Wasteland Blues

by Scott Christian Carr

  The robot tsked. “What ever would he say now? I haven’t even had time to mount them correctly because I’m not sure what kind of background to construct. And here you are, the first visitors we’ve had in years. Surely you’re thinking it unforgivably inappropriate to have them in a pre-War motel setting. I couldn’t agree more. The anachronism just grinds my gears. But it was all that I had handy, and it is better than just laying them on a bare floor.”

  Leggy, who’d been listening in utter astonishment, straightened himself up. He didn’t like the way the robot loomed over him, and the machine man’s dignified bearing made him feel awkward and shabby. He cleared his throat.

  “Listen, ah, sir—”

  “Mr. Tines,” insisted the robot politely.

  “Are they dead?” asked Leggy, glancing at the prone figures of Derek and Magdalena.

  “Dead? No, not yet. Unfortunately I have not yet had time to fully prep the taxidermy lab. For the moment they are unconscious. They’ll revive in several hours, unless I administer another dose of soporific.”

  “You got to let these people out,” said Leggy. “They ain’t exhibits. They’re our friends.”

  Mr. Tines, who had bent obsequiously at the waist as if to better hear Leggy, straightened up in surprise.

  “You know them? You know where they came from?”

  “Well, sure,” said Leggy. “We all came from a little shit-heel place called San Muyamo.” He didn’t feel inclined to explain Samuel’s provenance.

  “I see,” said Tines, sounding disappointed. “I haven’t heard of this…San Muyamo. Perhaps it’s in the master’s atlas?”

  “Doubt it,” said Leggy. “But it is about fifty miles from a place they used to call Fresno.”

  “Ahh,” said the robot excitedly. “Then I was right about their origins. Oh, this is good! Can you tell me what their environment was like?”

  “Mr. Tines,” said Leggy, not liking the direction this was heading. But before he could continue, the robot cut him off again.

  “For example, did they live in neo-adobe structures? Or a sandstone domicile like those dreadful Bedouins?”

  “RVs,” said Leggy. “And shanties. Whatever you could dig out of the ground or salvage from a scrap heap, is what we turned into shelter.”

  “Oh, very good,” said Mr. Tines. “How quaint! Simple, yet sublime. This will really add some color to the exhibits. It’s a shame the master’s not here to construct the display. He had such an amazing eye for detail. I’ll do my best, but I’m sure to leave out that poignant quality he imbued in his work. Master had a real empathy for the plight of humanity.”

  Mr. Tines leaned in conspiratorially. “Not being human, it’s hard for me to get that bit.” He nudged Samuel with a burnished elbow.

  “Now then, can you describe this shanty-town?” he asked, turning back to Leggy. He held his hands in front of his face, long metal fingers extended in an open gesture. “I’m picturing worn-out old shacks with corrugated iron roofs, the hulks of long-abandoned cars half-buried in hardpacked mud. Sand drifts, tufts of shrub grass, maybe a tuber root or two protruding from the dry ground. Have I got it?”

  “No,” said Leggy. “I mean, yeah, you got the picture all right, but you’re missin’ the point. You can’t have those people in there.”

  Mr. Tines turned his head to the side, his blue eyes pulsing. “I can’t? Why not? They’re perfect. They’ll bring the museum right up to date, and it will be such a fascinating project.”

  “Because they’re with us,” said Leggy. “And we’re moving on.”

  “You’re welcome to leave whenever you like,” said Mr. Tines, “but these exhibits must stay. If you’re concerned about their preservation, I can assure you that after I’ve embalmed them, they will remain unchanged for the next millennia.” Mr. Tines pushed out his chest proudly. “The master taught me to seek only the highest standards in the curatorial arts.”

  “I don’t know what you said, but it don’t matter because you’re crazy,” said Leggy. “C’mon Samuel, let’s bust ’em out.” He raised the haft of his knife and struck at the pane. The glass was thick and strong, and Leggy’s blow had no effect other than to galvanize Mr. Tines.

