Return to Mech City

by Brian Bakos

  “I’m so sorry about everything,” Star said. “That stupid fight! I shouldn’t have left you like that, Winston. I wanted to come back, but I was too stubborn.”

  She lowered her eyes. “I hoped you’d come to me.”

  “I wanted to, Star, but things got out of hand real bad. I couldn’t get away.”

  She beamed a pleased and grateful smile Winston’s direction. Then she noticed his medallion, and her smile faded.

  “Of course, you’ve gone over to Fascista Ultimo,” she said. “Everybody knows that.”

  She moved to an austere, vinyl upholstered sofa by the picture window and sat down. She gave no invitation for him to join her, but simply stared out the window over the deserted city. Winston remained standing awkwardly by the door, like an unneeded coat rack.

  “I suppose that’s why you’re here,” Star said in a toneless voice. “You’ve come to take me to him, haven’t you?”

  “No,” Winston said, “it’s not like that, at all. I ...”

  He felt polluted by the task Fascista had assigned him. He felt grungier than the lowliest sewer cleaning drone. Star turned toward him. Her former joy was gone, replaced by a quiet resignation.

  Then it wasn’t just her face looking at him, but the faces of every disillusioned member of his work crew. The ones who had trusted him and found him wanting. He saw Dr. Horvath staring at him with disapproval over the tops of her old-fashioned reading glasses. He saw the mocking leer of Fascista Ultimo and the blank ferocity of Clawfurt.

  “I haven’t gone over to Fascista,” he said, “I had to cooperate or I’d be a pile of scrap by now – along with everybody on my work crew.”

  Star gave him a melancholy smile. “Well, we’ve all got to do whatever it takes to survive. You said so yourself, Winston.”

  The words stung him more than a physical slap would have. Had he sounded that much of a phony?

  “Okay,” he admitted, “you know that I enjoy having some power, but that doesn’t mean I’m a true Roboto Fascist.”

  Star nodded, unconvinced.

  “I was just having some tea,” she said, “would you like ... oh, of course not. Come sit beside me, anyway, Winston.”

  He took a seat on the couch. Star picked up an elegant blue and gold china cup from the low table and peered into its steamy depths.

  “I wonder what’s become of Iri,” she said. “Have you seen him?”

  “No,” Winston said, “he’s probably hiding out somewhere, as usual.”

  Star drank the hot liquid from the cup. Winston observed with fascination, temporarily forgetting the grim purpose of his visit.

  “How do you do that, Star?”

  “Oh, it’s just a little stimulation for my taste sensor,” she said. “My filtering system removes the organics and the water ...”

  She snatched up a handkerchief. “It comes right back out again!”

  Her self-control gave way, and she began sobbing into the handkerchief. Winston looked on, amazed. He reached a finger to her cheek.

  “You’re crying real tears, Star.”

  “Everything is so terrible!” she sobbed. “Fascista keeps bothering me. He wants me to be his ... consort. I-I thought it was him at the door again.”

  Winston put his arms around her. She was all soft and trembling, almost like a real human. Her simulated breath came in gasps – and the tears wouldn’t stop.

  “Don’t cry, Star, I’m here now.”

  The weeping finally tapered off. Star lifted up a face filled with childlike hope.

  “Let’s go away, Winston, just the two of us – someplace far away from this madhouse.”

  Winston shook his head.

  “Where could we go, Star? And how would we survive once we got there? Without the Institute workshop we’d eventually break down. I almost fell apart in my home city.”

  “Then what can I do?” Star said in a tiny voice.

  She looked out the window longingly. Winston grasped her intent. She was considering a suicide jump!

  A burst of emotions that Winston scarcely knew existed raged through his circuits – sorrow and pity for Star, hatred for Fascista, and anger against himself. He rose from the sofa and strode across the room.

  She believed that you could be a hero, but you’re really just a lousy bum!

  “Winston, what’s wrong?” Star said.

  I’m a worthless coward, that’s what’s wrong.

