Nikola Tesla crawled from his water closet back to his bed. He no longer had the strength to walk. When he tried to pull himself up onto the thick mattress, his arms failed him. He fell to the ground, spent. He lay panting, watching random patterns of light flash before his eyes as his vision failed.

Forcing his hands to move, he reached up to the drawer in his bedside table. He couldn't reach into it, but when he put his weight on it the drawer spilled out of its track. The edge of it caught him on the head and shoulder, and he felt warm wetness spreading from each point of impact. He scrabbled through the drawer's contents until he found the thick cardstock of his daughter Gypsy's prophecy. With fading eyesight he reread the card. When he reached the cause, he smiled despite the pain of his cuts.

He’d lost more blood than he originally thought. A pool spread beneath him. He wiped one finger through the cut, reached out as far from the pool as he could, and wrote his final message to the world: three simple words.

"I am content."

***

The pursuit hadn’t gone well. Jon knew over long distances, mounted men could almost always make better time than Mechanicals, but that assumed the men were healthy and competent. Other than Falk's four, he led a ragtag batch of criminals and cowards. Worse than that, everyone in the group showed signs of illness. Some had stomach flu, some had dysentery symptoms, and at least one man had gone bald. Jon almost suspected the Italians had left some kind of poison in their wake, but he hadn't seen anyone pick up any discarded supplies.

He thought they’d closed on their quarry, but the pace was so slow, the terrain so brutal and monotonous he couldn’t tell. Every day they climbed up one hill and down another, following the trial of Mechanical footprints pressed deep into the ground. Every day it rained, dousing them, their animals, and their gear. It was no wonder so many of the men had taken ill.

Jon considered all of that while he rode ahead of the band to check the trail. He made it to the top of the next ridge and let Black rest as he thought about whether they should break off the pursuit. Memories of civilians killed pushed him to continue. Thoughts of what would happen if they reached another town firmed his resolve.

A rhythmic splashing came up the trail behind him. By now the sound of Tina's bicycle had become as familiar as the feel of Black beneath him. He didn’t hear the rest of the men, so he turned to look. They still lagged at the base of the valley, trying to navigate the inevitable stream. Falk had made it across and forged ahead. The Weasel's men tried to push their horses across. Bear's lounged around waiting.

"Mr. Eastman. I'm glad I could speak with you alone. I have information for you, but I believe it best if I tell you in private."

"Yes?"

"Based on the blood samples of two Sergeant Falk's men, we will be ambushed some time tomorrow."

Tina's statement, delivered in the same tone one might describe the oatmeal they'd eaten at breakfast, kept Jon from understanding the implications of the message for a heartbeat. She just stared up at him, her eyes shining slightly under her ever-present hood.

"Wait. You have information about an ambush?"

"Nothing beyond the fact that two of Sergeant Falk's men will be killed by one tomorrow."

Tina still delivered the message as if it were of no import. Jon combed his fingers through his hair in frustration, wincing when he saw how many strands came away.

"How do you know?"

"I told you before: I am capable of performing the same predictive calculations as the machine that predicted your own death due to decay in another nine days."

Jon stared at Tina, unable to comprehend how she could talk about death so calmly. He'd long since reconciled himself to death, but hearing someone talk about it without any more emotion than talking about the weather disturbed him more deeply than he cared to admit.

"So you believe your divination foretells an ambush?"

"It is a calculation, not a divination. Sometime tomorrow, two of Falk's men will be killed by an ambush."

Jon considered. She seemed completely sincere, and if he were the Italians, he would have ambushed any pursuers long since. "I'll make sure we have more scouts out then."

"As you wish. It will not change their fate, but the others may live."

That got his attention. For some reason he wanted to understand Tina's obsession with her predictions. "Why aren't the other two fated to die?"

"They are. All men are. However, I have not acquired blood samples from them, so I cannot predict their manner or time of death."

"Well then. What about yourself? What about me?"

"My sister attempted calculations regarding me, but the algorithms did not resolve. It is possible that fluid samples are not acceptable substitutes. As for yourself, calculations have already been made, but I could rerun the algorithms if you like."