  The mechanical man reached out and snatched Leggy’s wrist. The robot squeezed, and Leggy cried out in pain. The knife slipped from his hand.

  “Now, now,” said Mr. Tines, the cheerful tone in his voice never once slipping. “I warned you not to touch the exhibit.” He slapped Leggy with a powerful backhand, knocking the crippled man onto his back.

  “Stop it,” cried Samuel, running to Leggy’s aid.

  Sheba snarled and leapt at the robot, but Tines batted her aside without effort.

  “Did your master program you to attack visitors?” demanded Samuel as he helped Leggy sit up.

  The old man was dazed and blood trickled from the side of his mouth.

  Mr. Tines twitched once, as if jolted by a momentary surge of electricity. “My first duty is to the museum and its contents. I’ll allow you to stay only so long as you behave yourselves. But I will not tolerate tampering with the exhibits. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve got a display to assemble.”

  ***

  The robot walked over to the steel divider between the case that held John and the one that held Magdalena and Derek. There was a small numeric keypad set into the wall, and Mr. Tines tapped out a quick code on the pad.

  Samuel tried to count, and thought there might be six or seven digits.

  A door slid open in the space between the cells, and Mr. Tines glided through it. Before they could react, the door slid closed again with a hiss. A few moments later, Mr. Tines appeared behind Derek and Magdalena’s window. The robot easily lifted the humans and placed them gently on the floor. And then like a stagehand striking a set, he began carefully dismantling the motel setting.

  Leggy stirred himself.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Nicodemus?” Samuel leaned over him, offering his tiny, six-fingered hand.

  “M’allright,” said Leggy, “but we’re in a fix, no doubt about it.” He wiped at his bloody mouth with a dirty handkerchief.

  Sheba came to them and sat on her haunches. Samuel ran his hands along her body, probing for injury, but she was sound.

  The trio watched as the robot moved smoothly through the display case, emptying it of its contents, even peeling off a layer of wallpaper to reveal smooth, white walls beneath.

  “Samuel, I’m out of ideas,” said Leggy. “That tin man in there has all the cards.”

  Samuel frowned. He had an idea, but was afraid that Mr. Tines could hear them even from the display case. He had no choice—he projected his thoughts into Leggy’s consciousness.

  The old man startled as Samuel’s voice rang out inside his skull.

  DON’T BE ALARMED MR. NICODEMUS—IT’S ME—THIS WAY THE ROBOT CAN’T HEAR

  Jesus that’s weird, thought Leggy. And then, Are you…are you hearin’ me?

  YES—I THINK IF WE HUMOR MR. TINES WE CAN GET OUT OF THIS

  Humor the robot? What are you talkin’ about?

  I’M GOING TO TRY AND CONTACT JOHN NOW

  Samuel went and stood in front of the last display case. John paced the room, searching for some way out. Samuel took a deep breath and pushed his thoughts toward John. He stopped and looked up in shock. His hands flew to his head.

  “Who’s that?” he shouted. “Where are you?”

  IT’S SAMUEL—MR. NICODEMUS AND I ARE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GLASS WALL—CAN YOU SEE US

  John stepped forward and pressed his face against the glass. No. It’s a mirror. Is Magdalena with you? Is she all right?

  THE ROBOT HAS MAGDALENA—SHE’S DRUGGED

  At that moment, Mr. Tines entered John’s room. John whirled aroun
d, and Samuel recoiled from the surge of fear and anger that overflowed into him. Mr. Tines picked up the water glass on the bedside table and approached John.

  He wants me to drink it, but I think it’s poison.

  DONT DRINK IT—TELL HIM YOU CAN HELP WITH THE DISPLAY

  “What?” said John. “I don’t understand.” He backed away from Mr. Tines, who advanced cheerfully on the human with the water glass extended in one burnished steel hand.

  SAY YOU CAN HELP WITH THE DISPLAY—SAY YOU WERE BORN IN SAN MUYAMO—SAY YOU KNOW EVERY DETAIL OF THE PLACE projected Samuel, his brow knit in concentration.

