by Mark Roman
Olli had lain down and pressed his audio equipment to the desert ground, listening for tell-tale vibrations transmitted through the bedrock. Nothing at first, but then he detected the distinctive rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker. Smart enough to know there were no woodpeckers on Mars, he rose in a state of excited agitation and signalled to the others. He stretched out one of his appendages.
Like meerkats the robots stood rigidly upright and tuned their visual and acoustic scanners in the direction that Olli was indicating. Through the shimmering light of the dust-laden atmosphere a flickering mirage-like figure appeared on the horizon. And then he was gone. And then he was back again. Gone. Back.
With power turned to max, the robots motored across the desert at a breakneck 4mph, not caring about the rocks they ran over that threatened to damage their various wheels, tracks and metal feet. InspectaBot, curious to see where they were charging at such speed, ambled after them.
Olli was first to arrive, shortly followed by the others, with InspectaBot casually sauntering up to join them. There, some twenty metres away, was the surreal and vast assembly of landers, rovers, probes and robotic vehicles, a giant among robots, towering high above them. His back was turned so he was unaware of their arrival. They watched him pluck a rock from the ground, turn it carefully this way and that, then pepper it with drill holes and finally smash it to smithereens with his sledgehammer arm. It was an impressive sight and they nodded approvingly at each other. Even InspectaBot was intrigued. He observed Karl raise another rock and repeat the procedure. Inspection and destructive testing. InspectaBot had heard about such a methodology at Inspector School back on Earth and was eager to see more.
But Stan, so impressed by the sight of the King, suddenly started clapping quite loudly.
Karl turned to see where the noise had come from. His old Betamax video camera zoomed at them for a second or two before some ear-jarring feedback issued from one of his powerful speakers. The robots fell silent and readied themselves for the King’s first momentous words.
As they watched the rock being brutally pounded into dust, they heard a faint, high-pitched signal that seemed to originate from somewhere on Karl’s massive body.
They exchanged glances. Then a glint of metal caught Olli’s attention. The head of a tiny arachno-bot had poked out from Karl’s undercarriage ventilation grille. Its array of black beady compound eyes peered at them. One of the eyes appeared to have a monocle attached to it. The diminutive robotic creature was beating a small walking cane against the edge of the vent opening to attract their attention.
The robo-spider paused for a moment as he considered the question, continuing to tap his walking cane on Karl’s bodywork. He was adept at thinking on his feet, what with having eight of them, and saw a great opportunity opening up for him. He was inside one of the dumbest, yet most powerful, robots he’d ever come across. If he played his cards right he could make this combination of power and stupidity work to his advantage. With a little luck Webster could throw away his valeting equipment once and for all.
But first he had to engage in a little spin-doctoring and ‘big up’ Karl’s reputation.
As if on cue, Karl cast a glance back over his shoulder and yelled,
The robots trembled at the force of his transmission.
<’Get rocks’?> suggested Olli.
Still at the back of the group, InspectaBot picked up a curiously-shaped rock from the ground and stepped forward to fulfil the King’s request, holding the rock up as high as his outstretched pincer arm would stretch, offering it for inspection. He had never been so completely impressed by another robot in all his life. A deep respect now filled him for, standing before him, was a master of his craft, exercising his exceptional abilities. InspectaBot had always considered himself the best inspection robot ever built but he had never reckoned on someone like Karl Eckrocks. For Karl Eckrocks was able to carry out an inspection without the benefit of blueprints or plans or detailed diagrams. His rock inspection appeared to be based on an innate feeling for how a rock should look, how a rock should feel and how a rock should crumble to dust when pounded. Now that was inspecting!
Seeing that InspectaBot had beaten them to it, the other robots hurriedly gathered rocks of offering and held them out.
The monster looked up from his task and momentarily peered at their rocks before turning away to scan the horizon.
Karl became still as he spotted a new landscape feature in the distance.
Webster was bouncing with glee.
Karl’s internal circuitry had decided that he must head towards the crater for a better chance of detecting life.
For once Olli seemed incapable of translating.
Webster became a little jittery, fearing he was losing them.
Webster quickly translated.
Karl edged forward, but movement was becoming more and more difficult as his ancient components showed their age.
Webster was getting into the swing of it now.
T. ALL MY LEADS ARE MISSING.>
Webster blinked all of his compound eyes at once at the challenge he’d been set. But within seconds he came up with,
The robots with knees, including InspectaBot, dropped onto them, leaving Cassie to display her wonder by waving a lot. They gazed up in awe at the wonderful being in front of and above them.