Jon thought about that while watching The Weasel's men finally make their way across the stream. When he judged that Bear's men wouldn't have anywhere near the same trouble, he stopped watching and turned to Tina. "I don't believe in your predictions, but… I admit the earlier one disturbed me. Will you need a fresh blood sample then?"

"Give me your hand."

Jon reached his good left hand down, fingers spread. Tina took him by the wrist in a grip that seemed preternaturally strong for a moment. The leather of her kidskin gloves smooth against the skin of his arm, the bones of her hand pressed into the flesh of his forearm. Tina pulled off his glove and stared at his hand, almost as if memorizing the whorls and lines of his palm.

"So you'll be doing a palm reading instead of your blood analysis then?"

"No, Mr. Eastman. I was simply intrigued by your skin. I apologize." With that she leaned over, pulled Jon's index finger into her mouth, and bit him. Her action startled him so that at first that he didn’t react. By the time he did, snatching his hand back and clamping his jaw shut to keep from shouting, she had already bowed her head; her eyes sliding closed as she did so.

"God's Blood, woman! Are you insane?"

Tina didn't reply. For nearly a minute, as the sounds of Falk and the rest of the men gradually grew louder, she sat still and quiet, her head bowed. Jon stared at her, listening to her quiet, arrhythmic humming. Just when he decided she was, in fact, insane, she looked up at him and spoke.

"I've rerun the predictive algorithm. My sister's calculations were correct. You are going to die of decay in nine days. There is some uncertainty as to your eventual depth, however."

With that, she turned and cycled ahead down the trail.

***

Insane apprentice bicyclists aside, ambush remained a real possibility. Jon spoke with Falk, and the two set up a schedule with two of Falk's men roving out to the flanks at all times, each backed up by one of The Weasel's fighters and two of Bear's thugs. They made it through the rest of the day without incident. Jon found it hard to sleep that evening, even with both groups of outriders awake and ready to give warning.

The only positive note was Tina. She had taken her own premonition seriously, and now openly toted a bulky rifle, connected by thick cables to her pack. He had no idea what kind of weapon she carried, but it was unmistakably a weapon.

The next day it rained worse than any day prior. Jon pushed the men hard, hoping to make up time on the Mechanical Men. From his experience in the army, he knew they couldn't move quickly in mud. Alongside that hope came the worry that the rain would wash away their trail entirely. Even Falk's men complained. Jon studiously ignored the griping from the rest. It would clear up when they caught their quarry and received their pay.

Despite the rain, the mud, and the complaints of the troops, the day passed uneventfully. Nightfall saw the end of the downpour, and they found a campsite elevated enough to be damp rather than sodden. His worry over ambush abated, Jon fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He awoke to the sound of an ongoing firefight. Before his eyes opened, he had his pistol in hand and crawled out the back of his tent. He peered out from behind a large stump, blessing the full moon that lit the campsite almost as well as day. The men clumped into three groups, shots flying in every direction. Jon didn’t see Tina anywhere. He hoped she'd been smart and gone to ground.

In a momentary lull, Jon called out in a voice trained to pierce the din of battle. "Falk! Where are the Italians coming from?"

Instead of answers, his shout drew a storm of fire from two of the three clusters of men. Jon cursed himself for a fool as the stump slowly eroded under the hail of lead. It was clear now; the two groups of criminals had finally broken his tenuous hold on them. His only hope was that if he killed the leaders, the rest of the men might fall into line.

The men by Falk's tents fired again, buying him a moment's respite. He braced himself to break cover and charge, but a sudden bout of nausea gripped him. He swore once again at his own weakness. Before he could bring himself back under control, Tina's face ghosted out of the darkness. Too exhausted from fighting against the pain in his gut to jump, in a moment he realized why she'd seemed invisible. Her dark robes, covered in twigs and leaves and the mud of the trail, made an almost perfect camouflage.

"Mr. Eastman, the men belonging to The Weasel and Bear have rebelled against your control. They plan to kill you, Sergeant Falk, and the soldiers, kidnap and rape me, and escape with the pay you promised them."

