"Blue Fairy," Harold snorted, his voice a white-hot hiss.
Tabitha went very still, and Joe's fingers dropped away from hers, snatching Harold's hand and holding it away. "What did you just say?" he asked.
"Blue Fairy," Harold repeated, backing up a step and drawing his hand out of Joe's firm grip. "It's the name of the virus." Puzzlement lining his brow, he cocked his head at them. "What is it?"
"Allen Hobby," Tabitha croaked, her voice warm with anger.
"Hobby? The one with the kid Mechas?" Harold asked. "I think the whole idea's a mistake, but what could he have to do with a virus? He's one of Cybertronic's top men."
"Do you mind if we tell him, Joe?" Tabby asked, stroking his hair.
"I think we have to," Joe answered.
So for the second time, Joe related his adventures to a sympathetic audience. By the time he finished, Harold was slumped in a chair, shaking his head in a continuous movement. "I don't believe it. I've met Professor Hobby. He would never do something like this. Even if he was upset about David . . ."
"Grief will make you do desperate things," Tabby murmured. "That little robot was his masterpiece."
"More than that." Harold stared at the floor, his arms crossed. "His son's name was David."
Tabby gaped wordlessly. She ached all over just thinking about it, her head and heart especially. "Oh," she finally managed.
"Still, why would he lash out at other Mechas? It's like he's targeting the . . ." trailing off, Harold, looked at Joe, then covered his eyes with a tense hand.
"He blames Joe," Tabby realized, her breath sucking in sharply to sting her lungs. "But why?"
"Grief will make a man do desperate things," Harold echoed. "And irrational." Reaching forward carefully, making his intention very clear, he closed Joe's maintenance port, then walked stiff-legged to his desk and yanked open a drawer. Grabbing a set of electronic keys, he tossed them to Tabby, who snagged them out of the air, surprised. "Do you remember how to fly the 'copter?" the man asked, his jaw tight.
"Yeah, I guess so. But do we have time to get to Manhattan?" Tabby whispered, dizzy between hope and not wanting to be hurt even worse.
Harold Wavered for an instant with an unhappy glance towards her Mecha lover, but his face cleared quickly. "I think so," he finally decided. "Getting to Hobby is what's going to take time."
"Let's get going, then," Tabby said, her gray eyes cold. "I have a few questions for the good professor."
Leading them upstairs, Harold paused to explain matters to Grizz and Roger. The smaller Mechas kept a cautious amount of space between themselves and Joe, their heads bowed. "He'll be all right," Tabby insisted roughly.
"Tabitha," Joe admonished gently. "You can't lie to a Mecha, at least not one programmed to interact with humans."
Her chest tightened, making it difficult to breath, and Tabby faced him savagely. "You're going to be all right!" she yowled angrily. Joe backed off submissively, but it was plain that his agreement was purely for her benefit, to keep her calm, that his sometimes too-rational mind didn't accept it.
It didn't comfort her that Harold seemed to agree with Joe's clinical assessment of the situation, but at least her grandfather wasn't giving up.
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Harold drove them to a storage facility located several miles outside Haddonfield. Joe and Tabby sat in the back; Tabby didn't cling to him or even cuddle affectionately, as would have been her usual wont. Instead she stared outside the window with a grim resolution. She did clutch his hand, but not tightly, stroking her thumb across the back with a soft, repetitive, compulsive movement.
When her grandfather stopped the car, Tabitha silently exited. Joe was left no choice but to follow the pair to a large storage shed. Stopping in front of the door, Harold opened a huge padlock, then pressed a small yellow button set in the key. The door slid open with a quiet whine, revealing a dim interior with a dirt floor, housing a single large object that squatted underneath a heavy canvas.
Grasping the edge of the cover, Harold dragged it off and to one side, revealing the gleaming shell of an older but well-cared-for amphicopter, painted a deep, brilliant green. Walking around it, the man inspected the craft with minute attention before opening the cockpit. "It's still fully fueled," he said with a smile. "There's plenty to get you there and back."
