by Brian Bakos
“We do not possess atmospheric analyzers,” Winston said, “but from all observations, the air quality seems to be improving. There is less haze, and the cloud cover dissipates now and then.”
“Good,” Rackenfauz said, “perhaps this old world’s got more oomph than anybody thought. Anyway, if things are too bad out there, I can always come back. I’ll leave the workshop stuff here.”
“Traveling is dangerous, Papa,” Iri said. “Maybe you shouldn’t risk it.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Iridium.” Rackenfauz whipped out a little submachine gun from under his coat. “I’ll be packing plenty of heavy iron.”
The robots all stepped back. Rackenfauz cocked the gun and moved to a window. A wild look had taken over his usually benign face.
“Watch this, folks.”
He pointed the barrel outside, then:
Blamity! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!
“Yaa Hooo!” Rackenfauz howled. “King of the universe!”
Blamity! Blam! Blam!
Bright shell casings littered the carpet, gunpowder scent scorched the air. The robots shrank away, covering their auditory sensors with their hands / paws.
The explosions mercifully stopped, and the last reports echoed off the walls.
“Doggone it!” Rackenfauz said.
He leaned out the window.
“There was a real bird flying around out there, and I shot it down accidentally.”
“How unfortunate,” Star said.
Rackenfauz shrugged. “Oh well, that’s just the way it is with us humans.”
He held up the weapon triumphantly.
“See, Iridium? This little honey is guaranteed to terminate any conversation in my favor. And there’s more where she came from.”
Winston looked upon the gun with deep admiration.
“Wow! If we had a few of those we could take out Fascista and all his storm troopers.”
Rackenfauz shook his head. “I think not, young fellow.”
He handed over the SMG. For a moment, it felt right and powerful in Winston’s grasp. Then tremendous heat seemed to radiate from it. Winston began to shake uncontrollably.
“Ah!”
The gun tumbled from his hands and hit the floor butt first.
Ka-Pow!
Everyone dove for cover as the bullet ricocheted off the stone walls. Then the room was silent except for the soft chuckling of Dr. Rackenfauz.
Winston peeked up from the carpet. “Okay, Professor, I get your point.”
Rackenfauz was the first one up. He retrieved the gun and cradled it in his arms like a human baby. The others got back to their feet but maintained a wary distance.
“All robots are hard-wired against using firearms,” Rackenfauz said. “If you’d held on just a few more seconds, your programming would have permanently scrambled.”
“How ... interesting,” Winston said.
“Yes,” Rackenfauz said, “we design safeguards against our creations, then we exterminate our own selves. Go figure!”
He cackled derisively, uncontrollably, a noise almost as threatening as the gun blasts. His face and bald head turned crimson as the laughter rose to auditory unit shattering volume. The robots exchanged worried looks. Winston stepped protectively in front of Star.
“Please calm down, Papa!” Iridium cried.
Rackenfauz finally stopped laughing. He wiped away tears on his coat sleeve, and his face returned to a more normal shade. He turned abruptly philosophical.
“You know, it’s amazing how the end of the world influences your thinking,” he said.
“My observations, exactly,” Winston said.
“When there were billions of people on this Earth, I often wondered what it would be like if they all vanished,” Rackenfauz said. “I rather enjoyed the idea, actually.”
He patted Iri’s head affectionately.
“That’s why I created Iridium. He’s strong, self-reliant, able to blend in anywhere, and he’s not bothered by what people think of him – the way I wanted to be myself.”
“Thanks, Papa,” Iridium said.
“But now ... well, I’ve changed my point of view,” Rackenfauz said. “I want to find survivors, if there are any.”
“You wouldn’t consider coming with us back to Mech City, would you?” Winston asked.
“Absolutely not!” Rackenfauz said. “There’s nothing for me there anymore.”
“Oh, I see,” Winston said.
His fantasy of Dr. Rackenfauz blasting through Fascista and his minions vanished as quickly as it had arisen. Star quickly changed the subject.
