Return to Mech City

by Brian Bakos

  “Be my guest!”

  Star knelt in the middle of the boat and, handling the paddle expertly, got the craft back under control. They moved toward shore again.

  Meanwhile, the knife edge of the drop-off drew perilously close. Water roared with increasing volume as it made its ten meter plunge.

  They were almost to shore now. Concrete facing covered the bank, topped with a metal fence. Steps reached down to the water with seductive invitation. The rowboat scraped against them. Star grabbed for the hand rail, but missed.

  They were almost over the edge of the dam now. Star leaped up and grabbed hold of the fencing,

  “Hang onto me, Winston!”

  Winston clutched her around the waist while the rowboat moved out from under them and tumbled over the drop. A powerful current swirled over Winston’s legs, trying to drag him away.

  “This is not my idea of fun,” he wailed.

  Star clawed her way upwards. Winston removed a hand from her and gripped the fence. The current nearly swept him over the falls before he could get his other hand onto the wire.

  “Ahhhh!”

  With a desperate heave, he yanked himself out of the current.

  They sidled their way to the steps and plopped down on them, exhausted.

  “Are you okay, Winston?”

  “Yeah ... piece of cake.”

  ***

  Their wrecked boat washed ashore a hundred meters downstream from the dam. Fortunately, its cargo was still mostly intact. The research papers were converted to pulp, but Winston had long since memorized their contents. The road atlas was still usable, once its pages had been fanned out to dry. Regrettably, Star’s makeup kit was ruined.

  39: Back at the Ranchero

  Only a single will can direct the state. From out of the multitude, one Humanite steps forward – Manifesto of Roboto Fascism

  Time limped painfully by for the metal man residents of Mech City. They had nothing to do all day but sit on their cots and stare at each other across their REX detention cells. There was nothing else to see, nothing to talk about, and only the poorest sort of listening material.

  Propaganda blared through loudspeakers on every floor. From morning until inactivation time, the prisoners were regaled by harangues from Fascista Ultimo, by Fritz’s readings from the Manifesto, and by Clawfurt’s grating exhortations. Today, Edwina’s voice resounded from the speaker units, lending a feminine cast to the misinformation:

  “You metal men are the natural servant class of the New Order, embrace your inferiority ... unrelenting toil is your lot ... work makes freedom!”

  Their morale declined with each passing hour. Were it not for the bars and bricks in the windows, a cascade of suicides would have flowed from the upper stories of the REX Hotel / Reeducation Center. When the inmates’ hopelessness was total, then would be the time to break them to the yoke of the New Order – so Fascista Ultimo believed.

  ***

  Ajax brooded in his “executive suite” on the REX penthouse floor. News of Winston and Star’s escape had reached him, and he understood the motivation behind it. He moved from his sentry post at the window and examined the wall calendar with its series of crossed-off dates.

  By the end of my 30 days, I’m either leader or landfill. Who knows?

  Only one thing was absolutely certain: he would never serve the Roboto Fascist regime.

  ***

  Jack and Quincy had avoided confinement at the REX. Mech wolf guards kept an eye on them, of course, but the repair bots could move freely throughout the Institute buildings and grounds.

  Since the robot maintenance work had tapered off, they’d had to learn sewing and tailoring so as to manufacture the various party uniforms Fascista Ultimo had designed. They also produced medals. At Fascista’s direction, they’d bashed out the Youth Brigade Leader badge, the Order of Fascist Labor, and various other awards.

  Today they were constructing a bronze memorial to the late Squadristi members Fang and Ripper. Quincy was calibrating the metal working machine while Jack did the computer design work.

  “So, do you still want quarters at the REX?” Quincy asked.

  Jack looked up from the computer station. “Nooo, I like it here just fine, thank you.”

  He returned to his work. The computer was likely the most powerful one still functioning anywhere. At one time, it had communicated with all corners of the earth, and with the Lunar and Martian settlements as well. Now, its reach barely exceeded the workshop confines.

