Sgt. Golem: Royal Mech Hussar - Books 2 & 3

Frankenstein sat back in his chair. He took the headphones off and laid them on the desk, but I noticed all the while he didn’t move his right hand from where it sat on the edge of the desktop. “So.” He leaned back with an elaborate show of being relaxed and looked at me and said, "You've returned. Is it for more stimulating conversation? Or to make another heroic and futile gesture to thwart my plans?"

"This second one mostly," I said.

I didn't reach for a gun. I was pretty sure he had a hand on a button that would trigger a trap. Whether it was a hidden gun or an electrified floor, the possibilities were endless. But I would bet good money that there was something.

He nodded. "Of course. I had hoped for something more from you. I've had such little success with proper personality transfers into a golem, other than complete duplication, of course. And that has its own odd drawbacks. The big one being suicide. So few minds have the flexibility to accept being removed from their original shell and placed in something superior. You are such a rare exception that I really would like to study you further."

I inclined my head slightly. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Frankenstein beamed. "Such a flexible mind. Most would be gibbering at this point about misuse of science and outdated concepts of morality. My research transcends such concerns." He waved his left hand with a grand gesture.

I kept my distaste from showing on my face. He really was a piece of work, the most revolting combination of arrogance, superiority, and abject self-centeredness. Was there anything I wanted to learn from him? Or should I go for my gun now and take my chances?

The black-clad body on the floor moved. It was no longer twitching but still seemed to be in some distress. He turned his head and looked up at me, blinking eyes showing through the slit in his face mask. He murmured something too quiet for me to make out.

Frankenstein was just getting warmed up. If I didn't distract him, I would be subjected to a rant about the importance of his work. Though maybe that would be a useful distraction. It was apparent from our first interaction that monologuing was his weakness, to a degree that would make any Hollywood villain look like a model of modesty and restraint.

"I do have concerns about your research, but curiosity forces me to ask, what would you say is your ultimate goal? You've certainly gone to great lengths to protect your research from interference. What's so important that it would need all of this?"

I really wanted to resolve all this before the flying castle got too far away from our starting point. I was confident I could work out the controls, but I wasn't sure how maneuverable it would be. If my friends still had us in sight, all I would need to do is land, and Tamara could pick me up. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was what I was going with.

"Ah, I have only been pursuing the most important problem in all of human existence. Death itself.”

Of course this megalomaniacal asshole was trying to beat death. That was like the most cliched thing he could possibly have said. Why can’t supervillains ever be more original? What I’d give for a rant about correcting the flaws of the educational system or something. If I ever got back to Alabama and decided to go crazy, maybe that’s the tack I’d take.

Frankenstein lifted both hands to gesticulate, but quickly dropped his right hand back to where it had been on the table. Confirmation. That was definitely his hole card. If I could get him distracted enough, would he move his hand away again? And would I have time to gun him down?

I listened with half an ear while I considered my options.

"The fate of all men is to die. I alone, since the mythical figures of old, have defeated that fate. I can see you've tasted my cloning machine firsthand." He leaned forward in his chair and eyed me, eyes blazing. "Tell me, is it not the greatest miracle of science? Your new body is better in every way than your old one. Stronger, faster, harder to kill. With redundant," he broke himself off at that point. What had he been about to say? "Better vision and hearing. The only thing it might be less good at, perhaps, is fitting into small places." He smiled as if thinking this was a wonderful joke.

“I suppose that could be a disadvantage in places,” I commented as I glanced down at the bodies near my feet.

Frankenstein gave a very artificial chuckle. It made me think he hadn't really laughed in years and wasn't quite sure of the sound it should make.

"If you're referring to my little guests, yes. It was an experiment of mine, you see. There are advantages to being able to get in smaller places. I thought this very compatible with a concept from the far east. I don't suppose you've heard of the Japanese ninja warrior?"

I almost laughed myself. Perhaps in the 1920s people hadn't heard of them, but in my time things were different. I feigned thinking hard to recall something. "Some type of mythical assassin, weren't they?"

"Not mythical at all, though very secretive." Frankenstein absolutely adored showing off his knowledge and superiority. His psychology was incredibly predictable. “Though I must say it took me some effort to find them. There is a very closed society. I mean Japan in general, but certainly the society revolving around ninjitsu, as they call it, is even more secretive. They were much more than just assassins. Spies and secret couriers. They performed all manner of stealthy roles for their feudal lords. Finding and catching some proved difficult, but I was able to persevere. Finding a suitable vessel to put such a mind into was also a challenge. There I believe I succeeded, but I was not able to run proper tests. It was their minds that proved most difficult."

