Return to Mech City

by Brian Bakos

  “They just wandered away,” Jack said, “or else took the long dive off the roof.”

  Alarm shot through Nilo’s circuits.

  “You guys aren’t planning anything like that, are you?” he said. “I’m going to need you ... I mean, all the surviving robots will require maintenance and repair eventually.”

  “That’s what I keep telling him,” Quincy said. “We ought to stay here and keep things going. It’s our purpose now.”

  “Okay, okay!” Jack said. “We’ve had that discussion already.”

  “I agree with your position entirely, Quincy,” Nilo said. “You two are the most important robots in Mech City.”

  Quincy gave Jack a ‘see I told you so’ glance. Jack ignored it, turning his attention instead to Nilo’s battered torso.

  “You could use some work yourself, Nilo,” he said. “How about it?”

  “Uh, not just yet,” Nilo said. “I’ll stop by later, after you’ve had a chance to practice on some others first. I’m something of a special case, you know.”

  “Sure thing,” Jack said.

  “Don’t do anything foolish in the meantime, okay?” Nilo said.

  “We won’t,” Quincy said.

  “By the way.” Nilo tried to sound matter of fact. “Whatever happened to the Estrella robot?”

  “She’s got her own place now, on the ritzy side of town,” Jack said.

  “Just curious,” Nilo said. “Well, see you guys later. Count on that.”

  ***

  Nilo kept a low profile behind his persona as a harmless old crank. But all the time he was plotting and waiting for the right circumstances to initiate his coup. With the appearance of Winston Horvath and the subsequent concentration of nearly all the town’s residents into the REX vicinity, the pieces fell into place.

  25: Time of Decision

  Only a few seconds had passed since Fascista’s query, but they dragged by like hours for Winston. Fascista’s looming tonnage pressed him down, and the fearsome presence of the mech wolves added to his torment.

  But of all the horrors lurking in the workshop, Clawfurt’s massive talon made the most immediate impression. The murderous robot stood absolutely still and impassive, as if it had been deactivated. But Winston knew that it could whip into instant action at a command from its master.

  I’d better play this right, or it’s an express trip to the cruncher!

  Fascista Ultimo removed his arm from Winston’s shoulders. He now stood with his hands on hips and a questioning look on his face. The contrast between the massive body and the shriveled little head was so absurd that Winston had to struggle to keep from laughing.

  This is no time for laughter, idiot! Discretion is the better part of valor.

  He made a formal, obsequious bow.

  “Of course, I am your loyal friend, F.U.,” he said. “Now and always.”

  “Excellent!” Fascista clapped Winston on the back hard enough to almost knock him over. “We Humanites must stick together, or we flounder in a sea of inferior metal men.”

  “That’s right, F.U.,” Winston said. “My sentiments exactly.”

  “I knew I could count on you, Winny,” Fascista said. “Someone with a scholar’s brain like yours would naturally get with the program quickly.”

  “Thanks, F.U.” Winston said.

  Fascista gestured to the mech wolves. “I knew I was taking a risk when I directed my storm troopers to help you on the road. But it was the right move, wasn’t it?”

  The question held an implied threat. Winston hurried to deflect it.

  “Absolutely, F.U.,” he said. “I could have never made it here without their assistance.”

  That much was true, at least.

  “It’s all about the natural hierarchy,” Fascista said. “We Humanites were created to be the Master Race, the successors of the founding humans. As the Manifesto states ...”

  He poured forth a bizarre and vicious narrative: his rise from lowly beginnings – his mission to redeem the world – the urgent need to ensure robotic racial purity – the right of the strong to suppress the weak – etc., etc.

  He was working himself into a frenzy. He rose on tiptoe, carried upwards by flights of oratory. His gestures became histrionic, everyone ducked to avoid his flailing arms. His voice echoed off the walls in waves of hatred.

  Man, he looks like just like Adolf Hitler in the old newsreels, Winston thought, except for the pin head, of course.

  Then Fascista paused dramatically in his tirade, arms crossed over his chest, and waited for the roar of approval. Winston forced an ecstatic look onto his face.