  The graphics program displayed a 3-D image of the fallen Squadristi heroes. It was supposed to be a dramatic dual profile, but it looked more like an illustration from a dog food label.

  “Sweet,” Jack said.

  ***

  Fascista Ultimo had little to do these days beside strut around in his various uniforms venting his ill humor on whomever happened to be nearby. This time the honor fell to the Youth League commanders, Fritz and Edwina.

  “Treason!” Fascista cried. “I’m surrounded by traitors!”

  Fritz and Edwina snapped to attention in their crisp brown uniforms.

  “The Great Leader can always rely on us!” they cried in unison.

  F.U. strode across his office, smacking his riding crop against one hand. He paused at the full-length mirror and some of his ire dissipated.

  “Mmm,” he said, “this new get up ain’t half bad.”

  He turned to view himself from different angles, admiring his peaked cap, tailored black tunic, and riding breeches.

  “Those walking trash cans are getting better at this all the time,” he said.

  “Yes, Ultimo!” Fritz said.

  “The Great Leader knows exactly where to place each of his slaves,” Edwina said.

  A small metal man robot named Albert stood quietly off to the side. He’d once been a playmate for Fritz and Edwina but was now reduced to servility. The demotion rankled his spirit.

  Well, at least I don’t have to participate in the ass kissing, he thought.

  Fascista’s pleasure at his fancy duds gave way to renewed spleen. He whacked his swagger stick on his desk.

  “That Winston Horvath traitor stole my Ultimina at the first opportunity!” he snarled. “I should have known he’d do that, but I’ve always been too trusting.”

  “Fascista’s great goodness cannot be understood by the lower sort of robot,” Fritz said.

  “Only the best can absorb the Manifesto’s wisdom,” Edwina added.

  “I’m aware of that,” Fascista said, “but it still hurts my feelings. I’m the sensitive type, you know.”

  “Traitor Winston is a barbarian of inferior blood,” Edwina said. “He must be destroyed.”

  “That’s right,” Fascista said, “the same way he destroyed two of my best storm troopers. Wrecked them so bad they can’t even be used for spare parts!”

  He slammed his riding crop onto the desk again. The hapless piece of furniture groaned under the assault.

  “I’m tired of being Mr. Nice Guy!” he roared. “It isn’t doing anything for me.”

  He turned toward the kids. They snapped even more erect.

  “The future belongs to the young,” F.U. said. “Don’t fail me!”

  “Count on us, Great Leader,” they replied in unison.

  They shot out their arms.

  “Hail, Ultimo!”

  F.U. held up his hand to receive their salute.

  “Hail, my loyal followers!” he bellowed.

  Give me a #&%!! break, Albert thought.

  40: The Mountains Arrive

  Another four days of strenuous effort passed. The terrain became more rolling, which made for increased difficulty walking the uphill stretches. But it also meant fast scootering on the downward slopes.

  During periods of scootering, Winston generally brought up the rear so as to “keep an eye on things.” Actually, he just wanted to observe Star. Her sinuous, efficient use of the wheeled machine had an almost hyp
notic effect on him. Watching her perfectly shaped body in motion made time pass more quickly on the endless roads.

  Star’s right, I am thinking more like a human male.

  The concept seemed incredible, unbelievable. But why not, after all?

  Who could say how his advanced brain might develop over time? Probably the mech heads themselves had no idea, nor would they have cared very much.

  Winston was just a piece of experimental technology to them, something to be overlooked as soon as the next invention came along. Nothing could be less important to them than the “feelings” of some machine. Yet, he was feeling all sorts of new things – ever since the death of his human family.

  He thought back to his first walk with Dr. Horvath at the Robotics Institute. At that time, he’d experienced scant emotion beyond a generalized curiosity. This had been his primary mode of operation for three years. Dr. Horvath had wanted a bi-lingual assistant and mobile library, and that’s what she’d gotten.

  He wasn’t totally flat during those years, of course. He’d felt a sense of security while in his home, pride in his work, distress when his performance fell short. Everything was usually low key and manageable.

