by Brian Bakos
Near the tool piles stood a bigger than life sized statue of Fascista Ultimo. Clawfurt had chain sawed its general form out of a dead tree trunk, Quincy and Jack had put on the finishing touches. The end result was a towering monstrosity that did full justice to its subject.
Quincy had depicted Fascista’s shriveled pin head with ruthless exactitude. The massive peaked cap sitting upon it added a final touch of hilarity – not that anyone dared to laugh. A bronze plaque at the base of the stature bore the inscription:
BELIEVE! OBEY! FIGHT!
The clattering strains of the Youth March sounded from the back of the plaza. The Youth League members, dressed in their crisp brown uniforms, marched down the aisle with jack boots stomping, drums beating, and banner flying. Fritz and Edwina led the procession decked out in their medals and sashes. Humble little Albert trailed behind with the blaring boom box on his shoulder.
The young Fascists turned a sharp right face and took up position in front of the speaker’s podium. The infernal pounding of their drums ceased abruptly. A minute of tense silence blanketed the world.
Then Fascista Ultimo entered the square resplendent in a new brown uniform, expertly tailored to show off his bulging physique. Medals adorned his chest along with a magnificent sash. The red fabric sliced across his body like a great wound. A towering military cap completed his décor.
“Hail Ultimo!” The Youth League members cried in unison.
“Hail!” Fascista replied.
The drums thundered back to life. March of the Great Revolutionary Leader vomited from the Boom Box.
Fascista Ultimo strutted down the aisle with his arm upraised in acknowledgment of his minions. Squadristi escorted him to the platform and flanked the stairs as he ascended them majestically. He took his place behind the podium, looking out at the crowd over his jutting chin.
After another dramatic pause, Fascista gestured toward the back of the square. Ajax then appeared, flanked by Comrade Drone and Clawfurt, who was wielding a chainsaw in his normal hand. The drums pounded a grim cadence. Albert switched the boom box to a funeral dirge.
Oh man, Albert thought, I’d rather be dismembered myself than see this!
Ajax’s hands were tied behind his back, but he walked proud and erect toward the scaffold, as if he were going to a coronation instead of an execution. As he passed the metal men, they offered him encouragement, despite the threatening growls of their captors.
“Bravo Ajax ... be brave ... you’re the best ...”
***
Iridium had seen enough. He detached himself from concealment and charged out of town.
56: The Best Laid Plans
Winston stood upon the hillside gazing out toward Mech City nestled in its valley and bracketed by its lakes. The town was only a few kilometers off, its outlines obscured somewhat by haze, but the look in Winston’s eyes pierced beyond it to the infinite and eternal.
Confidence flowed through his circuits. Iridium the Swift, his loyal and capable minion, was on the job now and success was only a question of time – once the unpleasant matter of a battle was disposed of. But his stratagem would certainly minimize the fuss, and they had plenty of time to put it into effect.
If only he could quell this disagreeable sense of foreboding that hovered around him like a swarm of mech bugs. He shifted his position and placed his hands on his hips, as Ultimo was wont to do.
There, that’s better.
He felt himself to be the latest in a series of heroic leaders – Alexander the Great, Napoleon, Jimmy Carter. Or perhaps Winston Churchill, who shared his name and who had also struck down a Fascist tyrant.
These others had been mere humans, though, and now it was the Roboto Democratic Era. A time for new and better heroes.
We need a historian to chronicle these events and make sure that proper credit is given where it’s due, he thought. Guess I’ll have to take care of that function myself.
Star approached. “What are you thinking, Winston?”
He turned toward her, rotating slowly so as to give an extended view of his best profile.
“I’m thinking that victory will soon be ours,” he said.
“Oh, Winston!” She took his arm. “It’s hard to believe that we’ve come this far.”
“Yes,” he replied, “things have gone remarkably well, haven’t they?”
“Better than I dared to dream.” Star kissed his cheek. “Without you I’d be ruined. I’d be Fascista’s concubine, and who knows what perverted desires he has?”
