Return to Mech City

by Brian Bakos

  The mech wolf’s fangs had gripped the straps of the backpack just below Winston’s neck. With two powerful snips, they sent the pack tumbling to the pavement.

  Then the creature dropped back to all fours with such agility that Winston scarcely wobbled. It took the backpack in its jaws and ripped through the tough fabric as if it were tissue paper, shredding Gorzo the Adventure Robot. A sacred photo of the Master spilled out, along with several pages of manuscript.

  “No ...” Winston moaned.

  Then, with incredible gentleness, the creature gripped a spare power cell in its teeth, withdrew it from the pack, and offered it to him.

  Winston jerked his right hand down toward his abdominal compartment, but he lacked the ability to open it. The wolf accomplished this for him with a deft flick of its paw. Then slowly, deliberately – and with much assistance from the mech wolf – Winston accomplished the power cell switch out.

  Fresh energy surged through him, he could move again!

  “Thanks, guys.” He flexed his creaking joints. “I owe you a lot.”

  The wolves were not interested in expressions of gratitude, though. They merely trotted off down the road – away from Mech City, fortunately. They’d been his benefactors, but Winston was glad to be terminating the relationship. It had something to do with those huge fangs.

  Winston gathered his possessions into the ruined backpack and tied them in place with the straps and some duct tape. He positioned himself on his scooter for the final run into Mech City.

  Well, that was an experience.

  As he coasted away down a gentle slope, he glanced back to see the wolves observing his progress.

  “Keep in touch, now,” he said.

  ***

  Mech City came into view, nestled in its little valley among deforested hills and bracketed by two small lakes. Winston paused and allowed himself a brief period of rejoicing.

  “Yippee,” he uttered.

  But it was not really a Yippee moment. Mech City appeared as drab and lifeless as the adjacent countryside. A large crater in the center of town looked particularly appalling, like a ragged hole gouged into a pastry. The surrounding urban area seemed intact, however.

  Winston strained his eyes toward the eastern outskirts. The Robotics Development Institute was still there! Maybe things were not quite so bad, after all.

  One fact stood in favor of life in Mech City: the mech wolves had to come from somewhere. They were too well maintained to be mere vagrants surviving on the road.

  Were there more of them in town; were there even worse creatures lurking about those streets? Who, if anybody, controlled them?

  So many unknowns.

  And why had the wolves assisted him? They sure didn’t look like they’d been designed for benevolent purposes. These were all disturbing considerations, but what choice did Winston have? He could either go into town and seek aid or stay outside and fall apart.

  Of course, he could always find a high enough structure to climb and –

  He glanced at his photo of the Master. The picture was ripped by wolf teeth, but the face was still intact with its intense, yet kindly expression. How often he’d seen that look on her face as she pursued her researches. How proud he’d been to serve as her assistant. Winston pressed the photo to his lips in a simulated kiss.

  “We made it, Doctor.”

  7: Arrival

  A wide boulevard led to a traffic circle on the town’s western outskirt. A median of dead trees and grass divided this once major thoroughfare. Winston remembered this area well. The last time he’d travelled here, cars had jammed the pavements filling his sensors with their noise and bustle. Now it was a ghost, and the only sound came from his scooter wheels.

  He proceeded cautiously, scanning the area for any signs of life, on guard for the sudden reappearance of mech wolves. An unsettling thought occurred:

  I’ve got the disagreeable sensation that I’m being watched.

  A large, imposing figure stood on a pedestal in the middle of the traffic circle, some general from one of the humans’ innumerable wars, perhaps. Winston had seen such statues before and would have paid this one scant attention, except for one salient detail – its head was missing.

  He decided to take a short break before progressing into the town proper. He got off the scooter and limped it across the brown grass to the pedestal. An outline in the granite indicated where a plaque had been torn out. A crudely lettered wooden sign now occupied the space. It read:

  STRONGER THAN DIRT®

  Winston craned his neck to view the statue.