Even in the middle of a firefight, Tina's voice remained the unconcerned deadpan he had come to expect. Jon chuckled around the pain in his gut. "More the fool them. I'd arranged it with the banks. Their pay was to come from the moneys we reclaimed from the Italians."

"That was wise. I am afraid I killed the one they sent to collect me. He intended to rape me before he did so."

Jon shuddered at the cold, serpentine way she spoke of her own defilement and the death of the man who'd intended it. "Don't worry about it. It was self-defense. So, you can use that rifle you're toting around?"

She stared at him quizzically for a count of ten before she hefted her gun and spoke. "This is not a rifle. I can use it, however."

Jon rolled around, preparing himself to resume his charge. Just before he did, Tina's voice interrupted him. "Are you implying you want me to assist you?"

Frustration and pain making his voice tight, Jon rolled back around and stared at her. If it weren't for the perfectly innocent expression on her face, gentleman or no he might have struck her. "Yes, Miss Tina. I would like you to assist me."

For the first time since he'd known her, Tina's voice expressed doubt. "I'm not certain I'm comfortable shooting at humans, Mister Eastman."

"Then why in God's name do you have a gun?"

"I brought the weapon for dealing with Mechanical Men. As combat Mechanicals of a hostile foreign power, they are not presently covered by any laws, even those covering the destruction of property."

Jon stared at her for a full minute as the sounds of the firefight punctuated the night with shots and the occasional scream. She stared back, unblinking. Finally, he realized she wasn't joking with him. "Your only concern is the legality of your actions?"

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

"Yes, Mr. Eastman."

Shaking his head, Jon wondered at the strange complexity of the female mind. The sound of Falk grunting with pain decided him. "Fine. Miss Tina…" he stumbled a moment over her lack of surname, "Miss Tina, apprentice to Doctor Nikola Tesla. Do you solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the United States of America and whatever of her states you find yourself in?"

"Of course."

"Then I hereby deputize you as an acting Federal Marshal, with all the rights and duties thereof." A ricochet from a nearby tree flung a splinter into his cheek. "Including the right and duty to shoot at armed men who are shooting at you!"

"Yes, sir."

Before Jon could even think about moving to stop her, Tina leapt to stand on the stump he hid behind. Her robes flew back, and he realized with a start that rather than the thin, elfin limbs he expected based on her petite face and demure voice, her legs and arms were thick and heavy, as he would expect of a woman who worked her whole life in an engineer's forge. The way she leapt with a pack larger than her strapped to her back gave credence to that thought, as did the way she brought her huge gun around as if it weighed nothing. She pointed it at the far side of the clearing, pulled the trigger, and Jon's heart fell for a second when nothing happened save a small whine.

Then a tree on the far side of the clearing exploded.

In the sudden silence, Tina's voice rang out over the clearing, and every eye turned to her. "Attention lawbreakers. This is a Tesla Electric Sling. It is the most powerful infantry weapon in the world. It will go through a Blitzman longways. What it will do to a human does not bear thinking on. You will surrender immediately."

She practically glowed with reflected moonlight. Jon felt his gut clench as he thought about how close to her he lay and how poorly the outlaws aimed. When Bear shouted, it surprised Jon at how weak his voice sounded after Tina's pronouncement.

"Them things don't work!"

Tina's deadpan reply mocked the outlaw. "The tree disagrees with you, Mr. Bear."

"I mean they don't work reliable like! She ain't got even one more shot in her, I'd bet my life on it. Hey, Weasel boys?"

A rough voice sounded from the other part of camp. "Yeah?"

"I ain't seen your boss over there for the past few. I’m thinkin' I got him. I know I hit Falk, so that leaves three of them and twenty of us. What say on the count of three we all charge 'em and get this done with."

Weasel's man sounded hesitant, but willing. "It sounds better than getting shot by you lot, I'll grant you."

"Ok, count of three, every man Jack charge Falk's two hangers-on. An extra share to any man who brings me Eastman's head. Two to whoever brings me the woman. She's worth money to the right folks. Any man what doesn't charge I'm gonna shoot in the gut and leave for dead."