“If Dr. Jerry Che is still alive on the West Coast,” she said, “will you be working with him?”
“Oh, yes,” Rackenfauz said. “We always got along famously. I’m just sorry he didn’t get a permanent transfer to Mech City, back in the old days. Of course, the scenery is much nicer on the west coast.”
“What was this ‘Che Syndrome’ he discovered?” Star asked.
“He didn’t discover it,” Rackenfauz said. “It was named after him by the late Dr. Giroux.”
“Would it have something to do with the psychological instability of robotic life forms who have lost their purpose for existence?” Winston asked.
“Precisely,” Rackenfauz said. “Giroux named it that because he detected similar tendencies in Dr. Che. It was a combination of acute perception and professional jealousy, I think.”
A frown darkened Star’s face. “Dr. Che was unstable?”
Rackenfauz shrugged. “I don’t know if you could put it that way exactly, but Jerry always was something of a loose cannon. Helluva smart guy, though.”
He kissed the submachine gun and tucked it back under his coat.
“Well, I’d better get busy. All of you come by the workshop for a tune up. I’ll give you an installation kit for the head, too.”
“Sure thing,” Winston said.
Rackenfauz made for the door, which was now unobstructed by birds.
“You’ll have to hoof it,” he said. “Take the stairs down to the banquet hall, then turn right.”
“Thanks for everything, Doctor,” Star said.
“All in a day’s work, young lady.”
Rackenfauz left the chamber and clattered down the stairs.
“Ah, Papa,” Iri said with deep reverence. “There’s nobody else like him.”
Star smiled and patted the little bag hanging from her shoulder. “That’s for damn sure!”
Winston flexed his repaired limb. “Boy, this feels great.”
“All it needs is a paint job and some filler for those teeth marks,” Star said, “then you’ll be quite presentable.”
“No, I’ll keep the teeth marks,” Winston said, “to remind me of my illustrious friend.”
He patted Iridium’s head. Despite himself, the great canine was highly flattered.
Wow, Iridium thought, this guy has a good brand of BS!
Suddenly, Winston jumped straight up a surprising distance.
“I feel like a grasshopper!” he cried.
“I knew Papa would fix things up good,” Iri said.
Star stroked Iridium in his favorite location under his chin and brought her lips close to one ear.
“Could I have some time alone with Winston?” she whispered.
“Sure thing,” Iri said, “see you at the workshop.”
He scampered out the door and down the stairway.
“What’s this about?” Winston asked.
“It’s about ...” Star slipped the leather bag off her shoulder and opened it. “the next stage in your evolution.”
Winston gazed into the bag, at the perfectly formed male genitalia contained within.
“Oh my!”
He stumbled back a step.
“Dr. Rackenfauz made this,” Star said hurriedly, as if she feared Winston might run away.
“I-I see,” Winston uttered through his shock.
“Jer
ry Che can install it – make you functional,” Star said. “He’s the one who made me the way I am.”
“Uh ... w-well ... ”
Winston simply could not grasp the situation in literal terms. His supercharged imagination kicked in big time.
In his mind, he was suddenly ten thousand kilometers away, standing high on a naked mountain ridge with the sharp wind swirling all around. Through the ice fog, he glimpsed Star in the distance waving to him.
She was in a bright land of wonder that Winston couldn’t possibly understand in his current state of development. All he knew was that, more than anything else in the world, he wanted to join her there – be joined to her in every sense of the word.
“Oh Winston, let’s go to the West Coast with Dr. Rackenfauz.” Star’s voice seemed distant and ethereal, beckoning like a siren song.
Yes, yes!
“If Jerry Che survived, even if it’s only a slight chance, let’s take it,” Star pleaded.
Winston stretched out his arms toward the Wonderland. He felt himself rising in ecstasy, hurtling toward ultimate fulfillment –
Then, with a total, heart wrenching effort of will, he forced himself down from his mountain peak. An almost unbearable sadness descended with him.