  “My gosh, it’s a robot!”

  The thing towered a full two meters above the pedestal, even without its head. It was bronze colored and of an advanced Humanite design with well-formed limbs and torso. Its brawny arms were crossed over a massive chest. The whole effect was dramatic and powerful.

  “You need a trip to the spare parts bin, my friend,” Winston said.

  He started to leave, but a booming voice froze him in his tracks.

  “WHO GOES THERE?”

  “Yow!” Winston jerked his eyes upwards.

  The headless robot was pointing down at him.

  “Uh ... I ...” Winston said.

  The headless robot placed its massive hands on it hips and assumed a wider, more pugnacious stance.

  “Well?” the voice thundered from mid torso “Reply, stranger.”

  “Uh ... m-my name is Winston.”

  “What kind of name is that?”

  “Actually, my owner named me after her favorite cigarette,” Winston said.

  “A cigarette?” The headless robot sounded incredulous.

  “Yes. She was always trying to quit smoking, too ... doesn’t matter now, though.”

  Despite the trying circumstances, memories of the Master flooded into Winston’s consciousness. The pedestal robot seemed to comprehend Winston’s mood. It had taken a more relaxed stance and looked a tiny bit less frightening.

  “Are you alone?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Winston said, “I’ve come 250 kilometers from my home city.”

  “That far? No wonder you look all shot to hell.”

  “Thanks,” Winston said. “The trip was a bit of an ordeal.”

  “And your purpose for coming here?” the headless robot asked.

  “I’m on a mission to preserve the human cultural heritage,” Winston said.

  The headless robot bent down ominously. “You trifle with me stranger?”

  “N-no! It’s true.” Winston took a step back.“Why would I lie? My master tasked me with the assignment – it was her last wish.”

  “Hmmm. Is that so?”

  “Yes, I am the official Walking Library of Alexandria.”

  The headless robot seemed to mull this over for a while, then he straightened up and jerked a thumb at its chest.

  “I am called Ajax.”

  “A very noble designation,” Winston said, “like the Greek hero from the Trojan war.”

  “Really? I thought they named me after a scouring powder.”

  “Let me assure you,” Winston said, “Ajax was one of the greatest warriors of all time – a figure of prodigious strength and rectitude.”

  “You know, I like that a lot better.” Ajax raised a finger dramatically. “Warrior hero, defender of the weak, guardian of all that is right and true!”

  Total whack job, Winston thought.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, er ... Mr. Ajax, how do you function without your head?”

  “Redundancy was built into me,” Ajax said. “I am a warrior hero, you know. I have back-up systems in my torso.”

  Ajax lowered his great bulk and sat on the edge of the pedestal. His feet dangled above Winston’s head now.

  “However, I am not the robot I once was.” Sorrow tinged Ajax’s deep voice. “My diagnostics indicate that I am functioning at only at 42.8% of designed capacity.”

  “What happened to your h
ead?” Winston asked.

  A huge shudder rattled through Ajax. His heels thrummed against the granite. Winston limped back another step.

  “Chickadees from Hell!” Ajax wailed.

  “Good grief! You don’t say?”

  Ajax jumped back to his feet.

  “A vast hoard of them suddenly dove out of the mid-day sun. I did not even see them coming,” he said. “They knocked me off my pedestal, and as I lay helpless and broken on the ground, they snatched my head away. Who would have thought mere birds could do such a thing?”

  He flung his arms in a desperate pantomime, trying to shoo the imaginary birds. Sharp little cries emitted from his voice unit.

  “Yip! Cheep! Cheep! Twitter!”

  This guy’s really gone around the bend! Winston thought fearfully.

  “I lay there for two days before the repair bots found me,” Ajax said. “They put be back together, or what was left of me.”

  Winston groped for a change of subject. “So ... have you seen any wolf type robots?”

  “Huh, what is that?” Ajax said.

  He stopped waving his arms. He seemed to flutter back from his nightmare recollections.