Sidling up to peer over Harold's shoulder, Joe found the interior to be luxurious and spacious compared to the police model he and David had . . . borrowed. The entire ship had a much sleeker design, and a larger engine for more power. "It looks great, Grandpa," Tabby commented. "When did you use it last?"
"That programming workshop I went to in Rouge City three months ago," Harold said. "It was inspected just before I left; everything's in perfect condition."
"Good." Taking the keys Harold held out to her, Tabby climbed into the cockpit, motioning for Joe to join her.
He obediently stepped up, but at that moment his right knee gave a twinge, locking in place until the pain receptors stopped firing. Hesitating, he stared at the woman, his reluctant owner, the one so willing to put herself at risk for his sake. "Tabitha, this isn't wise," he murmured. "Reconsider."
"Get in or I'll give you back to your former owners," Tabitha replied mildly. "You're wasting time. Move."
Rarely did she give him anything like a direct order, and never with that tone, meant to brook no argument., but Joe's reluctant pause only extended. "I don't want to see you hurt."
"Losing my best friend would hurt me more than anything," the girl answered in the same curt voice. "Get in. Now."
It wasn't until Harold gave him a small push that Joe climbed up and settled himself in the fabric-covered seat beside her. Giving her grandfather a small nod, Tabby slid the key into its slot, locked it into place, and touched it to start the engine.
Backing out of the shed, Harold watched Tabby steer the machine slowly into the open, lifting a hand in farewell as the 'copter lifted off the ground.
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The flight was uneventful and silent. Tabitha glared through the window, her jaw clenched so hard Joe could pick up the soft sound of her teeth grinding against each other. She was boiling inside with a fury he'd never seen before, and though it was not directed at him and in fact on his behalf, Joe stayed still and quiet, reluctant to have her baleful attention drawn to him.
"You are entering a Mecha-restricted zone," a pleasantly pitched male voice intoned from the dashboard as they drew nearer their destination.
"Stupid," Tabby hissed. "How do they ship their Mechas out, then?"
"I think it only applies to operational Mechas," Joe murmured.
The girl's answering inarticulate growl was interrupted by a muted roar. A larger amphicopter swooped out of the sky, a black military model. "Unidentified craft, you are illegally entering a Mecha-restricted zone. Turn around at once," a voice that was feminine but deeper than the 'copter's recorded messages blasted over the radio.
"Don't think so," Tabby muttered. Reaching out to open the radio channel, she schooled herself into a more pleasant attitude before replying. "Hello, yes, I'm sorry, but my Mecha is in need of repair. I'm taking him to Cybertronics to . . ."
"Turn around at once," the woman repeated in the same unfriendly monotone. "Please cease in your present course."
"I'm sorry, my licence number is . . ."
"Unidentified craft, if you do not alter your present course, we are authorized to use force," the disembodied voice interrupted.
"How rude," Tabby snorted.
"Tabitha, perhaps we should . . ."
Scowling, Tabitha turned off the radio and increased their speed, edging her 'copter higher. Joe opened his mouth to suggest making contact, but an explosion jolted them hard enough that Tabby momentarily lost control of the 'copter, making it buck wildly before she wrestled back onto a straight flight path, cursing. "They shot at us!"
"Yes," Joe said dryly. "Perhaps we should cooperate."
"Those . . ." Tabby's tirade went on for several long seconds as she wrenched at the controls, forcing the smaller, sleeker amphicopter to greater efforts, which the larger craft easily paced.
Craned in his seat, Joe watched the twin barrels just underneath the pursuer's nose swivel and lock. "Again," he snapped. "Dive."
Tabby followed his direction, avoiding the blast, not a warning shot this time, by a narrow margin. "Dammit!"