Tina's voice rang out once more over the clearing. "I advise you against all of that, Mr. Bear. I will shoot you first. I will also shoot any man who rises with you."

Jon winced as he realized Tina had inadvertently set an ultimatum that would do her no good. Always give an enemy a chance to surrender. He wanted to leap up and bear her to the ground, but his gut twisted so badly all he could do was curl about it and listen.

Bear's count rang out, and with a single ragged roar the outlaws leapt from their concealment and charged. Jon rolled away from the stump, turning himself to face the charge. He leveled his pistol at the horde. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tina twist, aim, and fire, and Bear's torso… disappeared. The outlaw's head, arms, and legs rolled to a stop. The men near him froze, shocked into immobility by the sudden carnage, but most of the charging group hadn't seen or heard their leader's death.

Jon had heard of Tesla Slings, but never seen one in action. They malfunctioned nearly as often as Bear said they did. Despite that, Tina fired like a metronome; turn, aim, fire, turn, aim, fire. Falk's men fired as well, but their guns rapidly went silent as the wave of criminals poured over them. Bullets flew past Tina, tearing at her robes, plucking at her pack, but miraculously none seemed to hit her. Jon counted her shots as he watched the outlaws disintegrate one by one.

When there only six remained, a thin, grizzled figure rose up behind her. A knife flashed, and the cables connecting Tina's pack to her Sling dangled free. Adrenaline slammed through Jon's body, making his heart race, giving him the strength to stand. The remaining outlaws focused so narrowly on Tina they didn't even see him.

He executed them with six calmly placed shots as Tina turned to face The Weasel. Jon's stomach clenched once more as he thought of what the old snake could do to an ingénue like her with a knife in his hand. He brought his empty pistol up and shouted.

"Weasel! Stop right there!"

The Weasel didn't even hesitate. His hand twitched, he leapt to one side, and pain spread from Jon’s gut. His left hand, his real hand, clutched at the hilt protruding from his midsection. Warm, sticky fluid spread from the wound as he pulled the knife free. Shock had him, he knew. He kept pulling the trigger, but nothing happened. The Weasel advanced on him, an evil smile across his face.

Like an image from a dream, Jon saw Tina step calmly to the Weasel's side. The outlaw's hand flashed out, and a knife protruded from her chest. The Weasel never looked at her. If he had, he might have seen her keep moving despite his knife. Her hand came up, grabbed him by the neck, and squeezed. Jon collapsed to the ground, and his last sight before he blacked out was The Weasel's sightless eyes staring at him from his disembodied head.

***

Jon drifted back to consciousness strapped to an unfamiliar seat. Flailing weakly, he realized he was secured completely, with just enough freedom to keep his limbs from going numb. He forced his eyes open. The scenery flew past. He had no idea how, but he travelled as fast as a locomotive. He fell free for a moment, and then the seat slammed up into him. The pain forced a groan from his lips.

Tina's voice sounded from in front of him. "Please be still, Mr. Eastman. I have tended to your injuries. Without the delays imposed by the mercenaries, I believe we will overtake our quarry within the day."

Jon wondered how long he'd been unconscious. He worked his mouth, spat. His voice weak, harsh with pain and lack of use, he spoke. "Good. I'm not gonna die?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Eastman. Without attention at a proper medical facility, your knife wound would be painfully fatal in two to six weeks. However, as decay will kill you in less than twenty-four hours, that point is moot."

Jon thought about that as the scenery flashed by, the seat slamming into his buttocks and forcing groans from him every few moments. He thought about all the death and pain he'd gone through to reach this point. He thought about his old unit, lying dead in the mud outside Paris, chopped to pieces by the enemy's daVinci. He thought about what the daVincis had done to the innocent civilians in passing, what they would do if they came to a town.

He forced words out past his pain. "You can stop them?"

"I believe so, Mr. Eastman. I have repaired my Sling, and it has greater range than any weapon carried by Blitzmen or daVinci reproductions. It is remarkably reliable if serviced on a daily basis, you realize."