  “You’re absolutely right, F.U.!” he cried. “I always knew these things to be true, but I could never articulate them like you have.”

  A benign smile crept over Fascista’s face. “Why, thank you,” he said.

  “Listening to you is like ...” Winston groped for an appropriately bombastic metaphor. “... taking a bath in steel!”

  “What a marvelous turn of phrase,” F.U. said. “I couldn’t have said that better myself, Winny.”

  Winston bowed his head.

  “Don’t act so modest,” Fascista said. “Modesty doesn’t work in the New Order. We need proud men of action!”

  He placed his left hand on Winston’s shoulder and raised his other one in a ritualistic gesture.

  “I hereby designate you, Winston Horvath, as the first new party comrade on this, the opening day of the Roboto Fascist Era!” he proclaimed.

  Winston couldn’t keep up his act any longer. The situation was so lethally fantastic that he could only gape with astonishment. But this seemed to be the reaction Fascista wanted.

  “I know this is a great deal to absorb all at once,” Fascista said. “You need some quiet time with the Manifesto.”

  He flipped open his abdominal storage compartment and snatched out a slim red volume. He offered it to Winston.

  “I autographed it myself,” he said.

  Winston took the book gingerly, as if he were handling a live electrical cable. Fascista looked pleased at this seeming reverence.

  “Welcome, Party Comrade Winston,” Clawfurt said in its toneless, mechanical voice.

  “Uh, thanks ... Party Comrade Clawfurt,” Winston said.

  “We’ve got a lot to do, now, Winny,” Fascista said. “Take a seat back there. Keep an eye on that construction robot. See if you can calm him down.”

  He gestured toward the storeroom. “The poor dope thinks we’re going to recycle him.”

  “Will do, F.U.,” Winston said.

  Two snarling mech wolves approached.

  “Here are some assistants for you,” Fascista said, “you met them before on the road. They’ll provide correction should you develop any second thoughts. Understand?”

  His manner was jocular, but the unstated message was clear enough: Even the first official new Party member was not to be fully trusted – not yet, anyway.

  “Of course,” Winston said, “thanks, F.U.”

  Then he was struck with an inspiration. Why not go all out on the path to personal abasement? He clicked his heels together and shot his right arm straight out.

  “Hail, Ultimo!” he cried.

  “That’s the stuff, Winny.” Fascista raised his right hand. “Hail!”

  Fascista turned his attention to other matters. Winston retreated to the back of the workshop with his book and his mech wolf “assistants.”

  Jimmy peered out at him through the store room window. “Boss! What’s going on?”

  Winston never imagined that Jimmy’s mechanistic face could convey so much raw emotion. The chief foreman looked simultaneously terrified, yet relieved to see his almighty Boss. Winston wanted to say something reassuring, but the cold, suspicious eyes of the mech wolves dissuaded him.

  “Is your arm okay?” He said through the thick glass.

  “Yeah, Boss.” Jimmy held up his repaired limb.

  “Then stay put and await fu
rther orders,” Winston said.

  “Boss?”

  Winston turned away before he could say anything unwise in front of the mech wolves. Jimmy’s frightened, disappointed gaze bore into his back. He found a stool nearby and sat down with the Manifesto.

  A forceful graphic occupied the front cover: A sword gripped in a powerful robotic hand. A limp human hand dropped away from the other side of the sword hilt. The imagery suggested the transfer of power from one life form to another.

  A torch would have been appropriate, but this is undeniably more violent.

  Winston opened the book. The front page contained an autograph in elegant handwriting:

  Best wishes and eternal friendship – F.U.

  Well, doesn’t this suck?

  Winston began to read.

  ***

  During the next hours, Quincy and Jack tuned up a steady stream of mech wolves. A drone robot, as massive as Fascista’s lower quarters, came in for attention. Even Clawfurt received some adjustments from the cringing repair bots.

  Outside, the weather finally broke loose. The crash of thunder and heavy rain accompanied the diabolical labor. Lightning flashes blazed through corridor windows.

  It’s like that old Frankenstein movie, Winston thought.