He had warmed to the topic and was leaned back in his chair, relaxed, but his hand did not stray from the edge of the desk.

"It's always more challenging to wade through the structure of a foreign mind. The more different their cultural values and ethics are, the more difficult it is to pare away the baggage and replace it with scientifically crafted compulsions."

I nodded as if all that made perfect sense. While some of his rambling was pompous and boring, I was genuinely interested in what made a golem tick, since it was of personal relevance to me.

"Are compulsions how you mainly control your creations?" I asked.

He made a sour expression. "It's not a very accurate term. I must craft a complete package." He started to move his hands together in front of him to mime the shape of an invisible object, but he quickly moved his right hand back and did the gesture with only his left before continuing. "A package that takes the place of what a natural human -- also a term I don't like, but I lack a better -- what a natural human would have developed over the course of their life. We call it values and ethics, but it's much more complex than that. The complete shape of what makes a person react to various stimuli has to be isolated and recreated. Certain outdated notions, like morality, have to be trimmed away, but not entirely, or you might end up with a murdering psychopath that doesn't hesitate to take the most random actions. I don't consider murder itself to be morally objectionable in the right context, but I hardly have use for a creation that randomly lashes out at other beings around them. You asked about my ultimate goals. The dream I strive for is to make my scientific blessings universally available to all."

"It seems like not everyone would want that," I commented offhand.

"And that's just it," Frankenstein said, leaning forward again. "Society will have to be remade, broken down, and its archaic elements replaced with a more enlightened structure. That is what I seek, but first I need the materials to do it. The perfected human form that can fully realize this vision."

"So," I drew out the word. "You want to replace humans with golems programmed to match your perfect vision of society."

He frowned like he had bitten into a pickle. "That’s a bit oversimplified, but essentially, yes.”

The black-clad, diminutive body on the floor lifted a hand and pointed at the ceiling. It didn't raise high enough to be seen past the couch, seen by Frankenstein past the couch of the sitting area. I carefully flicked my eyes upward, looking for what he was pointing out. At first, I didn't see anything, but then I noticed a lattice of bare metal inlaid in the ceiling. It almost looked decorative, except it only covered this half of the room. Above Frankenstein's desk, there was none.

That was interesting.

Now, the small figure was pointing downward, and I saw a similar pattern inlaid into the floor. These were smaller, harder to spot, and had a darker finish, but they were there.

My mind raced over the possibilities, but when I thought about what Frankenstein might use as a defense that required electrical conductors, there was only one answer.

If I was right, the contacts on the conductors on the ceiling and the ones on the floor would form a weapon that would turn this side of the room into a storm of lightning. That explained the burning smell. It also explained how one of the little ninjas was still alive but was having difficulty moving. Lightning does weird stuff. It can kill you outright, but most people struck by lightning actually survive. They’re usually pretty messed up afterward, but only like a third of lightning strikes are immediately fatal.

Frankenstein was still ranting. I prepared myself mentally. I was going to have to move as quickly as possible. If I could get him to take his finger off that button, I might have a chance. Even then, I expected to catch some of his lightning blast.

It's funny how the human mind works. I had had safety training in high voltage electricity. They had been insistent that tough guys stood no better chance than anyone else. They were training young soldiers with a sense of invincibility to not bank on their feelings of invincibility and always follow safety precautions. I knew that in my head, but somehow there in Frankenstein's office, I still fell into that trap of thinking that my new body, big and tough as it was, would somehow be able to withstand a glancing bolt from a lightning weapon.

By hubris, we are undone.

With my mind made up, I waited for my opening with steadily dwindling patience. Finally, in mid-rant, Frankenstein lifted his right hand from the desk again, and I went for it.

I lunged forward while making a lightning-fast draw. His hand slapped down on the table and found the edge almost instantly. I had made it most of the way across the zone of death when his hand found the trigger.

The room filled with blazing white death.

Bolts of lightning shot down in a dazzling curtain every couple of feet across half of the room. One burned me along the back and another struck my gun, sending its coursing current down my arm.

My muscles locked up as every nerve in my body screamed in agony.