Unpopular Science

“Me, either, but he’s got something big inside there.” Remo said, eyeing the sand-worn brick warehouse. “He has to come out eventually, right?”

They circled to the delivery entrance, but the garage door remained shut. The rumble of machinery became intense, then there was a cracking and grinding like a controlled avalanche.

The saw nothing, but their feet could read the complaints of the very earth upon which they stood.

“Little Father, I don’t think Fastbinder even knows we’re here,” Remo said. “He’s too busy excavating a new root cellar.”

“This is not any type of mechanized shovel I know of.” Chiun said, frowning.

“Let’s check it out.”

Chiun’s gnarled fingers locked on Remo’s abnormally thick wrists. “No. I shall go.”

“Chiun, I’m fine. The headache’s fading.”

“Remo, I have learned a hard lesson from this Fastbinder. Have you learned nothing?”

“I learned they’re tough mothers with some really bad doodads. But take a whiff, Chiun, they’ve got none of the proton sense-erasers in action.”

Chiun didn’t release Remo. “Your words tell me you have indeed failed to learn the lesson. Did I not tell you before when we were at the home of the buffoon in Barcelona, to embrace your fear speck, to make use of it? Still you parade about, arrogant and speckless. Once again I tell you, Remo, that we do not know what surprises these Fastbinders have in store for us. Let our actions come from wisdom, and allow me to enter first.”

“Whoa, you had me there until the me-first part.”

“You are not recovered fully. If this weapon strikes us again, you will succumb more easily.”

“Wrong. You’re already more sensitive to that thing, Chiun. You have been since the first time we ran into it. Don’t give me that I’m-so-insulted pout, either.”

They stood in the hot sands, feeling the earth vibrate. “The funny thing is, if he’s digging a root cellar, he’s digging it really freaking fast. He must be down forty 1 feet already,” Remo observed. “I’m going in. Coming?”

Fastbinder watched the video feed from the security system, aghast at what he saw.

The bolt knobs on the blast-proof entrance doors turned and fell off. A tempered-steel chain, welded of half-inch links, kept the door from opening, but not for long. A hand came through the narrow opening and tapped the chain. Tapped it again in a different spot. Tapped it a third time, and the link crumbled.

The door swung open and there they were, the assassins. Fastbinder laughed bitterly—not an hour ago he was telling Whiteslaw to watch his back, and the assassins were already on their way to Fastbinder.

He fed more diesel into the engines and felt them increase their massive torque. He fretted over the controls, keeping the needles just under the red line.

“Tobor the Great at one o’clock,” Remo warned, but Chiun was upon the guard droid in a flash, disemboweling him with a slash of fingernails strong enough to whittle girders. The robot was a top-heavy rolling contraption with a fishbowl enclosing his whirling head components, and he spun out of control. Chiun snapped at the thing with one foot and the robot flew across the room, slammed into worktables, knocked over a hunk of metalworking machinery and tipped over, vanishing into oblivion.

More of them came, and Remo threw himself into the battle with one overriding goal—work fast, before any of them felt the need to recharge their systems. He slashed at them furiously, crushing their mechanical body parts, ripping out their motorized entrails. A chrome-plated sauna box with clothes-dryer exhaust hoses for arms was lifted and brought crashing down upon a rolling, wooden camel with spiraling eyes. The camel burst open and showered jagged strands of metal just as it was crushed. Remo stepped around the only two projectiles that escaped the explosion. The chrome robot moaned, swiveled its head and tried to raise one arm, snapping its pincers weakly. Remo kicked its skull clean off and it went limp.

There was an android clown that laughed nightmarishly as it tramped toward Remo on gear-driven spider legs. The helium-dispensing valve in its mouth was once used for inflating balloons at the circus. Now it dispensed hydrogen at Remo Williams, a clicking igniter bolted under its chin turning it into a flamethrower.

Remo was behind the clown before the flames got to where he had been. He bashed the clown in the head and his fist just kept plowing through the fiberglass body until the thing was demolished. The spider legs weren’t part of the clown’s original equipment. They kept right on walking. Remo smashed the motor and the gear box, then grabbed the biggest aluminum pieces and clapped them together with enough force to shatter them.

There was a sudden stillness. Remo almost didn’t trust that they had prevailed without a single incidence of proton unpleasantness. He felt the very air for further above-ground disturbances and found nothing.

“We dismantled them real good. We should be in Junkyard Wars.”