He shook his head.
“No, Star. We must go back to Mech City.”
The words exhausted him more than a full day of walking could have done. Star lowered her gaze.
“If we don’t get there within a couple of weeks, they’ll tear Ajax apart,” Winston said. “I gave him my word.”
Star did not reply.
“All the imprisoned robots hate me as a Fascist traitor,” Winston said. “They have plenty of reason to think that way, too.”
Still no reply. Winston groped for the clinching argument.
“Be honest, Star. Would you, deep down, respect me if I left them to their fate?”
“I knew you’d say that.” Star’s voice was faint, halting. “I know you’re right.”
Winston took her in his arms. “Once this is over, once we’ve beaten Fascista, we’ll take that trip to the West Coast.”
She gazed up at him with a hopeful, though unbelieving, expression.
“Oh, Winston, do you promise?”
“I promise – absolutely.”
But Star’s face did not brighten at these words.
“Don’t look so glum,” Winston said. “Have I ever lied to you?”
“No,” Star said.
And he wasn’t lying now. But both of them understood the terrible odds they faced.
***
A few hours of expert maintenance in the workshop had restored the robots to optimum condition. Dr. Rackenfauz set aside his tools and raised his magnification goggles.
“Is everyone all set now?” he asked.
Winston, Star, and Iri flexed their reconditioned bodies. They all nodded.
“Yes, sir,” Winston said, “we all seem to be in perfect working order.”
“That reminds me of a joke,” Rackenfauz said. “This lady asks a Scotsman: ‘Is anything worn under your kilt?’ and the Scotsman replies: ‘No ma’am, I can assure you everything is in perfect working order.’”
Rackenfauz chortled, but the robots merely stared at him.
“A Scotsman was an inhabitant of the northern British Isles, right?” Winston asked.
“Oh, just forget it,” Rackenfauz said. “I wouldn’t expect a Hungarian to understand.”
“You are referring to my last name?” Winston said. “How does that present a barrier?”
Rackenfauz gave up trying to banter with the literal-minded robot. He pointed to a sack on the work bench.
“There’s the head installation kit and some spare power cells for you,” he said.
Winston hefted the sack onto his shoulder.
“The birds will be ready to go with you tomorrow morning,” Rackenfauz said, “along with our friend over there.”
He gestured toward a shelf where Ajax’s head reposed on its ornate cushion.
“Where can we stay tonight?” Star asked.
“Pick any rooms you want,” Rackenfauz said, “you’ve got the run of the whole place.”
“I’d prefer to leave now,” Winston said. “We can meet up with the birds on the road.”
“Not a good idea,” Iri said. “There could be more scrappers out there, and they might be smarter than the last bunch.”
“Iridium’s right,” Rackenfauz said. “You’ll be a lot safer with the birds guarding you.”
“Well ...” Winston said.
He’d grown to hate the castle and yearned to escape its confines, even if that meant spending an extra night outside. He’d assumed that the others would agree with him.
“Oh, let’s stay, Winston,” Star said. “We’ve hardly seen anything of the castle. It’s so romantic.”
Romantic?
Winston would have never applied the term to this outlandish place. But if Star, with her elevated sensibilities, thought so ...
“Okay,” Winston said.
“Great!” Star took Winston’s arm. “Shall we take a look around?”
They left the workshop and toured the castle, retracing the route Dr. Rackenfauz had taken some months earlier. When Star saw the former quarters of the Big Honcho, she immediately chose them for their night’s lodging.
Throughout the tour, Iri lagged behind, completely uninterested. But when they reached the iron door blocking the basement entrance, his fur bristled.
“What’s wrong?” Star asked.
Iri sniffed at the bottom of the door and scratched his claws around the edges.
“I don’t know,” Iri said. “It just doesn’t feel right, somehow.”
“This whole place is screwy,” Winston said. “Let’s call it a day.”
