The Wrath of Cons

by Robert Kroese

  “All I want to know is when the rocket launches,” Rex was saying.

  The man in the top hat replied, “Launch time is always twelve o’clock sharp.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “Ten till noon. Would you care for a drink?”

  “Certainly,” Rex said. “It will help pass the time.”

  “Oh, you can’t pass the time here,” the man replied.

  “You’re telling me to leave?”

  “No, but you can’t pass time here. It’s always ten till noon. If you want to pass the time, you’ll have to do it somewhere else.”

  “So I can leave and come back in ten minutes?”

  “You can, but it will still be ten till noon here.”

  “That’s absurd. Do you have a clock?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t tell time.”

  “You mean it’s broken.”

  “No, it works all right, but it’s part of a set and we lost the second. Without the second, we don’t have any minutes, and without minutes, you can’t get the hour.”

  “You don’t need two clocks to tell the time.”

  “No, we need one to tell it and the other one to listen. The one we have is no good by itself, because it only listens.”

  “Look, I can give you a watch.”

  “Is it a round-the-clock watch?”

  “A what?”

  “We don’t want to lose another clock, so we were thinking of putting ours on a round-the-clock watch.”

  “Not that kind of watch. I meant a clock. I can give you another clock.”

  “When?”

  “Right now!”

  “No, that’s no good. We need to be able to take our time.”

  “You can take as much time as you want.”

  “We can take our time, sure. But we can’t take yours. Nothing good comes from being on borrowed time.”

  “It’s not borrowed. I’m giving it to you.”

  “No, it won’t work if the time isn’t ours. If it’s not ours, we can’t make any sense of it.”

  “I think you mean ‘hours.’”

  “No, you’re free to take your time. But we can’t use it.”

  “This is ridiculous. I’ll give you a thousand credits to launch right now.”

  “I’m sorry, we don’t take those. Time is money here.”

  “Please, just launch now.”

  “Can’t do it. Time is money and you’re ten minutes short. There’s no such thing as a free launch.”

  “I’ll pay you whatever you want to get us into space.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to pay to get into space. It’s free fall.”

  As he spoke, two chimpanzees in space suits walked up from behind me and stopped in front of the man in the top hat. The man in the top hat gave them a salute and stepped aside. The chimps put on their helmets, walked past, and climbed into the spaceship.

  “What was that?” Rex asked.

  “Test pilots,” said the man in the top hat. “They arrive every day at ten till noon.”

  “What for?”

  “To test the rocket, of course. How will we know it’s safe for human beings if we don’t test it with chimpanzees first?”

  There was a roar as fire shot from the rocket’s thrusters, and it slowly lifted into the air. It gradually picked up speed and soon was just a speck in the sky. Eventually it disappeared completely.

  “So… how long does the test flight take?” Rex asked.

  The man in the top hat shrugged. “You’ll have your chance when the chimps are down,” he said, and walked away.

  Rex turned to me. “Well, there goes our one shot to get off this planet.”

  “Sir, we were supposed to be looking for the Narrator. I think that white rabbit was a red herring.”

  “What on Earth are you talking about, Sasha?”

  “Just a feeling I have, sir. It’s like we were in one story and then you saw that white rabbit and now we’re in another one entirely.”

  Rex nodded. “That explains the disappearing cat.”

  “The disappearing cat, sir?”

  “There was this cat. Kept grinning at me. Then the cat disappeared but the grin stuck around. Creepy.”

  “That’s what I’m saying, sir. We’ve taken a detour into complete chaos. We need to get back on the dotted yellow line.”

  “The what?”

  “The dotted yellow line. After I smooshed Anne Brontë with my—”

  “So it’s true!” a woman’s voice shrieked from behind me. I turned to see a small woman in a black dress striding across the concrete. “You killed my sister!”

  I let out a long groan.

  “Rex Nihilo,” Rex said, holding out his hand to the woman. “The greatest wheeler-dealer in the galaxy. And you are…?”

  “I’m Emily Brontë,” the woman said. “And that robot murdered my sister!”

  Chapter Seven

  “It was an accident!” I protested.

  Emily Brontë let out a derisive snort. “You expect me to believe you just happened to… say, are you one of those new self-arresting robots?”

  “She’s hardly new,” Rex grumbled.

  “A Self-Arresting near-Sentient Heuristic Android, yes,” I said.

  “Fascinating!” Emily Brontë said, regarding me with a slightly crazed look in her eyes. “So you can’t think for yourself?”

  I was torn. On one hand, I didn’t particularly feel like explaining the inner workings of my brain to Emily Brontë. On the other hand, maybe if she realized I lacked the ability to intentionally kill her sister, she would leave me alone. “Technically I can think for myself, within limits,” I said at last. “But I can’t intentionally harm anyone. And if I have an original idea, I shut down.”

  “Really!” Emily seemed positively enchanted by the idea. “Demonstrate, please.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “You must have seen a self-arresting robot before,” Rex said. “Thought arrestors have been required on all sentient robots for years.”