"Again," Joe informed her tightly. Tabby rose sharply and rolled, nearly into a fourth blast. The Cybertronics building was in sight, but in the far distance. Ruined buildings leaned half-crumpled around it, rising out of the ocean like scavenged, fish-eaten bodies. The 'copter rocked from side to side as Tabitha tried to evade fire and outrun the pursuing police, but she didn't know the territory; she had to either fly over or around any obstacle, slowing her, while the others could anticipate her path and take shortcuts.
They weren't going to make it. Leaning across the dashboard, Joe flipped the switch that transferred control to the co-pilot's seat, steering with his mostly steady left hand. His reflexes were still far faster than any human could hope to be, and he pushed the little craft to its top speed, weaving through the empty husks at a dive until he pulled up abruptly, skimming just over the water. The maneuver drew a terrified squeal from his companion, but she didn't interfere, just stared forward with white-ringed eyes, her hands clenching the edge of her seat.
The police didn't expect such a move, and it took them a few seconds to follow. Their larger, bulkier ship took longer to get up any speed, giving Joe a few seconds to evaluate their surroundings, calculate their chances of making it at a straight run for the Cybertronics building (not good), and realize that they were both in "bad trouble" indeed.
Slipping through a barely-adequate opening between two buildings, Joe jerked back on the controls, aiming the craft for a buckled wall that created an entrance to a steel grid that had once supported a floor. The beams still looked sturdy and he was fairly certain that the ship would hold. Settling Harold's amphicopter on a somewhat precarious perch where three beams intersected, he cut all power.
"Joe, what are you . . . they'll use us for target practice!" Tabitha cried.
"They can't get in here, they're too big. Their scanners won't be able to pierce the walls," Joe said. "The only thing left for them to pick up is me. The metal and the water will not let them pick up a clear signal."
"Hmph." Tabby started at a low groan that echoed around them, glancing uneasily at the water in question, only a few feet below them. "If this building goes, we're in trouble," she said.
Joe didn't answer; he glimpsed movement, a shadow passing through the weak sunlight that filtered in to them, and watched to see what their adversaries might do. It was plain they were circling the building, inspecting it from all sides, visible now as a shadow, now as an odd, disconnected reflection on the ocean's choppy surface. Then the evidence of their presence disappeared; Joe watched, but nothing appeared besides the glittering waves. Listening, he heard only Tabitha's fast breathing, the lap, lap of water just underneath the floor of the amphicopter, and the small whimpers of metal protesting the sudden weight it was expected to bear.
The silence grew heavier and more tense as they waited to be discovered. Seconds ticked by in slow motion until Tabby stiffened. "Look," she whispered, pointing out her window.
Leaning over to peer out her window, Joe saw a dim set of lights drift by underneath the surface, the beams sweeping through the skeleton of metal beneath them. "They think we dove," Joe observed, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile entirely too self-satisfied for a Mecha.
"Good," Tabby snorted. "Power up and let's go."
"Wait . . ." Joe grunted quietly, his left hand quivering, then started again. "Wait until they get a little father away."
Tabby gave him a single frightened look. But acquiesced, turning to watch the police amphicopter's progress. The lights circled under them for a long time before they moved in a new direction. Joe tracked the ship with his unblinking, faintly disconcerting intensity until it was out of sight.
Waiting another moment or two before touching the key and bringing the amphicopter to roaring life, Joe lifted the light craft from its perilous perch. Nosing it cautiously into the narrow corridor between the buildings, he flew slowly between the rickety, decayed skyscrapers while he and Tabby waited for any sign of hostile fire.
They met no impediment, at least until Joe grimaced in pain and his arm wrenched itself sideways, pulling the 'copter into a roll. It hit the corner of one building as it emerged into the open, throwing sparks as the ship screamed protest against such abuse. The building groaned and rocked, settling in place at a sharp angle, its tall shadow falling over them in silent threat of retribution. Squeaking, Tabby cowered in her seat, hands over her head in the illogical, universal Orga assumption that such an ineffectual protection would save her.
