by Brian Bakos
“No, no, Iri, everything is just fine,” Star said. “He’s my new friend.”
The look in the creature’s eyes moderated slightly, but it was still full of distrust.
“Say hello to Winston, Iridium,” Star said.
“At your service, pal,” Iridium said.
The creature’s voice was not overtly threatening, but it had a sarcastic quality to it, like one of those “wise ass” comedians the Master used to watch on TV.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Winston replied.
Star patted Iridium affectionately, again he melted at her touch.
“Winston needs a place to stay,” she said. “Can you show him around?”
“Sure thing, Star,” Iridium said.
“Uh, really, I don’t want to cause any bother,” Winston said.
“Hey, no problem,” Iri said. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Good,” Star said. “Well, I’ll see you guys later, then.”
She began walking toward the gate.
“Where’re you going?” Winston said.
“Home,” Star said. “Now you two fellows get better acquainted.”
“But ...”
Star exited the gate with a pert little wave. “Bye-ee.”
Winston watched her turn a corner and disappear. He looked down ruefully at the fierce canine.
There was an obvious connection between Iridium and the mech wolves Winston had encountered on the road. He wanted to find out more, but didn’t want to press Iridium for fear that things might turn hostile. Iridium didn’t seem the warm and cuddly type, whatever Star said about him.
“We gonna stand here all day?” Iridium asked.
“Of course not,” Winston said. “Please carry on.”
They left the Institute grounds and headed due west until they reached the ruined, abandoned area around the bomb crater. The buildings here tottered empty and charred, like those on the opposite side of the blast zone.
“What happened here?” Winston asked.
“One morning there was this big boom and the whole University Complex disappeared,” Iri said. “A lot of humans and robots got blown up – including me, almost.”
Iridium raised a foreleg to reveal a ruined area of his coat.
“I was too far away to get more than some minor burn damage,” he said.
“How unfortunate,” Winston said.
Iridium’s eyes narrowed.
“I mean ... unfortunate that you got any damage at all,” Winston added hurriedly. A change of topic seemed prudent.
“This used to be one of the world’s great learning centers,” Winston said.
“Not anymore,” Iridium said.
A few sullen moments passed. Then,
“What are you doing in town, anyway?” Iridium asked.
“I’m on a mission to preserve the human cultural heritage,” Winston said.
“Good luck with that, pal!” Iridium gestured toward the bomb crater. “Their ‘cultural heritage’ is out there, if you ask me.”
11: Home Sweet Home
They turned south down a wide commercial street. The area had a run-down aspect to it, with many tacky, old-fashioned buildings and vacant lots. Boards covered the windows of businesses which must have failed long before the Grand Collapse occurred. Spray-painted obscenities and lewd pictures of human anatomy covered many of these boards and the adjacent walls.
“The blast should have gone off here,” Iridium mumbled.
But the neighborhood hummed with activity. Robots were picking up trash and dead vegetation from the vacant lots or sweeping broken glass off the sidewalks. Others hauled away an ancient clothes washing machine. Many others just walked about looking for something to do.
“My, isn’t everybody busy?” Winston observed.
“Yeah, doing nothing useful,” Iri said, “except for the ones on burial detail.”
Winston slowed his pace and allowed Iridium to move on ahead. He felt some minor relief that the mech wolf was no longer walking by his side, but now the shimmering coat irritated his optical sensors even more. He glanced away to see the gang of child robots running past.
Fritz and Edwina grabbed a street sweeper bot and spun him around. Then they all dashed off, laughing maliciously.
“It’s not going to be pretty when this all goes south,” Iridium said.
“How so?”
“If things don’t get organized soon, this whole city is going to fall apart,” Iridium said. “There’s only so much trash these robots can pick up. Then what – more suicides, a war?”
“Trash was a uniquely human concept,” Winston observed. “It’s not a renewable resource, unfortunately.”
Iridium grunted.
Winston was anxious to rid himself of the canine’s sullen company and glittering coat. He needed to get off the street and away from the constant bustle and the stirred-up dust. He looked around for any possibility of escape.
They came to a mid-sized, rather shabby building. A sign over the door read:
REX HOTEL
hourly rates
“This looks like it might be okay,” Winston said.
Disapproval registered on Iridium’s lupine face.
“There are much better places farther on,” he said.
“I’ll just check it out,” Winston said.
He passed through the doorway alone. The hotel lobby looked very run down with ragged, mismatched furniture and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. Trash and empty liquor bottles lay scattered on the threadbare carpet. A stale, rotten smell oozed from the discolored wall paneling.
“Ugh!” Winston opined.
He stuck his head back outside.
“This will do fine, thanks, Iri,” he said.
The mech wolf looked almost comically surprised. Winston had seen a similar expression on Dr. Horvath’s big collie when a pugnacious little mutt had nipped it on the nose.
Iridium shrugged his powerful shoulders, or whatever the connecting points of a canine’s forelegs were called.
“Suit yourself, pal,” he said.