  The robot backed John up against the glass and used its own body to hold him in place. One hand reached up and took John by the chin. Steel fingers forced his mouth open. The other brought the glass to bear.

  “Samuel, help me,” shrieked John.

  TELL HIM urged Samuel, pounding the glass with his fists. YOU HAVE A LIFETIME OF KNOWLEDGE OF CUSTOMS, RITUALS, FOODSTUFFS, LIVING CONDITIONS, CLOTHING, CRAFTS—TELL HIM—TELL HIM—TELL HIM

  Samuel heard an echo of John’s frantic babbling, but couldn’t make out his words.

  Whatever John said worked. Mr. Tines backed off and escorted John out to where his companions waited.

  “Leggy! Sheba!” shouted John, running to the old man and the dog. “What is this place?”

  “It’s a goddam nuthou—”

  “It’s a museum,” said Samuel brightly, cutting off Leggy. “This is Mr. Tines. He’s the curator. We’re going to help him with his newest display.”

  “His what?” asked John.

  “Display,” said Mr. Tines, coming around from behind him. “And your assistance is going to be so very valuable. The master would be quite pleased.”

  John turned and saw Magdalena and Derek on the floor of the now-bare display room. He ran to the glass. “What’ve you done to her?”

  ***

  CALM DOWN Samuel focused the full strength of his mind on John.

  John recoiled as if slapped. The words were like a knife in his head. A thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his left nostril, which he quickly wiped away with his sleeve. Turning back to his friends, John noticed a similar trickle of blood from Leggy’s nose.

  TRUST ME—OKAY—JUST TRUST ME

  John wiped his eyes and tried to breathe more steadily. “Okay,” he said aloud, the hysteria gone from his voice.

  “I assume,” said Leggy, turning to Mr. Tines, “that you’ve got some idea for a particular scene in mind?”

  “Oh yes,” said Mr. Tines. “We must think it through very carefully, and it’s essential that we get the details right. Now then, what should our subjects be doing?” The robot looked around at the humans. For the first time he seemed to take notice of Samuel. “And what, exactly, pray tell, are you?

  “Cooking?” offered Leggy with a sidelong glance at Samuel. “Skinning hides?”

  “Excellent,” said Mr. Tines, his attention back on the subject at hand. “A splendid idea. The action of cooking and tanning will give exquisite movement to the scene, while also providing an intimate look at the daily routine,” The robot put a hand to its cheek, a disconcertingly human gesture. “But when should they be cooking? At dawn? Perhaps the mid-day meal?”

  “I’m thinking dusk,” said Leggy, his mind racing. “Just before the sun sets and darkness falls, and all the dangerous stuff comes out.”

  “Ah now,” said Tines, one finger following the outline of his metalworked cheekbone, “I like it. Perhaps we can manage to get a look of anxiety into their eyes as they hurry to finish their chores before the coming of the dark night and its deadly denizens. Yes, that should work well. I see a gloaming dusk, the sun a fiery orb sinking behind the rim of the continent, the cloak of night looming. Dangerous eyes peeping from the shadows of the wild. Very poetic.”

  “Now then,” said the robot. “What else do we need?”

  “Well, we’ll need a campfire, of course,” Leggy began, cautiously studying the automaton for any sign of adversity.

  “Yes,” said Tines, nodding. “I believe I can simulate that.”

  “You’ll need some gear—you know, cook pots, a couple of tin plates, a knife. Probably a rifle. I think Magdalena had one of those.”

  “Who?” asked Tines, distractedly. “You mean the female? Yes, she did. It’s in the workshop.”

  “And you’ll have to have a donkey, of course,” added Samuel. “No one in San Muyamo does anything without a donkey, right John?”

  “Uh…” murmured John, nodding dumbly. “That’s right. Donkeys all over the place.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mr. Tines, his blue eyes dimming. “I think a donkey might be outside my capabilities.”

  “No problem,” said Samuel. “Teddy’s got two donkeys. You could embalm one of them.”

  “Teddy?” asked Mr. Tines.