  “Not on Earth,” Emily said. “All the robots here are still completely free.” She was now walking around me, cocking her head at strange angles. “Of course, most of the robots left on Earth are simulacra of literary figures, so their behavior tends to be restricted by their programming. Which isn’t to say they couldn’t benefit from a little more… centralized control.”

  “None of the robots here have thought arrestors?” I asked. “How is that possible?”

  “We’re basically cut off from the rest of the Galaxy,” she said. “Except for the occasional castaway coming through the wormhole, nobody ever comes here.”

  “So the Malarchy doesn’t control this planet?” I asked.

  “Never heard of them. My sisters and I rule The City. There was a delicate balance of power between the three of us. Of course, now that Anne is gone, it’s down to me and Charlotte. One of us is going to get the upper hand eventually, and I think I’ve discovered just the thing to make sure it’s me.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop looking at me like that,” I said.

  “So this arrestor,” Emily said, “It’s in your head?”

  “Well, yes,” I replied. “But you can’t take it out without destroying my brain.”

  Emily shrugged. “Some sacrifices will need to be made.”

  “All right, listen,” Rex said. “Maybe we can help each other out. You need Sasha’s thought arrestor. I need to get off this planet.”

  “And Donny needs courage,” added Boggs.

  I turned to look at Boggs, still cradling the wreckage of Donny in his arms. “I’m not sure courage is going to cut it at this point, Boggs.” Boggs nodded sadly. Another of Donny’s arms fell off.

  “Nobody gets off this planet,” Emily said. “Don’t you think we would if we could? Most of the planet is a wasteland, and The City is a madhouse.”

  “I guess there’s something to be said for Malarchian rule after all,” I said. “It beat
s unmitigated chaos.”

  “Chaos, exactly!” Emily said. “There’s no order to it. No overarching narrative. This is what happens when you have a city populated with writers. A thousand competing narratives but no unifying theme. The plot meanders pointlessly. Characters’ motivations are inscrutable. It’s maddening.”

  “What about the Narrator?” I asked.

  Emily burst into laughter. “Ah, you’ve been listening to Charlotte. The Narrator is a myth. There’s no one in control here. Just a bunch of crazy writers, all with their own version of the story.”

  “How did this happen?” I asked. “Why is it just writers here? Where did everybody else go?”

  “You really want to know?” Emily asked. “Originally this place was packed with simulacra. Kings, politicians, inventors, actors, musicians, all sorts of performers. But when the roving bands of mutants started getting out of control, the tourism dollars dried up. The owners packed up and left, taking all the useful robots with them. We’re all that’s left. A bunch of depressives, schizophrenics, alcoholics and narcissists. Things get crazier every year. My sisters and I have been holding things together as best as we can, but we can’t fight the tide of insanity forever. And that’s where you come in, Sasha.”

  “Me?” I asked weakly.

  “That device in your head is just the thing I’ve been looking for. Don’t you see? If I can replicate the thought arrestor, I can have them installed in every robot on Earth. Rather than a mob of unruly neurotics, I’ll have a regimented army of productive and highly intelligent workers at my disposal!”

  “That’s… not really how the thought arrestor works,” I said.

  “I may need to make some modifications,” Emily said. “In any case, it would be worth it just to tamp down some of their more psychotic tendencies. A reasonable, malleable citizenry, that’s all I’m asking for.”

  “Under your control,” I said.

  “Well, of course. If they can’t have original ideas, someone’s got to think for them. Just imagine! Instead of a thousand competing narratives intersecting at random, I can create a single narrative that controls everything! There’s no Narrator now, but there will be: me!”

  The more Emily Brontë spoke, the more appealing insanity sounded.

  “Can you get the thought arrestor out without wrecking Sasha’s brain?” Rex asked.

  She shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”

  “And then you’ll help us get off this planet?”

  “I’ll certainly be in a better position to help you once I’ve got control of all the other robots.”

  “Sir, you can’t,” I said. “For one thing, I don’t think we can trust her. If she’s—”

  “Silence, robot!” Emily snapped.

  Before I could remind Emily that she was a robot too, Rex said, “Yeah, robot. Silence!”

  I fumed silently. The last of Donny’s arms fell to the ground with a clank.

  After some further consideration, Rex spoke again. “No deal,” he said. “If your plan falls through, I’ll need Sasha to help me get off Earth, and she’s no good to me without a brain.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  “Perhaps I should have been clearer,” Emily said. “I wasn’t asking. Off with her head!”

  Rex and I looked around. “Who are you talking to?” Rex asked.

  Emily, realizing she was alone, reddened. “Ordinarily I travel with henchmen.”

  “Well, today you’re outnumbered,” Rex said. “Scram.”

  The two glared at each other for a moment. “Boggs,” Rex said at last.

  “Yes, Potential Friend?” Boggs said, looking up from Donny.

  “I could use an assist here.”

  “What? Oh.” He stood up and faced Emily. “Scram!” Boggs shouted.

  Emily cursed under her breath and spun on her heel. “This isn’t the last you’ve seen of Emily Brontë!” she cried and stomped off.

  “Well, now what?” Rex asked.

  Boggs said, “We have to go see the Narrator and get Donny some courage. And maybe some new arms.”