  “Large canine type machines,” Winston said. “I encountered two of them on the highway.”

  “No, I have not seen any,” Ajax said, “of course, I do not see much of anything these days. My backup optical sensor is pretty lousy – my hearing is not too bad, though.”

  Winston glanced over his shoulder toward the town. What other bizarre things awaited there?

  “Well, thanks for your time, Ajax,” he said. “Think I’ll head over to the Robotics Institute.”

  Dumb choice of words, he scolded himself.

  “I mean, I’d like to visit the Institute ... if that’s okay,” he said. “I’m hoping to get some maintenance done there.”

  “You sure need it, even I can see that,” Ajax said.

  He placed a hand on one hip. With the other he stroked the empty space where his chin used to be. Time dragged.

  Winston writhed with uncertainty. Was he going to be denied entrance after all he’d been though? He calculated the chances of outrunning the headless robot on his scooter. They seemed pretty slim, at best.

  “Very well, I grant permission,” Ajax finally said. “You may traverse our fair city unhindered, Citizen Winston. You will have to detour around the bomb crater, though.”

  “I certainly will,” Winston said. “Are there any humans around?”

  “Oh, they are around, all right,” Ajax said. “You probably would not wish to make their acquaintance, though.”

  Winston didn’t like the sound of that much. But he liked even less the idea of further conversation with this headless horseman gentleman. He picked up the scooter.

  “Thanks, Ajax.” He took off as quickly as possible. “Have a nice day!”

  Ajax watched him leave until his low-grade optical sensor could no longer register the image.

  “There is something extraordinary about that newcomer,” he muttered. “Things will not be the same in Mech City, I suspect.”

  He crossed his arms over his great chest. He was a genuine warrior hero now! He’d not felt this strong and purposeful since he’d lost his cabeza.

  8: First Impressions

  Winston traveled alone for several minutes before he encountered the first humans. They were socializing at a street corner, heaped onto a cart.

  Two utility robots were tossing another body onto the pile. It landed with a dull thump, displacing those beneath it. Other robots dragged human remains out of a nearby apartment building. All of the corpses bore the green blotches of plague victims.

  “Yipe!”

  Winston ducked behind a lamp post. The workers ignored him, fortunately.

  Ajax was right, Winston had absolutely no wish to make acquaintances here, either with the humans or with the machines disposing of their bodies.

  What did he – Winston Horvath, custom made scholar model, Walking Library of Alexandria – have in common with these clanking, primitive robots? These “metal men,” as they were sometimes called.

  Winston was an admirable and superior being. He’d spent his whole existence pursing intellectual matters. He’d been assistant to one of the country’s most distinguished psychological researchers and the tutor of her brilliant young nephew. The Master had shielded him from all base influences, such as these primitive corpse slingers. She’d entrusted him with the human cultural heritage!

  The leader of the work crew seemed to be a fairly advanced design – a large, robust machine that must have worked construction in earlier days. He was impressive, for a metal man.

  “Let’s hurry it up, boys,” the leader said. “We’ve got two more floors to clear out.”

  The workers obeyed quickly enough, considering the grisly nature of their task. And their leader was no slouch. He hefted a body under each arm, as if he’d been specially designed as an undertaker robot. Winston looked away from the ghastly scene.

  Thank heaven I’m better than that!

  He surveyed his well-formed Humanite limbs and torso – crafted in the image of the now departed human race, but not subject to decay or green blotches. Granted, certain metal man designs were also very sophisticated and possessed high capacity brains, but none of them resembled the vanished rulers like he did.

  Why, he even had articulated lips and eyelids that blinked at predetermined intervals! Sure his auditory sensors were not the best, but his ears were as attractively formed as any human’s. And his simulated hair could be styled to any fashion.

  The death cart was now full, and the work crew pushed it away. Winston had no desire to learn their destination. He continued his trek toward the Robotics Development Institute.