They both peered off into the distance now and crafted their visions for the glorious future. Winston saw a gleaming metropolis ahead filled with grateful followers. Star envisioned a broad highway running through Mech City, then turning abruptly and heading off toward the West Coast. Then –
“What’s that?” Star said.
Winston strained his optical sensors. “Why, I believe it’s Iridium.”
They watched as Iri tore down the road toward them. He was moving even faster than when he’d chased down the scrapper vehicle.
“My, he sure can run,” Star said.
“Yes ...”
Winston was feeling very uneasy. Napoleon started fading into the background, and the imaginary mech bug swarm grew thicker. Iri charged up the hill and came to an abrupt halt before them.
“Ah, Iridium,” Winston said, “We were just – ”
“They’re getting ready to chop Ajax!” Iri cried. “In the square by the bomb crater.”
The last of Winston’s confidence vanished like a puff of smoke.
“W-what did you say?” he gasped.
“You heard. We gotta move, now!” Iridium shouted.
He charged the bird heap, howling like a fire alarm and gesturing toward Mech City. The birds exploded aloft in a massive cloud, taking Ajax’s head with them.
Iri turned back toward Winston. “Let’s go all ready!”
Winston struggled out of his shocked inertia. Moving automatically, as if in Zombie mode, he assembled his weapon and grabbed the tool bag.
“Remain here, Star,” he ordered.
She was already on her scooter, though, with her club secured to the handlebar.
“Fat chance of that,” she said.
Iri was gone. Winston and Star followed on their scooters, moving so fast downhill that the birds fell rapidly behind.
From his lofty position at the podium, Fascista Ultimo looked about the square with deep satisfaction. Everything was arrayed perfectly: Clawfurt stood beside him, chainsaw in hand, representing the brute force necessary to maintain the Fascist state. The Youth League members formed an honor guard before him, representing the future of the movement.
The metal man slaves stood quiet and obedient in their ranks – the labor required to construct the monuments of the New Order. Squadristi wolves guarded them, ready to crush the first sign of rebellion.
And lastly, the race traitor Ajax stood tied to a post on the far end of the platform, dramatic proof of the fate reserved for all opponents of the Roboto Fascist regime. Yes, everything was in perfect working order. And Fascista Ultimo himself stood at the head like a mighty force of nature – one will commanding all.
“Hail, my loyal followers!” he bellowed.
“Hail!” Clawfurt and the Youth League members shouted back: “Fascista leads, we obey!”
The Squadristi wolves howled agreement. Comrade Drone, who was standing by the pile of tools, was too dumb to say anything, of course, but his reassuring bulk added solidity to the occasion.
“We gather here to mete out justice.” Fascista gestured toward Ajax. “And after we have dispatched this race traitor, it will be time for work!”
He looked out over the captives.
“As metal men, hard labor is your destiny,” he said. “Work is useful. Work makes freedom – blah ba-blah blah blah!”
Iridium the Swift approached the traffic circle on the western edge of town. His speed amazed him, but he ha
d no time to reflect upon it. He simply charged ahead in a blur of flawless coordination.
Papa built me strong!
His claws beat an urgent message on the pavement: Get there! Get there! Get there!
Fascista addressed his remarks to the Youth League now, working himself up into a histrionic frenzy of shouts and flailing arms. Clawfurt rolled aside to avoid getting smacked.
“This is only the beginning!” Fascista roared. “Greatness, honor, strength! We can be happy in the knowledge that the future belongs wholly to us!”
His followers bleated approval.
“Blah ba-blah blah!” Fascista cried. “And furthermore ...”
Winston gained the traffic circle, scootering at unprecedented speed. The tool bag nearly unbalanced him as he whipped around the curve, a thrust from his powerful new leg kept him steady. The ground was level now, but he maintained the furious pace he’d set on the downhill slope.
With her superior coordination, Star closed the distance with Winston in the traffic circle until she was only a few meters behind him. She chanced a glimpse over her shoulder. The mech birds had fallen back quite a distance.
“Hurry up!” she shouted at them. “This is no tea party!”