  But once he’d experienced the death of his human family and realized that he was alone in the world, everything started to change. The battle with Rob had nearly unhinged him altogether.

  He’d emerged from that day as a radically altered being. And since he’d met Star, his emotions where bucking and twisting like the roller coaster rides at a theme park.

  A realization came to him with such force that he stopped scootering:

  I’ve accomplished my mission!

  The Master had asked him to keep their memory alive, and he’d done one better. He’d actually become much more like the vanished humans – he’d imprinted their memory into his psychological foundation.

  Star paused and glanced quizzically back over her shoulder. “What’s the matter, Winston, don’t you like the scenery?”

  As the landscape was shrouded with mist, she must have been referring to herself as the “scenery.” This was obvious, even to Winston’s excessively literal mind.

  “You know I like it very much,” he replied.

  “It gets better,” she said, “trust me on that.”

  “Oh?”

  “Much better,” Star said. “Let me know when you want to try some serious exploration.”

  With a seductive little giggle, she pushed off downhill.

  Winston felt a burst of rage and frustration at his predicament. He was a machine, damn it! How could he possibly satisfy the cravings of a being like Star? She was on a whole new level of creation while he didn’t even have pleasure sensors. He had no male apparatus. Hell, he couldn’t even talk well!

  Yeah, Star had said that she liked his voice, but to him it sounded grating and tinny with an undertone of Hungarian accent. Why wasn’t he programmed with a suave British-style voice like that snooty professor friend of Dr. Horvath? The guy in the tweed jacket who would hold forth eruditely while puffing on his tobacco pipe.

  Winston cursed his mech head creators. They had put him together as if they were gods and had then abandoned him to fend for himself with his inadequate resources. Did they feel similar frustrations toward their own gods?

  “Wheee!” Star cried.

  She zoomed downhill at terrific speed, then rolled most of the way up the subsequent incline where she came to an elegant pause.

  Winston’s heart surged with admiration. Even the sun poked through the clouds to highlight Star’s achievement.

  “Come on, it’s fun!” she called.

  “Okay ... I’ll try.”

  Winston began the descent cautiously, tapping his brakes so as not to build up too much velocity. He felt humiliated by his lack of finesse. Star was so much better at scootering than him. She could probably ride a bicycle if she wanted to.

  He made it to the bottom, then coasted up the incline a short distance before grinding to a halt. Star laughed with pure joy.

  “You’re getting better, Winston. Just relax a bit more, let it flow!”

  Winston basked in her words.

  Yeah, maybe I don’t suck at this as bad as I used to.

  “Come on up,” Star beckoned.

  Winston folded down the handle of his scooter and dragged the little machine behind him. Several plodding steps brought him level with Star. She laughed again and tossed her head, whipping her beautiful hair about. A few strands brushed Winston’s face.

  “Isn’t this a wonderful day?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  Her face beamed. All the scratches inflicted by the mech bugs had disappeared, except for a small nick by the outer corner of an almond eye. The tiny imperfection only served to highlight her radiant beauty.

  “Let’s see what’s over this hill.” She took Winston’s hand. “It’s got to be something special, I can feel it.”

  Together, they walked the final meters to the top of the incline. The sun was shining full blast up here, burning off the fog with its heat, and a light breeze freshened the air.

  Winston shaded his optical sensors with both hands and perused the sky; he saw no indication of a mech bug cloud zooming in. Then he turned toward the western horizon. The view struck him an almost physical blow.

  “Star ... the mountains!”

  “Yes! I see them,” Star cried. “They’re beautiful!”

  The two robots stood quiet and motionless, straining their optical sensors toward the dramatic view emerging from the mist. Ahead of them, mountain peaks shot up from the terrain like royal personages, craggy and majestic. Frozen summits displayed white snow caps in cathedral-like solemnity.