The building didn't fall on them. Leaning over, Joe carefully flipped the switch to return power to Tabitha's side, not looking at her. Wordlessly grasping the joystick, Tabby glanced at him, but he sat eyes-forward, completely neutral over the guilty realization that he had almost damaged his owner.
"Joe? You all right?" Tabby questioned.
He nodded, still not facing her.
"Joe?"
Her voice was sharper; Joe glanced at her, into a pair of wide, terrified grey eyes. "We're almost there," she said, her voice both unsteady and hard, brooking no disobedience to her will.
Silently Joe reached out a hand despite the oddly-timed twitches that were now almost constant, patting her fingers that clutched the controls so hard they trembled. Letting go, she seized his hand instead. His fingers spasmed, making her flinch, but when he tried to pull away, she held him tighter, a sudden, fiery determination clenching her jaw. Suddenly and illogically, Joe felt safe.
An unexpected shudder caused Tabitha to gasp and drop his hand, gripping the controls. Lights flashed all over the cockpit, reflecting sickly colors off her gaunt face. "Fuel line's cracked," she said hoarsely. "It's leaking."
Opening all communication channels, Joe twisted a yellow stitch that opened a small compartment. A red button say recessed into the dashboard, protected by a thin window of plastic. Breaking it, Joe pressed the button, sending out an S.O.S.
Tabby laughed shakily. "Damn, maybe I should go out and turn a few tricks. You do seem to learn the most interesting things."
Scowling, Joe aimed a glare her way. The expression became easier with practice, but no more effective, judging by her grin. It faded quickly when something in the engine clunked and the controls began to vibrate.
"This is Cybertronics' shipping and receiving department. What is your emergency?" a calm, smooth voice crackled.
"Oh, thank you," Tabby muttered, pawing at the radio. "Hello! We've got a fuel leak! Can we land for repairs?"
"Permission granted."
"Thank you," Tabby sighed, relaxing as the welcome voice gave her directions.
"Company," Joe murmured.
Tabby followed his glance to the police 'copter hovering some distance away. Light glinted with sullen malevolence off the dripping black craft, but they didn't dare fire so close to the Cybertronics building. "Ha," she muttered in deep satisfaction, guiding her battered amphicopter onto the brightly-marked landing pad on top of the building.
A young man darted from a double set of glass doors, looking worried. "Hey, have you been in some kind of accident? You're lucky we're expecting a shipment today and someone was here. Are you all . . ." he stopped, staring as Joe clambered clumsily out of the cockpit. His left leg showed a marked tendency to drag behind him and his right hand suffered from a continuous tremble, though his pain sensors had mercifully quit firing. Tabby looked aghast; he had declined at a steep rate on the relatively short flight.
"We want to see Professor Allen Hobby. Now," Tabitha growled at the discomfited clerk.
"What? This is a research and development facility. You can't just . . ."
"Now, kid," Tabby repeated. Joe laid his steadier left hand against the back of her neck; she leaned against his touch without thinking, all her impatient attention on the boy. It seemed to be his own presence more than Tabitha's impatient presence that concerned the clerk. Certainly his guileless brown eyes remained fixated on Joe's face, which the Mecha kept expressionless and cold, offering no hint of the warm, easy smile he would usually extend.
The clerk was increasingly uncertain, but he held onto his duty as the one thing solid in the situation. "I'm sorry, I really must . . ." the boy started, but was interrupted when the doors opened. He turned in surprise, his jaw draped over his collar when he beheld the newest intruder. "But . . ."
"It's all right, Mr. Clarke, I'll see them," the older man said, his face stiff and unwelcoming. "This wasn't completely unexpected."
"But, Professor . . ."
"I said it's all right, Mr. Clarke. You may return to your office," Professor Allen Hobby ordered, glaring into Joe's suddenly blazing electric eyes.