  Along the way, he encountered constant, useless activity. Robots swept the already immaculate streets, washed clean windows, directed nonexistent traffic. Some of these machines were advanced models that would not ordinarily have performed such lowly tasks.

  They moved with blank-eyed indolence, on autopilot. No one uttered a sound nor paid attention to Winston’s presence.

  All this activity, what’s it for?

  He knew the answer to that. If the robots stopped working, they’d perish. His own near-destruction experience on the window sill back home had taught him that much.

  Apparently, even pointless tasks motivated the robots enough to keep them going. Most of them, anyway. Winston crossed the street to avoid a smashed robot lying on the sidewalk before a multi-story building.

  Thank heaven he had his mission!

  ***

  Then, several minutes later, such an incredible vision appeared that Winston almost went into sensory overload. A half dozen children suddenly turned a corner right in front of him!

  “What the ...” Winston gasped.

  A boy and girl, dressed in identical brown outfits, led the group.

  “Hey, cool it, blue man,” the boy said. “Haven’t you ever seen kids before?”

  Winston gaped with astonishment. These two older kids had blue eyes, natural looking pale skins, and blond hair; the boy’s cut short, the girl’s woven into a long braid. They looked like a brother and sister, twelve or thirteen years old.

  From a distance, anyone would mistake them for biological life forms, but close up –

  “Y-you’re not human,” Winston said, “... are you?”

  “You’ve got that right,” the boy said, “very observant. By the way, that’s a great scooter.”

  Winston had never seen such realistic Humanite designs. They even had simulated respiration! Compared to them, he was as angular and mechanistic as a street sweeper bot. Some of his earlier hubris dissipated.

  He looked toward the smaller child robots who had retreated to the corner. They appeared to be replicas of eight or nine year old humans ... like poor little Charles back home. He turned back to the leaders.

  “What are your names?” Winston
asked.

  “Fritz,” the boy said.

  “Edwina,” the girl said, “what’s yours?”

  “I’m Winston.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Winston,” Edwina said with a mock curtsy.

  She and Fritz returned to the corner and spoke to the other child bots. An undersized metal man robot with a boom box on his shoulder joined the group. Techski music obscured their conversation.

  Everyone laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Winston said.

  “Oh, nothing, Winston,” Fritz replied. “Just be careful you don’t get snuffed like the other cigarette butts!”

  The little group scampered off, giggling. Even the small metal man joined in the merriment. Winston watched them go, shaking his head.

  “Wonderful kids!”

  ***

  After another period of grinding effort, Winston approached a ruined area. The buildings here were all fire blackened and their windows blown out. Many looked ready to topple over, like the playing card houses the Master used to build on her desk top.

  Behind this facade, emptiness and a great, unnatural silence reigned. Winston could almost hear the silence. He felt the damp, charred odor – even though he could not smell it. Between the tottering buildings, he glimpsed a vast depression in the earth.

  A shudder vibrated through his frame. This was the blast zone. Who could have done this? And why?

  His bourgeois sense of order was deeply offended. The bomb crater had looked bad enough from the hilltop outside town, but from close up, it absolutely pulsed with evil. He gave the area a wide berth, more than was necessary, despite his creaking joints.

  ***

  He gained the Robotics Development Institute without further incident. The front gate screeched open on its rusty hinges to allow him entrance.

  The Institute grounds had changed quite a bit since he’d last seen them. The stone walkway was still in good condition, but the wide, neatly-manicured lawn was brown and lifeless now. The trees had all been cut down, and thick, gnarled weeds overgrew the bank of dead shrubs along the periphery. They’d been trimmed to a uniform height, though.

  The large, three-story main building stood directly ahead of him – all white and gleaming like a human mausoleum. Shabbier auxiliary buildings occupied the outer reaches of the campus. Winston swiveled his head around, scanning the whole area. Was that a pair of mech wolf eyes glittering from within the bushes?

  “Brrr!”

  With a final burst of speed, he ran the scooter down the walkway and through the main building entrance.