  Then a picture of Dr. Horvath emerged from his memory bank – during the time when he’d messed up an assignment for her. She was looking at him severely over the tops of her glasses, and he’d wanted to deactivate. But then her expression softened.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Winston,” she’d said. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  Well, that old world had ended, right? A horrible new one had replaced it, and he was too immobilized with fear to oppose it.

  No, tell the truth, Winston – you enjoy wielding your miserable bit of power.

  “Come on, Winston, sit next me,” Star said.

  He turned to look at her squarely. There, right before him, was everything worth fighting for – if he had what it took, that is.

  With a supreme effort of will, he calmed his swirling emotions. Then he gave voice to the idea which had rattled around his brain ever since the coup.

  “We must destroy Fascista Ultimo,” he said.

  “What?” Star’s face portrayed complete amazement.

  Winston returned to the sofa and grasped her hand.

  “It’s the only way, Star. We must unite behind a strong leader and take back Mech City before it’s too late – before I turn into a full blown, stinking Fascist!”

  She studied his face, a penetrating look in her eyes.

  “Don’t think I haven’t been tempted to cross over,” Winston said.

  Star picked up her tea cup with her free hand and took a long drink. Finally she spoke.

  “Will you be the leader, Winston?”

  “Fat chance of that!” Winston barked a harsh noise resembling a laugh. “I’m the most hated robot in Mech City, next to Fascista”

  Besides, you don’t have what it takes, an enemy inner voice said, you’ve always been just a support actor.

  Shut up!

  “Well, who, then?” Star asked.

  “It would have to be Ajax,” Winston said. “Nobody else could command enough respect.”

  “Do you think he’d want to?” Star asked.

  “I believe so – it’s worth finding out, anyway.” Winston smacked a fist into his palm. “If we could just get his head back and restore his full power!”

  Star gazed into the depths of her tea cup. “What about me, Winston? What do I tell Fascista when he shows up again?”

  “Put on an act,” Winston said. “Let him think you’re interested – stall for time.”

  A very human-like shudder ran through her. “Then what?”

  “Then ... we’ll just have to see.”

  31: A New Assignment

  The following day, Fascista Ultimo reappeared at the REX with Comrade Drone. Winston was working at his lobby desk when the pair shoved their way in through the glass doors from the street. Winston snapped to attention and shot out a salute.

  “At ease, Winny,” Fascista said.

  The Great Leader was in a buoyant state of mind, judging by the rakish angle at which he wore his hat and by the bounce in his usually ponderous step. Even Comrade Drone seemed to project an elevated mood on his blank face.

  “Whatever you said to Estrella must have worked,” Fascista said, placing a massive arm around Winston’s shoulders.

  Winston felt a burst of revulsion but kept it to himself.

  “Thanks, F.U.,” he said. “I merely tried to present her with all the facts.”

  “A remarkable change has come over her,” Fascista said. “I think she likes me now, although she’s still rather shy. We’re going on a picnic tomorrow afternoon to get bett
er acquainted.”

  So, Fascista had been to Star’s apartment again. He’d spoken to her in the same spacious living room as Winston had the day before, he’d sat beside her on the same couch by the picture window! How Star must have hated that.

  “This is only to be expected, F.U.,” Winston said. “Females always go for the strong, take-charge type, even if they are a bit reluctant at first.”

  This remark struck the intended chord. Fascista placed both hands on his hips. He thrust out his miniscule chin and assumed a strong, take-charge type pose.

  “Yes, of course,” he said.

  He summoned Comrade Drone with a flick of his hand. The idiot robot approached, holding out a small wooden box.

  “I’m thinking there’s a better place for you in the New Order,” Fascista said. “Are you up for it, Winny?”

  “Shoot, F.U.,” Winston said.

  Dumb choice of words!

  “I need someone with your intellectual qualities to serve as my Minister of Cultural Development,” Fascista said. “As part of the job, you’ll assist with my writings and speeches. We literary types must stick together, eh?”

  Winston pasted a look of rapturous agreement on his face. “Yes, absolutely!”