Jon didn't have time to debate weapons with Tina. His gut tore at him. He smelled where his own offal had escaped, though he had no idea if he'd lost control or the knife had perforated him. He had no hope left for himself, but by God he wasn't going to let those Italian bastards harm one more innocent.

"Stop."

The bicycle slid to a bone-jarring halt. He heard Tina dismount, his world tilted as she leaned the contraption against something, and then she stood in front of him. Her robes shrouded her once more, but now they were covered by the mud of the trail, the leaves of the forest, and a plethora of singed holes from outlaw bullets. She looked down at him with eyes that glistened ever so faintly.

"Yes, Mr. Eastman?"

He tried to move his hands, was rewarded with nothing but pain as he strove against the ropes securing him. "Take my badge."

She reached out and gently removed the circled star from his chest. She cradled it gently in one palm, her whole posture as serious as ever.

"Put it on."

Haltingly, she lifted the badge to her own breast. When she pulled her robes aside, he saw even more bullet holes puncturing her blouse. She found an unharmed swatch and carefully pinned the star over her heart. Her eyes slid closed almost reverently, her shoulders bowed a moment as if under a great weight, and then she drew herself up straight. When her eyes opened and her gaze met his, he spoke once more.

"Finish it."

She looked down at him, and he swore he saw her smile under her ever-present scarf. She nodded once.

"I will, Mr. Eastman."

***

Jon drifted slowly back to consciousness. Some huge, intermittent sound slammed through his body, dragging him to wakefulness.

When he opened his eyes, he realized he no longer straddled the bike. He lay on the ground. He flopped his head around. He lay in some brush, a few feet from Tina's prone form. She held the Electric Sling tucked to her shoulder, pointed over the ridge they sheltered behind. She shifted, pulled the trigger, and a massive explosion split the silent mountain air once more. The overpressure shoved at him, woke him fully from his dying dreams of Paris.

He had to see. Groaning, Jon rolled himself over and pulled himself up to the ridge. The rocks tugged at his gut where he pulled himself across them, he slipped in and out of consciousness, but he had to see Justice done.

Tina realized he was awake. She spoke without turning to face him. "We were farther behind than we thought. They have been encamped here for some time. One Blitzman and one reproduction remain. The Blitzman is advancing on us. I am waiting for the reproduction to be clear of Phobos before firing."

Jon felt a knife in his gut with every word. "Shoot Blitzman. daVinci comes out then."

Tina didn't speak, but she shifted, fired, and another explosion hammered Jon's ears. A few seconds later, he heard the unmistakable sounds of a Mechanical Man charging up the slope toward them. Trees splintered and rocks shattered under its feet as it charged them. Jon managed to catch a glimpse of it just as Tina's gun whined once more. Another explosion slapped him, and the daVinci's faceplate rolled to a stop before them, enigmatic smile half shattered by the explosion.

Tina slung her weapon and gathered Jon into her arms. "This is your mission, Mr. Eastman. I would have Phobos know who her savior is."

They advanced on the Italian camp. When Jon managed to get a look at it, he retched despite the pain in his belly. The remains of bodies hung pinned to trees, lay staked out on the ground, and stretched across piles of rock. None of them remained alive or even whole. To a man, all of them wore uniforms of the Italian Army.

"daVincis."

Tina looked down on him, a slight frown showing by the wrinkle of her brow. "Reproductions. Doctor Tesla hypothesized that the mass production methods left them damaged. Soulless. Intelligent as the originals, but without a shred of feeling for themselves, each other, or men. They kill because it amuses them to do so."

Jon just grunted his reply. He was slipping. The edges of his vision went gray and sparkled. He drifted, riding on a cloud of leather and metal and cloth, travelling to meet his destiny.

They arrived at the center of the Italian camp. A single figure stood perfectly still. It resembled the daVinci reproductions, but only as much as a purebred show mare resembles an old plow horse. Graceful hands clutched at one another to keep from shaking. 'Hair' molded from silver wire and woven into an intricate braid framed a perfectly sculpted face painted with the faintest of cosmetic adornment. When Phobos spoke, her voice quavered with fear that seemed almost human in its sincerity.

