James Axler – Zero City

“Took ignition fuse,” Jak said, lifting the tiny item into view from a pocket. “Took spare gas. LAWs and M-60 here with us.”

“Besides, the wag is under a sheet of canvas,” J.B. added with a grin. “Inside a locked building with a booby trap on the door. That wag won’t go nowhere.”

“Anybody who reaches it now has my permission.” Krysty laughed.

“Sir, it has been quite a while. Should I go spell Dean on the rooftop?” Doc asked, sitting on a stool. He was steadily stropping the blade of his swordstick with a whetstone. The polished steel shone like a mirror in the clear light of the lanterns.

Moving the steaks about so they wouldn’t stick to the grill, Ryan glanced at a loudly ticking wall clock. Once they had rewound the mainspring, the machine worked fine. Too bad it was much too big to bring along. And naturally, all of the watches in the display cases were battery powered. Precision timepieces made out of gold and with jewel points, they were useless junk nowadays. He made a mental note to check and see if there was an antique store in the city.

“Not for a while. Two-hour rotations,” he stated, sliding another piece of wood into the flames. The grease from the cooking meat dribbled off the grill, making the flames surge upward spitting and crackling. It smelled wonderful. “Don’t give him any special treatment just because he’s young. He’s old enough to carry his share of the load.”

“Besides,” he added. “Two have an urge to chat, and we’re laying low. He’ll be fine.”

“As you say,” Doc replied. He had made the suggestion, and that was as far as he could broach the subject. He knew that the three things nobody should openly discuss were: how to raise a child, how to make up with a lover and how to go to hell.

Finished with the packing, Mildred removed her stiff boots and started to massage her feet when some odd scratching and pops sounded. Across the shop, Krysty stepped away from a weird moving machine. The cranking handle on the side spun steadily, as the platter turned under the huge needle and from the curving horn, a tenor started to faintly sing in another language.

The physician’s expression of puzzlement gave way to profound pleasure. “Good God, that’s Enrico Caruso,” she said. “I can’t believe that old Victrola phonograph still works!”

“Built things to last in those days,” Doc said proudly, sliding the sword into his cane with a snap. “Nothing electronic or computerized, just springs and honest steel.”

“Nothing wrong with science,” J.B. said, crossing his feet at the ankles on top of a brass spittoon. “You just can’t let it run the world, is all.”

Glancing up from a VR helmet he was examining, Jak said, “Purpose of science to explain, not define.”

Everybody turned to look askance at the teenager.

“William Blake,” Jak muttered in annoyance. They always seemed surprised that he knew anything.

Returning to their respective chores, the companions listened to the singer for a few minutes, then in a crescendo of music, the man stopped and applause thundered. Rising from a stool, Krysty dutifully flipped over the record to the other side. Unfortunately, this was the only disk she could find. There didn’t seem to be any jazz or swing in stock which she had heard before and enjoyed, but classical was better than no music, she supposed. After Krysty cranked the handle a few more times, the tenor started another incomprehensible song.

“Rigoletto,” Doc said happily. “It has been much too long since I last heard Verdi.”

“Beautiful.” Mildred sighed, wincing as she slipped on a boot.

At the grill, Ryan arched an eyebrow but kept his opinions to himself, sprinkling some crushed salt over the sizzling steaks.

Vastly amused, Doc beamed a smile. “Incredible, madam, at last we agree on something.”

“Had to happen someday.” She chuckled, tying off the laces and starting on the other.

Cutting a notch in the thickest steak with his knife, Ryan checked the interior. Pinkish-gray and getting darker. “Almost done,” he announced. “Better grab some plates.”

“A pleasure, sir,” Doc announced, going to a cabinet. Smashing the stained-glass door with the butt of his LeMat, the man gathered a stack of gilded plates from amid the china and crystal.