A smile cracked across the tiny face of the arachno-bot causing his monocle to drop from his eye and dangle between his many legs. Very neatly he folded his eight dusters, placed them in a small suitcase and jettisoned it from the undercarriage vent. Tally-ho, Webster, old bean, he thought to himself. Won’t be doing any more cleaning. Ever.
25. Grave Matters
“We’re gathered ‘ere today to celebrate t’life of a young’un who were eaten alive by a giant chicken. As Mission Commander, it’s me duty to say a few words while we bury what’s left of ‘im.”
Flint paused to gauge the mood of the crowd. They didn’t look happy. Adorabella was wailing so loudly it was giving him a headache. Helmut had a consoling arm around her, but it was having little effect. Brokk was standing several yards away from the main group of colonists, alongside yet another of HarVard’s holographic personalities and a band of robots summoned from the base to help with the burial. Brokk’s head was bowed in sadness and guilt for his part in his stepson’s demise. He dared not lift his gaze from the ground for fear of catching Adorabella’s accusing glances.
It had been agreed to bury Oberon in the small German cemetery to save transporting his partially digested corpse back to Botany Base. Zak and Gavin had dug the hole with spades that Helmut had provided.
Dugdale resumed, “Adrian were a…”
“Oberon,” corrected several voices in the crowd as Adorabella wailed even louder.
“Alright, alright, keep yer wigs on,” said a flustered Flint. “Any road, as I were sayin’, Obiwan were a cheeky beggar at best ert times. I remember once, the little sh ... rogue pinned a gigantic pair of bright red bollo ... polystyrene balls to Mr Snuggles and shoved him into Leachy’s bedroom.” Flint laughed and glanced up again to see if the mood was improving. If anything they looked even more distraught.
“That wasn’t Oberon, it was Gav,” said Tracey.
“Yeah, well, whatever. The point is, Obiwan’s dead. End of. We all need to just get over it and move on.”
HarVard, who had taken the form of a New Orleans jazz trumpet player, took the words ‘move on’ as a cue and let rip with the first screaming notes that would signal the start of a procession of mourners and robots back to Botany Base.
“Not yet ‘Arvey!” shouted Dugdale above the din. “We’ve got to bury t’bugger first. But before that, ‘appen Doc Fairyland ‘as got summat she wants to say.”
Adorabella raised the black exterior visor of her space helmet and fought to hold back the waves of grief that welled up. It was no good, her vocal chords were paralysed and she began to stagger, weighed down by her emotions. Helmut caught her elbow and guided her into the supporting embrace of Delphinia Brush, while he took centre stage and delivered what he considered to be an appropriate eulogy.
“We are so very sorry for your lost boy,” he started, turning to Adorabella. “Despite only meeting this fine young man once, I am having the same feelings of pain you are suffering. When I am coming to Mars, so many years ago, I too am lost to my family members, who are no doubt passing away while I am stranded on this barren world. Not only my family but mein beloved dog, Lassie von Grommel. A dog who lived only for ze ball playings und my tender caress.” Helmut glanced up and noted the streaming tears in the audience. Even the robots seemed to be struggling to fight back lubricant leakage from their optics.
The old German shook himself and continued. “Let us not forget that Oblong Faerydae was a bright und courageous boy beneath the pimples of youth. And his rememberings will never be forgettable. Although this tragedy was brought on entirely by his own negligent disregarding of ze clear warning signage, GerMars Industries would like to submit offerings to be uplifting your spirits.” Helmut nodded at Hansie Wankmüller who began pushing a full wheelbarrow towards the main group.
“Please be helping yourselves. We have three bunches of bananas, one mixed bag of carrots und potatoes, four ounces of pipe tobacco and one jumbo size pack of chicken drumsticks which are licking the fingers good. As well, there is tea, the powderings of milk, sugar and loaves of fresh baked bread. All provided as a gesture of goodwillings, with no inference of culpability on the part of GerMars Industries.”
Emily, Zak and Harry stepped forward and began greedily fondling the goodies.
As Emily handled the bananas, everyone was expecting to hear one of Gavin’s quick-fire teenager quips but his head remained slumped. He was still recovering from the trauma of the attempt to save his friend’s life. He had been hampered, first by the difficulty of catching the bird, second by the prolonged struggle to kill it, and finally by the long and hellishly bloody time it took to hack into its abdomen and reach the lad inside. It hadn’t helped that Tracey kept screaming her objections to the poor creature’s murder and then her pleas for them to tickle the back of its throat with a feather to get it to vomit Oberon out. By the time Gavin, Zak and Brian had located and removed the bird’s bloated stomach, Oberon was dead.