Fascista Ultimo completed his oration with a thundering flourish:
“And in conclusion, let me just say to all my loyal followers blah ba-blah blah blah!”
A profound hush blanketed the square. Elation glowed on every acolyte’s face, stunned horror disfigured every metal man’s countenance. Then the Youth League broke the silence:
“Hail Ultimo!” they cried. “Fascista leads, we obey!”
A chorus of mech wolf howls accompanied the tribute. Clawfurt’s bellowing shook the earth. Fascista regarded his loyal followers with a happy, benign little smile. He held up his hands, and silence instantly returned. Then, as if he were announcing the start of a birthday party game, he said:
“Let the good times roll!”
Clawfurt rumbled into action, wheeling slowly across the platform toward Ajax. Fascista observed his progress with an eager leer; triumphant hatred flashed in his eyes. The Youth League members all swiveled their heads up like a single machine. Their drums throbbed a savage rhythm.
“Play The Execution Song, metal man,” Fritz ordered.
Albert only lowered his head. No amount of coercion could compel him to play the ghastly anthem.
“I’ll deal with you later,” Fritz snarled.
Rrrrrrr! Clawfurt fired up his chainsaw.
A horrified gasp issued from the metal man captives. Clawfurt looked back toward his master.
“Execute sentence, Comrade,” Fascista said.
Clawfurt was at the stake now, his chain saw roaring like some primeval beast. The magnificent warrior robot steeled himself for the end.
Be brave, Ajax, it’s time to meet the Great Technician in the Sky!
The chainsaw made contact with his chest, sparks flew in a diabolical shower.
57: The Posse Arrives
Iridium burst into the square like a thunderbolt and rushed straight for the platform. Half way there, he rocked back on his haunches thrusting his forelegs upward. Every hair of his glittering coat bristled.
“Stop!” he commanded.
The throng of metal men turned toward him, astonishment etched on their faces. The mech wolves cowered at the sight of their alpha male. The chainsaw faded to idle, leaving a long, superficial gouge on Ajax’s torso. Clawfurt swiveled away from his victim and fixed lifeless eyes on the interloper.
“Hail Iridium,” Ajax shouted, “hero of many colors!”
Wha-ooooo!!
Iri’s howl echoed off the adjacent buildings like the announcement of judgment day. A wall collapsed in one of the charred wrecks.
Iridium charged the platform.
“Desist, bandit!” Fascista cried.
He ducked behind the podium, but the attacker was not coming for him. It made straight for Clawfurt in a chromatic blur streaking across the plaza. Sparks flew where its claws struck the paving stones.
Iridium leaped, jaws snapping – but his enemy proved faster.
Thunk!
Clawfurt thrust out his immense talon and snatched Iri by the throat in midair. He proceeded to shake the big canine violently and slam him against the platform edge.
Crash! Bam!
The platform shook from the terrible blows until it seemed ready to collapse. Fascista clung desperately to the podium, which was bolted to the floor boards. His great military cap tumbled off his head.
Rattle! Gag! Choke!
Iri fought with every milligram of his waning strength, but could not break Clawfurt’s grip. His eyes bulged, his tongue flopped out.
Then, with a contemptuous motion as he if were discarding a sack of garbage, Clawfurt flung the great canine down. Iridium bounced off the pavement with a resounding thud, then came to rest in a splayed heap near the platform.
He lay paralyzed, his coat faded to gray. A horrified gasp shot through the prisoners.
“Ugh ...” Iri groaned. “I’m one wrecked puppy dog.”
“Hurrah!” cheered the Youth League members.
They’d concealed themselves beneath the platform but had now remerged bravely into view. The mech wolves remained silent, trying to comprehend the situation with their dull minds.
Winston gained the square now, followed closely by Star Power.
“Iri!” they cried in agonized unison.
They ran across the square and halted before their stricken friend. The mech wolves were still too immobilized with confusion to stop them.
“Oh, no,” Winston sagged against Star like a puppet with its strings cut.
“Poor Iri!” Tears welled up in Star’s eyes.