  “Myself, I’m primarily a man of action,” Fascista said. “I’m too wrapped up in great plans to spend much time with scholarly pursuits.”

  “That’s right,” Winston said. “The need for strong leadership is never ending.”

  “Even the Manifesto has a few rough edges, to tell the truth,” Fascista added. “I wrote it in quite a hurry, you know.”

  It’s well-nigh unreadable, Winston thought, and even if you could figure it out, it’s still just crap.

  “Also, you’ll be supervising the reconstruction of the city center,” Fascista said. “You certainly know to organize those metal men!”

  Winston began to waver. “I-I’d be honored to accept the post, F.U.”

  “The new party HQ will be the first building erected,” Fascista said. “And after that – well the sky’s the limit in the New Order.”

  Fascista Ultimo withdrew a large, glittering medallion from the box. It appeared to be made of pure gold, hanging from a chain of platinum alloy.

  Winston gazed, dumbfounded, at the engraving – it showed a magnificent cityscape with light rays emitting from it. A slogan graced the lower edge:

  The Future Lies Ahead

  “Very well, then,” F.U. intoned, “I hereby designate you, Winston Horvath, as Cultural Development Minister of the Roboto Fascist state!”

  He placed the medallion around Winston’s neck. A solemn moment passed, then F.U. dropped his ceremonial tone.

  “You’ll commence your new duties as soon as Clawfurt can relieve you here,” he said. “Also, you’ll need a fancy new uniform. I’ll take it up with the tailors.”

  Despite himself, despite all his hatred for Fascista Ultimo and his determination to obliterate the tyrant, Winston could not suppress an image from floating up in his mind:

  Winston Horvath standing dramatically at an upper-story window of an ornate office wearing the gold medallion and a crisp Fascist uniform. He gazes out at a glorious new city. Displayed prominently on his desk is a ‘Minister of Cultural Development’ placard. A legion of robots marches up in the square below, they salute him, and he salutes back.

  “Your first task will be to polish up the Manifesto a bit and add my latest insights,” Fascista said.

  “Right, F.U.!” Winston said.

  A shy, almost childish look came over Fascista’s face. “Oh, and one other thing, Winny.”

  He motioned toward Comrade Drone who handed him a long, narrow cardboard box.

  “Stop by Estrella’s this evening and deliver these flowers with my compliments,” F.U. said. “Sound out her expectations for the picnic tomorrow and report back to me in the morning.”

  Winston’s happy fantasy burst like a soap bubble, replaced by icy hatred. He took the box.

  “Will do, F.U.” he said.

  “I want to make the best possible impression on her,” Fascista said. “I haven’t had much chance to display my warm and cuddly side lately, you know.”

  Winston could scarcely believe his good fortune – another opportunity to see Star!

  “Count on me, F.U.,” he said.

  “That’s the stuff, Winny!”

  Fascista began walking toward the door.

  Okay, time to stretch my luck a bit farther.

  “Perhaps I can perform another service as well, F.U.” Winston said.

  Fascista stopped and looked back. “Oh, what’s that?”

  A hard look had entered his eyes. Warm and cuddly time was apparently over.

  “I’m concerned about our new guest, Ajax,” Winston said. “He came in with a full honor guard and was granted the best quarters, but he looked distinctly unappreciative.”

  “Yes, he’s the stubborn type,” Fascista said.

  “His attitude seems pre-Revolutionary,” Winston said.

  Fascista nodded. “Imagine, I offered him the party secretary job, and all he could say was that he needed time to think it over! I know he doesn’t have a lot of brains, but that’s not what I need him for.”

  “I could go speak to him,” Winston said, “help him to appreciate the finer points of Roboto Fascism and understand his responsibilities under the New Order.”

  Fascista stroked his knobby chin. The whole future seemed to hang in the balance.

  “Yes ... that might prove useful, Winny. Let Ajax know – tactfully, of course – that it’s my way or the junk heap.”

  “Got it, F.U.!”

  “Well then,” Fascista said with a breezy, almost feminine gesture, “carry on.”

  Winston stood at attention, holding a salute, until Fascista and his idiot companion disappeared through the glass doors.