“And so, ‘appen we’ll see thee in t’afterlife, Obiwan,” said Dugdale, concluding the funeral service. “Stick ‘im int t’hole and fill it in,” he called out to Zak who attached Dom’s lifting gear while Gavin supervised the lowering of the coffin.
Adorabella’s wailing cranked up a notch as she watched the old wooden tea chest containing Oberon’s remains swing into the air before being unceremoniously dumped into the grave.
“Brokk, you bastard. It’s all your fault.” Adorabella spat at her husband as the first spadeful of stones hit the makeshift coffin.
“Don’t you mean: Ulrich von Brokkenhorst,” put in Helmut.
“What?” asked Adorabella with an accusing tone.
“Oh ja, it is true. Is he not mentioning this fact to you? Ulrich is Hansie’s great grandson.”
Adorabella collapsed, raging at Brokk. “You used me, you callous, heartless fiend!”
*
As Gavin delicately patted the surface of his friend’s grave, Flint signalled the go-ahead to HarVard and his band of robots.
A huge toothy grin flashed across the HarVard’s Satchmogram face and, brandishing the shiniest trumpet ever seen, he blew the first few soulful notes to accompany the slow march back to Botany Base. But after only a few short paces he could contain himself no longer and cut loose with the full up-tempo jazz version of When The Saints Go Marching In.
As the robot band moved away from the far side of the cemetery and headed off into the desert, Flint could see another grave. Reluctantly he wandered over to the headstone and read its inscription: “Here lies Philip Barnsley (1932-1947). First Man on Mars from 45 Quay Street, Huddersfield, Yorkshire, England, UK.”
*
On the way back, with MarsBuggies 1 and 2 packed with the boxes of groceries, Emily Leach remarked, “What a lovely gentleman that Mr Helmut is.”
Everyone in the buggy agreed. Even Flint found himself nodding, although he added, “But I don’t trust ‘im as far as I can kick ‘im. He’s up to summat. I’ll need to keep a close eye on ‘im during t’footie game tomorrow.”
*
In the other buggy Adorabella was a lot calmer, although still sniffing every now and then. Brian Brush held one of her hands while Delphinia Brush held the other.
“He’s with them, now,” said Adorabella, wiping away a stray tear.
“With who?” asked Brian.
“With the spirits. The spirits of the long-dead wind people of Mars.”
For once, Brian managed to stop himself uttering “Gung!” Instead he
gave a tight-lipped smile and said, “Of course he is. Of course.”
26. Wind Up
But Adorabella was wrong on two counts. Firstly, her dead son was not with the spirits of the long-dead wind people of Mars. And secondly, the long-dead wind people of Mars were not long-dead at all.
They were very much alive.
“Gather, oh great Wind People of M’Ars. Hear the word of Bernard, our glorious war leader,” whistled Thelazor, Air-Commander of the Western Dust-Devils, Guardians of the Ancient Deserts.
Eager for news of the war, atmospheric streams of every strength stirred and funnelled into Windy Point Canyon, sending dust, sand, stones and fragments of metal flying in all directions.
The air stilled and before them, in the centre of the canyon floor, grew a towering vortex. A terrible roar filled the surrounding rocks and a zephyr, carried away by the occasion, screamed, “I love you, Bernard,” and then looked embarrassed.
“Friends, breezes, gales. Lend me your airs,” howled Bernard in his majestic manner. “I have good news and I have bad news. Which would you hear first?”
Some of the breezes, rustling between sheets of torn brown-paper packaging blown from Botany Base and the Other Place, discussed the options.
“The good news. Tell us the good news,” they hissed with an air of hope.
Bernard spiralled high into the sky and then back down again in the dramatic style expected of a War Council leader.
“For over eighty years the War has been raging,” he bellowed, so that even the tiny convection currents caught in the canyon wall could hear. “And yet, victory seems as distant a possibility as ever. We have been unable to move the Invaders from their dug-in positions, let alone drive them back to E’Arth. Worse, they have recently sent reinforcements.”
There was a wailing and a howling at this.
“How is that good news?” piped up a disruptive airflow from between two rocks.
“Patience, friend, I am coming to that. It was as these new invaders attempted their aerial assault that Air Martial Morloth, the bravest of the North winds, claimed the greatest success of our entire campaign.”