  “Another companion of ours,” said the boy. “He’s still upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?” asked Mr. Tines. “In the reception hall?”

  “Is that what you call the glass house?” asked John.

  The robot nodded.

  “Then yeah, they’re in the reception hall.”

  “Well, this is just wonderful,” said Mr. Tines, his eyes brightening again.

  “There’s a problem, though,” said Leggy. “The opening in the shaft isn’t big enough for them.”

  “Ah, that is most definitely not a problem,” said Mr. Tines. “They can come down the freight elevator. Shall I send it up?”

  “May I go up too, to tell Teddy what’s happening?” asked Samuel. “He’ll be so excited!”

  “Of course,” said Tines. He swiveled quickly around and bounded excitedly across the open plaza.

  Samuel followed. As he walked, he put his mind in connection with Leggy.

  I WILL BE BACK WITH TEDDY

  And, just for good measure, Samuel projected an image of Mr. Tine’s head being smashed into a cloud of sparks and wire between Teddy’s enormous hamfists.

  ***

  Mr. Tines approached another divider between two blackened display windows. He pressed a button recessed into the wall and the divider slid up, revealing an access passage. Samuel followed him inside. They passed through a narrow corridor about six feet long that opened onto a workshop the size of a gymnasium. It reminded Samuel of the labs that had been housed in the bunkers where he’d been raised, although the equipment here included woodworking and machinist tools along with silicon fabricators, nano-assemblers, computer terminals, and a gene sequencer. The room was tidy and dust-free, but it still gave the impression of long disuse.

  “The master’s workshop,” said Tines, his voice low and reverent. “It was here that he created the displays you see in the cases in the plaza. He built me here, too,” Mr. Tines said with pride. “His greatest achievement, he often said, though were he alive to see how things are now, he would know it wasn’t true.”

  “Did he build those cleaning robots too?” asked Samuel.

  “Ah, yes. My dumber cousins. But essential. I couldn’t manage the place without them.”

  “How long ago did your master die?” asked Samuel.

  “Die?” said Tines. “I don’t know that he’s actually dead. Fifty-three years ago he went to the surface with the sand crawler. He said he was going out to collect artifacts. But he never came back. He was quite old by then, of course, so I must assume he’s perished. But still, I’ve tried to maintain the museum, waiting for his return.”

  “How sad,” said Samuel, feeling a momentary pang of sympathy for the robot. Samuel knew what it was like to live at the bottom of a hole, alone for ages. But he put his feelings aside, knowing that he had to focus on himself and his companions.

  As they passed through the
workshop, Tines pointed to a small corner that showed signs of recent activity. A mannequin stood in various stages of assembly, but even up close, Samuel scouldn’t tell what it was supposed to be.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Mr. Tines sighed, his blue eyes nearly fading to black. “A mutant. At least that’s what it’s supposed to be. I tried to fabricate it myself, but I just couldn’t get it to come out right.”

  Tines brightened. “But now you’re here. I haven’t felt this hopeful in so long!”

  They came to a pair of doors set back into the wall. Mr. Tines pushed a button and the doors slid open, revealing an enormous elevator.

  “This is how the master brought equipment and materials into the museum,” said Tines, stepping in.

  Samuel followed. Like the workshop, the elevator was neat, but stale with disuse. Mr. Tines pushed a button on a small white control panel. With a gentle lift, the elevator began to move.

  “The lift arrives just inside the eastern face of the reception hall,” said Tines.

  “We looked all over the reception hall,” said Samuel. “We didn’t see any entrance for an elevator. It’s just a big glass room.”

  “Not glass. Nano-crystal,” said Tines. “Strong as steel but infinitely malleable. To your friend inside the reception hall, it will look as if the floor is suddenly sprouting an elevator. In fact, it’s just the nano-crystal re-arranging itself to accommodate the elevator.”

  “Neat,” said Samuel. “Did your master invent that, too?”

  “Oh no,” said Tines. “Though he was one of the first to stabilize it enough for industrial applications. But the war engulfed the world long before his processes could be put into widespread use.”