“Good to see you two again,” Iri moaned. “Pardon me for not standing up.”
“Ohhh, you poor dear.” Star stroked the great canine’s head. Her tears were flowing freely now.
The mech wolves were recovering their senses. A troop of the beasts closed in on them, cutting off any possibility of escape.
“Back to back!” Winston cried.
He and Star confronted the mech wolves, weapons at the ready.
“Better not try to resist,” Iri said, “you don’t have a chance.”
Winston regarded the snarling ring of bared teeth.
“He’s right, Star.”
They dropped their weapons. The clatter of metal against stone seemed as loud as gunfire amid the deathly quiet of the plaza. Then –
“Boss!” Jimmy’s voice emerged from the crowd. “I knew you’d come back!”
Winston turned to see his old friend waving his arms frantically from the midst of the captive ranks.
“Hello, Jimmy!” He returned the wave.
“Boss!” Sam was calling out now, then other captives took up the shout.
“The Boss is here!”
Despite the awful circumstances, Winston’s spirits lifted. He wanted to approach his foremen and the other members of his work crew. He wanted to wrap his arms around them and bask in their approval. But threatening growls from the mech wolves froze him in place.
Fascista Ultimo nudged his head out from behind the podium and glanced about, wide-eyed.
“Is everything all right?” he squeaked.
“The situation is back under control, Ultimo,” Clawfurt intoned.
A triumphant smile inched across Fascista’s face. He stood and brushed himself off with his beefy hands – though he was careful to remain behind the lectern’s protection.
“Excellent work, party comrade,” he said. “There’s a medal for you in this.”
Clawfurt made a stiff bow. “Many thanks, Great Leader. Shall I resume the execution?”
Fascista emerged from behind the podium now and adjusted his rumpled party uniform, paying particular attention to the splendid red sash. His dominating air returned.
“In a minute, party comrade,” he said.
“I wish to deal with these other traitors first.”
Fascista retrieved his cap from the floor. Unfortunately he’d stepped on it while getting up and the thing was squashed flat as a pancake. He tossed it aside and jumped off the platform making the ground shake from the impact of his landing.
He strode toward the rebels like some wrathful ogre. Fritz and Edwina detached themselves from the Youth League rank and followed him.
Winston and Star clung to each other.
“This is it,” Winston whispered. “I hope our allies don’t let us down.”
Fascista stood before them now, hands rolled into fists and jammed imperiously against his flanks.
“Well, well,” he said, “wasn’t that little interruption amusing?”
“Not to anyone decent,” Star shot back. “And didn’t you look silly hiding up there like a mech bunny?”
F.U.’s face darkened. “Why ... I’ll ...”
Rage and humiliation choked him. He turned his attention toward Winston, who shrank under the curdling scowl.
“Thought you could get away with being a race traitor, huh?” Fascista said. “And after everything I’ve done for you. Ingrate!”
For a moment, Winston was too scared to reply, but he soon regained some composure. Star’s defiance, plus the spectacle of Fascista’s cowardice behind the podium gave him the courage to lash out.
“Which race is that, Dear Leader,” he said, “the race to the bottom?”
Fascista recoiled at this double-barreled rebuke. He was so furious that his vision started to turn black. Or was it actually getting darker out here?
“There is room on the scaffold for these traitors, Ultimo,” Fritz said. “I would be honored to escort them there.”
“Yeah, right,” Fascista said. “Clawfurt would soon knock the sass out of them.”
“Treason must be stamped out ruthlessly!” Edwina cried.
Fascista turned back toward Star. She looked brazenly into his eyes.
“How dare you refuse to be my Ultimina,” he said. “Any other female bot would kill for the honor.”
“Oh, that was no problem at all, ugly boy.” Star glanced upward. “And, unless I’m mistaken, you’re about to get your clockwork cleaned.”
Fascista’s wrath blared out in a single command. “Seize them!”
Fritz grasped Winston’s arm. Mech wolves crowded in.
“Not so fast, Frankenstein,” Winston said. “This party is about to get crashed.”