed into the head of the cyborg -- Torque, she called him? -- with an audible thud and snap. She let the momentum carry her over, rolling in mid-air, coming down behind the behemoth in a crouch.

It stood there a moment, the head lolling brokenly on its bare shoulders. Then a set of metal armatures came up and braced the head back into position. With a hollow laugh, the mechanical creature swiveled about, and lashed out with one long, steel-clawed arm at Zebra, who barely managed to dance back at the last moment.

"Do you think she will be fast enough, señor?" The voice was immediately behind him, and, without thinking, reflexes trained by years of drills with Victor, Kid Castle yanked on one wheel, spinning himself about, while the other came around, grabbing a pellet lightly stuck to the bottom of one armrest, throwing it at the voice even before he could see the man --

The pellet exploded with a small whoof, spraying a powder outward in its trajectory into the face of the man there -- male, Latino, age approximately 25, height 5 foot 10 inches or so, medium weight, well-muscled, black hair, black moustache, red body suit with black accents -- Tommy was automatically cataloging the stranger's description, even as, coughing, gasping, hands clawing at his face, the stranger rose up into the air, trying to get away from the pepper powder that had exploded into his eyes and mouth. Heck, even his skin probably stings.

There was a rattle of gunfire, and Tommy wheeled around again, to see Zebra dodging and dancing and jinking around Torque. The latter had unfolded two chain guns from somewhere, and was both grabbing after his striped opponent and letting lose with both barrels at her.

"Mister! Mister!" The woman that Torque had been chasing had finally gotten to Tommy, and she grabbed his wheelchair. "Mister, you gotta help me! It's crazy! It's gonna kill me!"

"I will -- I will, just get -- out of the way --" Tommy was considering what he could do -- Have to get close enough to use some of the gadgets I whipped up, but can't get too close, that -- that thing is way out of my league, but I've got to watch out for that guy in red, and if this woman would just --

He froze. The woman. He looked at her. "Penny Dreadful," he whispered, suddenly recognizing her. His right hand reached into the pocket of the chair on that side, grabbed the TV remote, swung it up -- and it exploded in his hand. "Aaaahhhh!"

"The penny drops!" she said, stepping back, smiling. "Sorry, Kid. Nothing personal. This isn't my kind of gig, but these guys are playing for keeps. Like him." She pointed over his shoulder.

His hand was burning in pain. He should have known better -- Penny Dreadful was a walking bad luck charm to those around her, especially when she felt threatened. But, when all was said and done, she was just a thief. The other guy, though -- but he used his left hand to try to turn the chair around.

And then he knew what a hand burning in pain meant, as that wheel of his chair suddenly heated up to a cherry red glow. Only his glove, smoldering, saved him from serious injury. The wheel suddenly gave way, toppling the chair over, sending him crashing onto the pavement.

Tommy rolled, clumsily, trying to turn around, doing so only to see the red-garbed man floating back down to the ground, his face flushed, his eyes glowing red. "That, señor, was not a very nice thing to do. My name is Cuidado. Danger. You would do well to remember it."

Kid Castle fumbled with pained hands inside his coat for any number of other goodies he had stored there. Before he could find any of them, the man named Cuidado stepped over and kicked him in the chin. His head smashed into the pavement, and it all went black.

* * *

Zebra was dodging back and forth, trying to get another shot in. The fact that she was both outgunned and outclassed by Torque never entered her head. The Gambler might have suggested a tactical withdrawal. Ace might have figured out some simple weakness that would allow him to take this monstrosity down with one shot. Copper would have simply wrestled it to the ground.

Screw 'em. No backwater world tech is going to put me down. Though, to be sure, this little bit of illegal surgery would fetch a reasonable price in some ports.

If I could just get a little distance, I could figure something out, get around behind it, but the farther I go the easier it is for its gun to track me, and even I can't outrun a bullet.

"Come on, you walking erector set, can't you hit one little target?" she taunted. For someone who was usually in a foul, angry mood, she understood well the value of getting others to lose their temper. Ace had taught her that much, if nothing else. She ducked under a spinning saw blade, rolled across the asphalt under two of its legs, let loose a kick at a third -- and almost broke her leg. Threkking thing is way too heavy for that. But it's got to have a weakness. Just need to find it.

She heard Kid Castle cry out in pain, and almost let herself get distracted enough by it to get tagged by the left chain gun. Stupid crip. If he had half a brain, he could be as unstoppable as this pile of scrap. But, no, he has to worry about his humanity. Feh. As if that's something of any value. Stupid excuse anyway. He's more worried about whether I caught him looking at my tits, the little perv.

In, out, dance around. The Mag Six had fought Torque before, in a few of his earlier incarnations. It had been a handful for the whole team even then. This version, though, wasn't even bothering to talk; it just madly cackled in a cold voice that made Copper sound like someone's loving mother. Maybe that's its weakness -- it's become more a murder machine than a thinking being. That means I can out-think it, right?

She was beginning to develop a plan in that direction, when she was suddenly hit behind by something very powerful, which held her and drove her ahead of it into a mini-van parked on the street. The van had been hit by gunfire already, but that had not structurally weakened the vehicle enough to make crashing into it any less painful.

The impact knocked the breath out of her, and she felt herself grabbed around the arms in a Full Nelson, the person behind her locking hands behind her neck.

"MINE - MINE - MINE - MINE --" Now Torque was talking, after a fashion, advancing, scuttling toward her with frightening speed on metallic legs which clanging against the asphalt. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

"No," said the accented voice of the man holding her. "The doctor, he wants her alive for the moment."

"MINE - MINE - MINE --" Torque continued to advance, and Zebra was about to try to pull away, at the same time using a technique she'd learned from Copper (of all people) to break the hold on her, when there was a blast of heat from behind her, a smell of burning hair, and the sky went all red and stinky and her stomach was falling and she was --

* * *