Then the creature was gone, at last.
“Whew!”
Winston returned to the lobby and contemplated his new home. What a dump! But at least he’d gotten rid of that werewolf gentleman.
He strode past an elevator with an “out of order” notice on its door and climbed a creaky, filthy staircase to the top floor. Graffiti defaced the walls, much of it obscene with repetitive curse words and graphic depictions of human anatomy – similar to the artistic expressions Winston had seen outside.
“Very educational.”
He entered a long, dim hallway with battered doors running down both sides. All the rooms were similarly furnished with sagging beds, washstands, and dressers sporting cracked mirrors. Only a single community bathroom, but that was not a consideration.
One room had a large, dark stain on the floor that might be taken for blood of some kind. Capital letters had been carved into the wood:
HTTV
What the heck did that stand for – High Tech Television? Even worse was a large emblem painted on a wall – a baleful eye staring out from a splattering of crimson. It seemed to follow Winston as he moved about the room.
Winston scanned his memory banks. Didn’t one of the old TV networks use an eye for its trademark? Yes, but it was nothing like this horrible emblem.
He backed out of the chamber and closed its door against the mystery.
He finally selected the last room on the right. It was a bit larger than the others, but no less tacky. He peered out the window to the pavement five stories below.
“At least it’s high enough if I need to ...”
***
Winston spent the next few hours settling in.
He located janitor supplies and used them to scrub his room into a semblance of clean. Chemical pine scent now disguised the odor of mildew. He found curtains to cover the grimy window but dared
not clean the glass, fearing that the temptation to made a quick exit might prove too strong to resist.
The less he had to look outside, the better, Winston decided. He placed the Master’s photo right next to the window where he’d be sure to see it if he got any suicidal notions.
He considered moving to a lower floor, especially since the crumbling ceiling plaster in his room indicated a leaky roof. But the thought of the REX hulking all around him was rather disturbing. Here, at least, he was perched in a high corner, with exterior walls on two sides and the roof directly overhead.
He posted more photographs of the Master and little Charles on the walls, along with Charles’s drawing in pastel chalk. The picture showed a stylized blue dog with black accents. Its head was cocked over its shoulder in order to view a blazing red sunburst – back when there still were sunbursts.
The picture exuded joyful vitality, and Charles had won an award for it. Charles had had real artistic talent. If only ...
Winston also posted title pages from Dr. Horvath’s research papers:
– Coercive Persuasion and the Cult Experience
– Psychology of Religious Addiction
– Conversion to Deviant Perspectives in the Pickle Lake Community
As the last rays of daylight faded from the window, he set aside his cleaning implements and contemplated his room with minimum enthusiasm.
“Home sweet home ... I think.”
12: Evening Promenade
There was no electric power in the REX. Soon Winston would be stumbling around blindly, as he lacked night vision optics. What need had a scholar model of such advanced hardware? Dr. Horvath had not been wealthy, and it was obvious that she’d had to cut corners on his manufacturing costs.
Maybe he could visit the Institute again for more upgrades. But for the present, his obvious choice was to enter inactive mode until morning came.
But he didn’t want to do that yet; he was too “wound up,” as the Master would say. Besides, he’d already been fully deactivated for some hours, and the after effects were still buzzing through his circuits. He recalled passing a hardware store with Iridium, surely it would have power cell torches in stock.
He poked his head outside the door. The hallway shown dully in the light seeping in from his window. Farther down, the ambiance faded to near total darkness – interrupted periodically by slivers of illumination coming from under the room doors. A faint glow indicated the staircase.
He stepped into the corridor and felt his way along the wall. Mildewed layers of paper buckled at his touch. As he passed between the rows of shut doors, he was certain that he heard muffled noises coming from behind them. His new radio suddenly crackled into life, bringing impulses from unknown frequencies.
Voices of the dead?
Who knew what villainy had gone on in these shabby rooms rented by the hour – perverted sex, drug deals, murder? The worst representatives of the human race must have once lodged here. And how about that big blood stain on the floor of the room he was just passing – and the eye, which he could feel staring at him through the door?
Winston halted. He swiveled his head back toward the dim illumination of his open doorway, then ahead to the staircase. Equidistant.
Terrifying images gurgled up unbidden from his library banks. He was traversing the haunted corridors of Castle Dracula – he was hearing the hotel come to life, as in The Shining.
Why wasn’t he a utility robot, with a brain suited only to menial tasks? Why did he have all this literary baggage, plus the imagination to bring it to life? What the hell was he doing here in the first place – idiot!
He looked toward his room again. He wanted nothing more than to run back to it. But he feared that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself, that he’d just keep running straight through the window. It was too dark now to see the talismanic photo of the Master.
So ... he took another step toward the staircase, then another. The hotel seemed to be breathing; he felt heavy panting right behind him, wafting over his neck. He jerked along, his new joints seemed sluggish and resistant now. Finally he gained the stairway.
Crack! A rotted stair broke under his weight.