53: Clearing Out
Early next morning, the robots bid Dr. Rackenfauz a cordial good-bye and cleared out of Pickle Lake Castle. They could have waited for the mech birds to transport them to the trailhead, but no one wanted to endure another vertiginous flight.
So, while the mech birds made their preparations, Winston, Star, and Iri began their descent on foot to the main road. Their route took them down the steep castle slope and around the shores of Pickle Lake.
Everywhere the signs of recovering biological life were evident. Fish moved about the lake shallows nipping at insects hovering over the surface. On the shore, tiny rodents dodged among the stones and flowering plants. A snake slithered past. An occasional non-mechanical bird fluttered overhead.
“I love this!” Star cried. “It’s like the old days, isn’t it?”
Winston laughed at the notion of “the old days” which had only vanished quite recently.
“Yes, Star, it was just like this, back in the old days.”
Winston was in an exuberant mood, bounding along on his refurbished legs, kicking pebbles before him. For the first time since he’d left home, the world blazed with promise. Star gamboled after him down the pathway. Then she pulled ahead, and her sensuous figure added to the vista.
Only Iridium remained unmoved. “Be careful what you wish for, folks,” he muttered.
As he brought up the rear of the descent, the great canine frequently glanced back at the castle. He had the queasy sensation that the building, or something within it, was watching them – not Papa or the mech birds, but something else cold and malignant.
I’m just spooked by that basement door, he thought. Maybe I should have tried to break through.
Iridium didn’t like such mysteries. He was a creature of independent action, and the forced confinement of the past few days had been highly stressful. So, it only made sense that he’d developed some warped perceptions, he reasoned. The Castle disappeared from view, and Iri shoved his paranoid notions out of his consciousness.
***
They reached the edge of the tree line. The larger trees were mostly dead, but new saplings were popping up eve
rywhere. As they moved downhill through the forest, patches of green constantly interrupted the brown monotony. These plants had the vigorous aspect of pioneers, not the fading countenance of life in retreat.
“Welcome back!” Winston cried.
But all too soon they were fully within the dead zone. Bare, towering trunks of slain trees hemmed them in now, and a rank carpet of needles slowed their pace. The atmosphere turned sullen, and acrid undertones polluted the air.
“Yes ... welcome back,” Star said.
Her face had turned as grim as the surroundings. Winston wrapped an arm over her shoulder.
“Cheer up, Star. At least now we know that something better exists.”
“Of course, Winston. I’ll try to remember that.”
He perused his library banks for some topic that could brighten her mood – something related to the West Coast trip she so fervently desired. He found it among his language dictionaries.
“I should have thought of this before,” he said. “Che must be a Korean name – although Jerry certainly is not. Once we find him, we’ll have to ask about that.”
Star answered with a pallid smile.
I guess that didn’t work too well, Winston thought.
Winston’s own contemplations began to turn gloomy, and he gave voice to an idea that had been rattling around his brain for some time:
“You know, Star, a common theme running through human literature is ...”
He paused, reflecting on the redundancy of the term “human literature.” What other kind of literature was there?
The Manifesto of Roboto Fascism, of course. It may have drawn inspiration from the worst sludge ever written by human beings, but it had a distinct robotic flavor as well. It was the first literary product of the new world culture.
Ugh!
Fascista Ultimo suddenly assumed a terrible reality, as if he were walking with them through the dead woodland. Winston could almost feel the heavy arm draped over his shoulders, could almost hear the wheedling voice ...
“What theme were you talking about?” Star asked.
“Uh, yeah.” Winston struggled to reorient his thoughts. “Numerous stories in human literature relate how parents victimized their children by dumping their negative emotions upon them.”
“What negative emotions?” Star asked.
“Well, their feelings of frustration and failure – their hatred for other people and their sense of inadequacy.”
Star nodded.
“They did this even when they loved their offspring,” Winston said, “as if they were forced by some terrible compulsion. These acts of selfishness caused untold harm to their kids.”