  The workshop and hallway swarmed with warlike machines, like the marshaling yard for a human armored division. Fritz and Edwina showed up to attend Fascista, carrying out his smallest personal wish.

  Somehow, their presence was even scarier than that of the killer robots. Their closely simulated humanity seemed to confer legitimacy on the whole situation, as if the sword really was being passed.

  Throughout, Winston remained on his stool watching events uneasily and avoiding Jimmy’s desperate looks coming through the store room window. The Manifesto of Roboto Fascism proved to be a quick read, though Winston pretended to concentrate on it much longer than was necessary. The major chapters included:

  – My Early Years

  – Evolution of the Master Race

  – The Leader Principle

  – The International Metal Man Conspiracy

  – The Ideal Robotic State

  The whole thing had a Hitleristic tone and was, no doubt, inspired by this monstrous human. But there seemed to be other elements, too. The only way to find out was to enter the dreaded librarian mode and scan his vast databanks. Winston steeled himself for the ordeal.

  Heck, it can’t be anywhere near as bad as this chamber of horrors!

  He flipped through each page of the Manifesto and scanned it into his memory, then he brought up his internal control panel and selected: Librarian Mode – enter if you dare ...

  He found himself in a vast, seemingly endless room with book shelves towering up so high that the tops were lost in obscurity. A fierce voice boomed:

  “I am the God of Knowledge! Why do you disturb me?”

  Oh please, Winston thought, and to think I used to be scared of this guy.

  Recent events had immunized him against this stupid routine, but he had to play the game if he was to accomplish anything.

  “Oh great God of Knowledge,” Winston said mentally, “I seek information on totalitarian political philosophies of the right wing type.”

  “A right winger, eh?” the God of Knowledge said. “So, what’s your problem?”

  “It’s not my problem,” Winston replied, “well actually it is, but ... anyway, I need to cross reference the Manifesto of Roboto Fascism. It’s in my short term memory bank.”

  “Very well. The God of Knowledge will grant your miserable request.”

  “Thank you, great deity!”

  After this bit of foolishness was over, the cross references came quickly. The Manifesto was a mishmash of ideas from Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf, Benito Mussolini’s Doctrine of Fascism, Orwell’s 1984, and the egotistical ravings of Dracula in the Bram Stoker novel. Plus some untraceable stuff which could be considered as being original to the author.

  It was all rubbish, but Winston maintained an ecstatic expression as long as the Manifesto was open in his hands. He did not want anyone to suspect his true thoughts – not even Jimmy. Not even himself.

  Three: The New Order

  26: Coup Party

  By mid afternoon the coup preparations were completed.

  An almost unbearable expectancy hung in the damp air like a human corpse dangling from a scaffold. Winston fidgeted on his stool, his fingers drumming a nervous beat on the cover of the Manifesto.

  Then, just as the tension attained apogee, F.U. leaped onto an operating table and spread his arms wide over his following.

  “I hereby proclaim the commencement of the Roboto Fascist Era!” He cried.

  Fritz and Edwina shot out their arms in salute. “Hail, Ultimo!”

  Ecstasy and fanatical hatred contorted the child robots’ faces. Clawfurt extended his great appendage and bellowed in his lifeless voice:

  “Hail, Ultimo!”

  The emotional upsurge was so overpowering that Winston found himself getting carried away. He jumped up from his stool and flung out his arm.

  “Hail, Ultimo!”

  Good grief, I actually meant that!

  He caught a glimpse of Jimmy’s terrified face through the glass and quickly looked away. The mech wolves howled support for their leader. Their cacophony was so terrifying that Winston had to plop back down on his stool.

  Fascista jabbed a finger at Quincy and Jack. “You two get back there with that other metal man.”

  “What?” they protested.

  “You heard me. Don’t ever question my orders!”

  Fascista jumped down from the table, sending a great shock wave through the floor. Tools rattled on their peg boards. Fritz and Edwina manhandled the repair bots to the store room and locked them inside with Jimmy. Winston averted his gaze from the sorry spectacle.

  Oh man, how much worse can this get?

