“Pete’s machine,” Molly muttered to herself. “I’m pretty sure the Liberty button was just about worn off.”

45

“You’re dead!” the skimmer pilot yelled. He kicked through the remains of his ruined craft and strode toward Cole, shucking off a tangle of wire and hydraulic cables as he went. Cole waded backward with short steps and a wide stance as the ground beneath him continued to tremble and occasionally lurch. He held the buckblade away from his body, comforted somewhat by the slight hum he could hear from the handle.

That comfort didn’t last long. The small man fully emerged from the wreckage and did the unthinkable: he yanked off his goggles and tossed them aside.

“I’ll have you in pieces!” the man roared. He stomped through the water with both hands out, his fingers curled as if to reach out and clutch Cole to death. Cole stopped shuffling and readied his blade. Whatever the man was made of, however much of him Arthur had replaced, he figured he had the upper hand to be armed. In a manner of speaking.

The wiry man stopped and looked at Cole’s hand, almost as if weighing the same odds. He snarled and reached into his coveralls, which were tattered and hanging in strips from the knife-like curls of wrecked steel. Out came a metal cylinder much like the one Cole wielded—and the playing field was once again uneven.

The furious man thumbed his blade on and lunged into range, swiping with an angle five. It was an unorthodox, but powerful move. Cole watched the man’s elbows and wrists line up in slow motion, performing a slashing attack Penny had told him to never use. And she had shown him why. Cole’s muscles responded automatically—out of fear and from a deep memory. He lined up his blade to deflect the blow, to send it back into the man’s neck, but when the magnetic fields of the two blades met each other, the raw power behind the strike overcame the attacker’s poor angle. The impact tossed Cole backward and likely would’ve thrown his blade through his collarbone, had not his new elbow been locked.

He landed with a splash, his heels kicking and scrambling for the ground beneath him. He swam backward, keeping his distance as the man swiped through the water, his teeth bared in rage.

“One piece at a time!” the figure roared.

Cole scrambled to his feet and threw out a feeble swipe to keep the man at bay. As Cole’s blade passed harmlessly in front of his foe, his attacker lashed out with his own sword. The strike wasn’t aimed at Cole, but rather, at the back of his blade. The magnetic repulsion made Cole’s weapon pick up speed, spinning him around like a top. He lost his balance again and fell backward into the mud-colored water. The man behind him laughed as Cole splashed his way upright. He turned and resumed his stance. He realized he was being toyed with—chewed on and released as by some wiry dog.