“Ahhhh!” Winston’s scream echoed throughout the vacant building.
With a violent wrench, he freed his leg and began charging downwards. Squirming graffiti groped at him from the walls. At every landing, a new hallway of crypt doors shot away into the darkness.
Just as it seemed that the stairs would never end, the lobby appeared. He lurched across it, upsetting a flimsy table and an ashtray stand. Then he was outside at last.
A figure approached from out of the twilight.
“Hello, Winston.”
He barely stifled another scream.
“Oh ... it’s you!” He struggled to sound calm. “Nice to see you again, Star.”
“What’s the matter, Winston?” Star said. “You act like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Well, not exactly.”
Star peered through the glass door into the REX lobby.
“It wouldn’t be surprising in a frightful place like this,” she said. “I’m sure Iri can find you better digs.”
“That’s quite all right,” Winston said hastily. “This place is ... unique.”
“I get it.” Star gave him a knowing little smile. “How about if I help you find a new place tomorrow?”
“That would be a lot better,” Winston agreed.
“Okay, it’s a deal.” Star held up two power cell torches. “I just happened to be in the neighborhood, and I thought you could use these.”
“Thanks.” Winston took the lights. “You’ve saved me a trip to the hardware store.”
“Great ... well I’d better be going, then,” Star said.
“So soon?”
Star gave him one of her maddening little smiles. “You could walk me home, if you like.”
The gentle pressure of her hand on his arm soothed Winston’s jangling circuits.
“Sure thing, Star, I-I’d like that.”
They began to move along the darkening street, walking with easy synchronization as if they’d been programmed to keep in step. The neighborhood was quite deserted now. They flicked on the power torches and played the beams along their route.
“Looks like those robots have all gone away,” Winston said.
“Yes, but they’ll be back first thing in the morning – doing something, even if it’s just running around in circles.”
“It’s kind of ridiculous,” Winston said. “It beats taking the long swan dive, though.”
Star paused and looked directly into his face. “You’ve considered doing that, Winston?”
“Well ... yeah, at first,” he said, “but I’m on a mission now.”
“Mission?”
“Yes,” Winston said. “I’m preserving the human cultural heritage.”
Star nodded gravely, then she actually sighed. For a moment Winston almost believed that a real human being stood beside him.
“I don’t think anybody here is interested in that,” she said
“I’m finding that out.”
“We have to accept that humanity is gone,” Star said. “We must build our own world, or die out with the old one.”
“Yeah, I’m certain that’s true.”
“Try to find a new mission that can help us now, Winston. Every day more robots wander in, hoping to find – something. And each day brings more suicides.”
“I’d hoped that things would be better here,” Winston said. “Dr. Horvath must have, too.”
“Nobody has a worthwhile purpose anymore,” Star said. “We can’t go on like this much longer. Another month and there won’t be a functioning robot left in Mech City.”
***
They were in a better neighborhood now. Shops, which must have catered to a more upscale crowd of humans, lined the street. After several minutes of quiet strolling, they entered a little park and stopped by a founta
in. Dim moonlight struggling through the cloud cover illuminated the fetid water.
“Oh!” Winston cried.
He jerked back as if from an electrical shock.
“What’s wrong, Winston?”
“There’s something floating in the water!”
Star shined her light into the fountain.
“It’s only a dead tree branch,” she said.
“Yes ... of course.” Winston fought back the lethal shakes. “I-I figured as much.”
Winston twitched his light around the park. When it crossed Star’s face, it revealed a confused, worried expression.
“I’ve got some bad memories about fountains, that’s all,” he said.
Star began to speak, but checked herself. Her programming told her that men did not like being questioned about their fears, that they would provide details only if they chose to. As Winston was the closest thing to a man she’d encountered since her activation, she moved the conversation onto a different tack.
“Tell me about yourself, Winston,” she said. “What was it like at the beginning?”
“Not much to tell, really,” Winston said. “I was brought online three years seventeen days ago as a special order Scholar model with enhanced intellect and memory.”
“Quincy already told me that,” Star said. “I meant, what was your first impression of the world?”
“Kind of scary,” Winston said. “Nilo was there.”
“Ugh!”
Even in dim light, Star’s face registered disgust.
“That must have been a lousy way to get started,” she said.
“Yeah, he was lying on the next table being experimented on, and he wasn’t pleased,” Winston said. “Fortunately, my owner arrived soon afterwards and got me out of there.”
They sat on the edge of the fountain, dangling their feet. Star braced her back against Winston’s arm to protect herself from falling into the water. He was steady as a rock now.
“Quincy said that your owner was a famous psychologist,” Star said. “What did she do, exactly?”
“A lot of work on court cases,” Winston said, “risk assessments, criminal responsibility evaluations, and such. She made good money at that, but her real notoriety came from her investigations of radical religious cults.”
Star couldn’t follow Winston’s big words very well, but she loved the sound of his voice – so melodious and sophisticated, so ... European.
“What were these cults?” she asked.