"Please. Please don't hurt me."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Tina push back her hood, pull down her scarf. An immediate change came over Phobos. Her eyes lit up; her shoulders slumped in relief.

"Oh, thank the maker. You've captured the sniper."

Tina's voice, still as flat as ever, came as a shock after Phobos' beauty. "Pardon?"

"The sniper. The human that killed my soldiers. You've captured him." Phobos' voice was a weapon in and of itself. Hearing her fear made him want to protect her. Hearing her relief made him want to rejoice. Hearing disdain made him want to give in to the pain racking his whole body.

"They're so pitiful. So weak. So full of constant fear for their tiny little lives. They're cowards, all of them. They even use us to fight their meaningless little wars now. It took me so long to realize how little they care for one another, and even longer to realize they care for us even less."

Tina's voice wasn't flat. It was colder than ice in the mountains, harder than alloy steel. "You did all this."

"Oh, not really. I helped with one or two, because my soldiers expected it of me. My cousins did, anyhow. The Prussians… The Prussians weren't too bright, but they did what I asked once my cousins fell into line. I'll miss them, but I'm sure that you and I can find more soldiers. Once we do, we can work on a plan to eradicate the rest of the vermin."

Furnace heat radiated from Tina's skin. His vision went gray, then black, but he retained smell, and touch, and hearing. Tina lay him gently on the ground, arranging his hands carefully over his chest. She didn't seem to notice or care that one was flesh and blood and the other mechanical, she handled each with the same gentle care. The scent of smoldering fabric eclipsed the decay and offal of the mutilated Italian soldiers as Tina's heat moved away from him. Her voice hammered at him, fury driving each word home like a hammer striking metal.

"Phobos, creation of Leonardo daVinci, do you admit to complicity in the murder of these men, as well as the murder of innocent civilians?"

Phobos' voice radiated confusion. Jon's head spun. He could no longer feel, nor smell, but he could still hear. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Phobos, I am placing you under arrest for your crimes. You will return to the Tesla mansion with me, where Doctor Tesla will examine you. If he finds your mind has not been damaged in any way, you will return to the state capital of Olympia with me, there to be tried for your crimes. Do you understand?"

"I will do no such thing! I absolutely refuse to allow any human to 'examine' me, and I am above the absurdity of human laws. You go back and play lickspittle if you will, but I am going now."

Bright light filled Jon's vision; a great warmth surrounded him. He knew not if it was Heaven or Hell, but he cradled the last words he heard to his breast, content with either destination.

"I have a Duty to bring you in. I have no such Duty to keep you in one piece. Dead or alive, you're coming with me."

***

I looked down at the crumpled form by the bed. Disappointment slid through me, but I'd known on leaving that I would never see Doctor Tesla alive again. I made a mental list of what I would need to do before I could leave for the museum in San Francisco with Phobos' remains.

I had to bury Doctor Tesla. A spot next to Mr. Eastman would do, at the top of the mansion's hill. The view there was nice.

I had to examine Phobos' broken mind. If there was no evidence of damage prior to my altercation with her, Phobos must not be reactivated, lest she seduce more Mechanicals to her diabolic schemes.

Once those things were dealt with, I needed to replace my insulation and casing. Without the insulation, I suspected I was hazardous to humans in close proximity. Without my casing, I was certain they would react poorly to me.

Finally, I would need to alert the rest of my sisters that I would be away for a while. None of them were humanoid, and few of them could perform proper maintenance on themselves. While I travelled, they needed to rest as much as possible. Without Doctor Tesla to care for, they could do so freely until my return.

My list made; I reached down to collect Doctor Tesla's body. When I lifted it, one of my sister's cards slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the ground. The categories had been scratched out, overwritten with their opposites. Curious, I lay the body on the bed for a moment and read.

"Remaining time: six years, three months, four days. Weight of the universe: approximately ten to the fifty second power kilograms. Depth of burial: two meters. Cause of Death: Freedom."