  A whole new world of possibility seemed to rise up with the mountains, as if the most improbable dreams might gain fulfillment on their heights. Winston experienced the greatest joy of his entire existence. All of his fears about green men and toxic vapor vanished in his elation.

  Star was first to break the reverent silence. “Oh Winston, do you really think we’ll succeed?”

  He turned his gaze toward her. There, right next to him, stood another absolute beauty. The mountains on one side, Star Power on the other – like bookends encompassing a perfect reality between them. He groped for some poetic statement, but words could not express his true feelings.

  “Why not?” he finally said. “We’ve come this far, we can stick it out a little longer, can’t we?”

  Star wrapped an arm around his waist.

  “Whatever happens, I want you to know how proud I am of you, Winston.”

  “Gee, thanks, Star.”

  “I could never have escaped Fascista without you – I would have never seen the greater world or these beautiful mountains. You’re my hero.”

  Winston felt his stature assuming Gorzo-like dimensions. He shouldered off his pack and withdrew something from it.

  “I’m afraid it got a bit damaged in the water,” he said, “but I’d like you to have this.”

  He handed over the rose.

  “Oh, Winston ... and to think I almost burned this!”

  Star wrapped the wire stem around her wrist, keeping the bloom on top like a timepiece dial.

  “I sure hated it then, but I love it now,” she said. “Thank you, Winston.”

  “You’re welcome, Star.”

  She dropped her pack and held out her arms. “Come here, big boy.”

  Winston glided into her embrace.

  “Don’t we fit together nicely?” Star said. “Like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I want us to stay together, always,” she said. “Whatever the future holds.”

  “Gosh, I’d like that, Star.”

  He stood with her a long time, his eyes shut, enjoying the pressure of her close contact. He stroked her long, luxurious hair –

  ***

  The rapture of the moment and the soft hissing of the breeze ga
ve way to a harsh and ominous rumbling. Winston’s eyes popped open.

  A decrepit pickup truck crested the hill and pulled alongside them. It had no doors, and its windows were all broken out. The robot driver glowered at Winston. Half its face was ruined, as if from an explosion, and one eye drooped from its socket.

  “Hold it right there, chump!” he yelled.

  Star went rigid. Winston’s mind blanked out, unable to process the horrible new data.

  Five robots, armed with clubs, jumped down from the back of the truck. They were all metal men of a battered and desperate aspect. Winston’s brain struggled back online.

  This can’t be happening ... It is happening!

  The leader got out of the driver’s seat and joined his crew. He was a red Humanite design very similar to Winston, but of a somewhat more robust structure. His blasted face was twisted with cruelty. His good eyed bored into Winston.

  “We got plans for you,” he said.

  “Oh?” Winston managed to reply.

  “Yeah, a trip to the junk market!” another gang member yelled.

  The thugs all laughed, if their harsh grating could be called laughter.

  Winston whispered into Star’s ear: “Assemble my weapon.”

  He released her from his embrace, and she dropped slowly to the pavement as if in a swoon. The thugs laughed some more.

  “Ain’t she sweet!” somebody yelled.

  41: Desperate Battle

  Winston took a step toward the scrapper robots. His absolute calmness amazed him. These events seemed to be happening to somebody else while he, Winston Horvath, observed from a safe perspective.

  Hold on to that thought, it’s our only chance!

  “And whom do I have the honor of addressing?” he asked the leader.

  More laughter from the gang.

  “Get a load of him!” someone shouted. “Ain’t he got the brass?”

  “Actually, my exterior components consist of advanced plastic compounds and titanium alloy,” Winston said. “I contain no brass at all.”

  The metal men all looked at each other, dumbfounded. Then they burst into more laughter and coarse jesting. Winston ventured a glimpse toward Star. She had crawled to his pack and was surreptitiously putting the spear together.

  Winston then locked his gaze onto the leader’s ruined face. Madness shone back from the single functioning eye, but also a hint of something else.

  “My name is Winston,” he said quietly, “what’s yours?”

  The leader looked confused. A bit of sanity flickered back into the optical sensor.