  ***

  Winston bolted to the top floor, Fang and Ripper clattering behind, and dropped off the flowers at his quarters. Then he headed down the hall to Ajax’s executive suite and peered in through the wire mesh.

  Ajax was standing at the exterior window again, as motionless as he’d been atop his pedestal. Winston glanced down at the mech wolves. He was almost certain that they did not possess full-spectrum radios. Didn’t Fascista use the leadership frequency when he wanted to exclude them from his remarks?

  He entered the cell, trailed by Fang and Ripper. Three other mech wolf guards remained in the corridor.

  Ajax turned toward him.

  “Is your radio still working, Ajax?” Winston said.

  He’d used an extremely weak directional signal over the leadership frequency. Nobody outside the room could have picked it up.

  “Yes,” Ajax replied, also over the frequency.

  The mech wolves gave no sign that they had detected anything, so Winston initiated a dual conversation. One was spoken out loud for the benefit of the guards:

  “Well, Ajax,” Winston said, “have you decided to join F.U.? The party secretary job is a high honor and a grave responsibility.”

  “I am still thinking it over,” Ajax said. “My auxiliary brain unit is not very efficient, you know.”

  “A good Roboto Fascist doesn’t waste time thinking,” Winston snapped. “He just obeys!”

  “Now there is something to think about,” Ajax said.

  “The Manifesto has all the answers,” Winston said. “It states – propagandistic blah, blah, blah!”

  The real discussion took place concurrently over the radio:

  “We’re planning a rebellion, and we want you to be our leader,” Winston said. “Do you accept?”

  “Yes!” Ajax replied instantly. “I could not do it properly without my head, though. I was not kidding about my auxiliary brain being slow.”

  “We’ll get your head back,” Winston said. “Where is it?”

  “I told you about the chickadees, did I not?” Ajax said.

  “You
mean, that crazy story is true?”

  “Of course it is true,” Ajax said. “My programming does not permit lies.”

  Winston pondered this new data. He’d wanted to believe that the head had simply been removed for maintenance by some now deceased mech head. He’d hoped that it would be lying around somewhere in the Institute workshops.

  “Do you know where they took it?” Winston asked.

  “Mon cabeza is to the northwest,” Ajax said. “in a castle amid high mountains ... by a pickle-shaped lake. It used to beckon to me, but its signal has ceased.”

  “Why didn’t you go after it?” Winston asked.

  “My programming would not allow me to leave my post. I am designed to serve and protect the city.”

  Winston scanned his personal memory bank. Wasn’t there some reference to a pickle-shaped lake in Dr. Horvath’s research papers – from an investigation she’d made before Winston’s time as her assistant? He was far from certain.

  “We’ll find it.” Winston tried to project confidence he didn’t feel. “In the meantime, pay lip service to Fascista”

  “I do not possess lips,” Ajax said.

  “You know,” Winston said, “just play along with Fascista. Let him think that you’re on his side.”

  “My programming would not allow that either,” Ajax said. “I am hardwired for integrity.”

  Hmmm, Winston thought, that can be a disadvantage.

  “Very well,” Winston said in his audible voice. “I’ll report that you require more time. But if the thirty days expire without a favorable outcome, it’s the junk heap for you. Got it?”

  Ajax bowed. “Yes, Comrade Winston, I quite understand. Please thank F.U. for his generosity.”

  ***

  As Winston was making his late afternoon inspection round on the fourth tier, the elevator door popped open and Clawfurt emerged. Winston had been too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the elevator mechanism grinding away, and Clawfurt’s sudden appearance had the explosive aspect of a demonic Jack in the box.

  Winston had been expecting this visit, but the forewarning could not restrain the bolt of terror that shot through him at the sight of the monstrosity. Clawfurt rumbled down the corridor on his wheeled feet, stopping a bare meter away.

  “You are herewith relieved of jailer duty, Party Comrade Winston,” Clawfurt said in its harsh monotone. “Surrender all keys.”

  Clawfurt held out his normal hand.