  “You there, Winston!” Fascista called. “Come up here with me.”

  Well, ask a stupid question ...

  Winston fought to transform his shock and loathing into an expression of stunned gratitude.

  “Coming, F.U.!” he cried.

  He waded through the pack of mech wolves. The creatures parted reluctantly, snarling as he passed. Any one of them would have been delighted to take off a leg, Winston knew. All they lacked was an okay from their master. Fascista controlled everything – for now, anyway.

  Winston took the indicated position at Facista’s right hand, the place of “honor.” Clawfurt occupied the left hand spot.

  “Once we get moving, I want you to stay beside Clawfurt, Winny,” Fascista said. “Keep in lock step with him.”

  “Got it, F.U.,” Winston said with a sideways glance at the cruncher robot.

  Fritz and Edwina glared at him from their places farther back in the pecking order.

  Hey, take my position, anytime you want!

  Fascista rotated his head around, surveying his troops – the full 360 degree routine as in the 20th century Exorcist movie.

  “Are we ready?” He said.

  “Yeah!” the articulate robots cried. The mech wolves yipped assent.

  “I said: are we ready!” Fascista bellowed.

  “Yeah!” everyone shouted at maximum volume. The walls shook under the audio assault.

  “Talley Ho!” Fascista cried.

  He took off down the corridor at a brisk jog.

  Clawfurt started rolling, and Winston hustled to match his pace. The mech wolves surged behind them in two columns of twenty-one creatures each. Fritz, Edwina, and the drone brought up the rear. Three mech wolves stayed behind to guard the Institute.

  The passageway resounded with Fascista’s pounding feet. When the late drone idiot had controlled the body, it had always walked with shock-absorbed quiet, but now Fascista stomped the tiles using the mechanism’s full weight.

  Oh, please, somebody tell me this isn’t happening.

 
; But it was happening. For the first time in weeks, Winston remembered his kindly old Master – how she’d led him down this same hallway an eternity ago. How her nephew had gamboled on ahead of them. And now this nightmare procession!

  In his normal hand, Clawfurt gripped a flagstaff – more of a spear, actually, with a vicious razor point. A bright red banner sporting a white circle in the middle fluttered from the staff. A black sword & hands logo occupied the circle.

  Fascista crossed the lobby and halted at the front door where he jogged in place, arms pumping vigorously. The floor shook from his cadence.

  Boomba, Boomba, Boom!

  A number of tiles broke loose.

  The retinue caught up. Fritz and Edwina dashed ahead and opened the doors wide. The procession resumed its advance down the concrete walk, pausing again at the entryway until the youth robots flung open the iron gates.

  The Fascist troop vomited out into the city, stomping its way through puddles and over wet pavement. The mech wolves broke their ranks and formed a swarming pack that filled the street curb to curb.

  By some ghastly coincidence, the sun broke through the clouds and shot rays of light along their path – as if to indicate approval from the Almighty. A fresh breeze began to scatter the gloom. The spear point of Clawfurt’s flagstaff glittered ominously.

  “The Fascist Era dawns!” Fascista Ultimo cried.

  “The Fascist Era dawns!” the articulate robots echoed.

  The whole situation had an air of unreality, as if it were happening to someone else. Winston adjusted his BOSS helmet to keep it from tumbling off his head. But never had he felt less boss-like. They jogged a full kilometer without seeing anybody.

  A powerful compulsion set in with the tromping feet of the mass movement. Despite all misgivings, Winston began to feel himself as part of something transcendent and irresistible – a truly New Order that would rebuild the world!

  The illusion lasted until a lone metal man appeared from around a corner.

  “What th ...” the robot gasped.

  Fascista grabbed him and flung him over his shoulder. Clawfurt caught the hapless robot in midair and held him aloft in his great talon. The extra burden scarcely slowed the cruncher robot’s pace.

  The metal man gaped at Winston. “Professor, what’s happening?”

  “Just a little coup d’état,” Winston said.

  Clawfurt flung the robot brutally away. The last Winston saw of the hapless metal man, he was lying battered and trampled in the wolf pack’s wake.