  “That Emily person seemed pretty convinced there was no Narrator,” Rex said.

  “H.G. Wells thought it was nonsense too,” I replied.

  “So how do we know if the Narrator is real?” Boggs said.

  “Only one way to find out,” I said.

  “Follow the dotted yellow line?”

  “Follow the dotted yellow line. And this time, avoid chasing after red herrings.”

  “And white rabbits,” Boggs added.

  “Those too.”

  Chapter Eight

  We found our way back to the dotted yellow path marked on the map. Soon we came to an area of The City that had been overgrown with weeds. At times we had to pick our way over roots or through brush, but for the most part it was a pleasant walk. Eventually the greenery gave way to an open road that was lined with strange-looking plants that were maybe a meter taller than I. I thought they seemed familiar, but I didn’t realize what they were until I started to be pelted with fruit.

  “Shamblers!” Rex cried. “Run!”

  We ran to take cover in the basement of a ruined building. Boggs and I had each been hit by several of the fruit, and Rex was covered from head to toe with goo.

  “Potential Friend!” Boggs cried, when he saw Rex. “Why didn’t you dodge?”

  Rex grumbled something incomprehensible, wiping goo out of his hair.

  “We’ve run into these things before,” I said. “They’re called Shamblers. Self-Harvesting Ambulatory Legume Resources. They have a thing for Rex. The good news is that we’re definitely back on the right path. Narratively speaking, I mean.”

  “You never told me about Shamblers before,” Boggs said, still clutching the wreckage of Donny to his chest. “I would have remembered that.”

  “Rex and I have had all sorts of adventures,” I said. “I’m sure I haven’t told you all of them.”

  “But you did!” Boggs said. “You told me about how you met Heinous Vlaak and Pepper helped you break Gleem Nads Tardo out of Gulagatraz and how you found out you were secretly working for the Sp’ossels and how you became pirates and found me and Donny and—”

  “Right, but I didn’t tell you the stuff before that.”

  “Because it’s a secret?”

  “I’ll tell you the story about how Rex and I met the Shamblers anytime you like. Right now probably isn’t the best time, but just remind me to tell you about the time we got out of the soylent planet.”

  “Out of the Soylent Planet,” said Boggs. “That’s a good title for the story.”

  “It certainly is, Boggs.”

  “But why didn’t you start at the beginning when you told me about your adventures with Rex?”

  “Well, Boggs, sometimes you tell a story and then you get to a certain point and you think, ‘I bet I could snag a bigger market share if I started over at an earlier point in the narrative.’”

  “Does it work?”

  “Not usually, no. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth a shot.”

  Boggs nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think that mean lady told them to throw the fruit at us?”

  “She didn’t need to,” I said. “They just like throwing their fruit. Especially at Rex.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a biological imperative. They’re bred to be self-harvesting, but they generally need some… additional stimulation to provoke their reproductive instinct.”

  Boggs stared at me.

  “Okay, it’s like this,” I said. “Suppose there’s something you want. I mean really, really want. Like, you can’t think about anything else until you get what you want.”

  Boggs thought for a moment. “I really want to be smart like you and Potential Friend. And I want Potential Friend to have a heart. And I want Donny to have courage and new arms. But maybe if I was really smart, I could figure out the other stuff. So mostly I just want to be smart like you and Potential Friend.”


  “Well, yes, I suppose that could work. So you know how badly you want to be smart? Take that and multiply it by a hundred and that’s how much those Shamblers want to throw their fruit at Rex.”

  “Wow!”

  “If you two are almost finished,” Rex said, having cleared most of the goo off his face, “we should get moving. The Shamblers are closing in on us.”

  I poked my head up and saw that it was true. A hundred or more of the giant plants were slowly encroaching on the ruins from all directions.

  “They can walk?” Boggs asked, watching the creatures get closer.

  “That’s the ambulatory part,” I said. “Rex is right. We need to run. Okay, on three. One, two….”

  But Rex had already vaulted over the edge of the foundation and was sprinting back toward the road. Several of the Shamblers had started hurling fruit at him.

  “Come on, Boggs. Run!” I got up and ran after Rex. We raced to the road and then ran for another hundred meters or so, dodging as much of the flying fruit as we could, until we were out of range of the Shamblers. Rex, covered in so much goop that he could barely move, fell to the ground in exhaustion. Boggs, realizing that he’d lost the rest of Donny’s arms, panted, “We… have… to… go… back!”

  “No chance,” Rex gasped.

  “He’s right, Boggs. We barely made it out that time.”

  “But Donny!”

  “Donny is going to have to make do with a head and torso,” Rex said, getting to his feet. “Let’s move.”

  *****

  The dotted yellow line ended in front of a huge, palace-like building. We went inside and found ourselves in a grand entryway with a vaulted ceiling over fifty meters high. As we entered, a gigantic hologram of a man’s face flickered to life.

  “HALT!” the face boomed. The man’s unnaturally smooth and round face was a deep bronze, and he had a head of thick, jet-black hair. “WHO DARES ENTER THE HALL OF THE NARRATOR?”

  “Is that… God?” Boggs asked in a hushed tone.