by Brian Bakos
The birds made no reply but just circled above in their lazy hurricane formation.
Rackenfauz donned his respirator and climbed down from the cab. He stretched weary muscles, pain shot through his lower back. Nope, he wasn’t a spring chicken any more – if he needed more proof of that.
The steps were familiar from his long ago sojourn, even though the Trail to the Castle sign that had once stood beside them was down. Rackenfauz noticed it lying in the dead underbrush, riddled with bullet holes.
He looked upwards with trepidation. Beyond the stairs, a narrow track led into the mountains. His rosy memories had excluded the long, tiring kilometers on foot necessary to reach the castle. Rackenfauz doffed his respirator and sniffed the air. It wasn’t bad, although it still carried an acrid undertone mixed in with the woodsy sent of dead trees.
He dismissed any idea of setting up his workshop at the Castle, as the logistics were far too daunting. Clearly there was no access road up to the castle. But at least he could try hiking up for a look – then back to Plan A and the West Coast.
He provisioned a knapsack and returned with it to the trailhead. But before he could start walking, a mass of birds swooped down upon him.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
He flailed his arms desperately, but the birds seized him and began to lift him up.
“Put me down!”
Then he was airborne, like it or not.
“Ohhh!”
But he got over his terror pretty quick. Over the past days, he’d come to trust the birds implicitly. If they wanted him to fly, then that’s what he should do, right? Soon his fear morphed into outright exaltation.
“Wow-ee – King of the world!” he cried.
Terrain that had once taken many hours of strenuous effort to ascend now passed beneath him in a blur of excitement. He was flying a hundred meters over the brown forest! As he approached the upper edge of the tree line, greenery suddenly burst forth among the dry wood in an exuberant reassertion of life.
The air was fresh now and bore the wonderful scent of evergreen. Rackenfauz gulped it in like an elixir, then he exhaled a reservoir of pollution from his lungs. The stress and fear of the past several months blew away into the gorgeous mountain sky, replaced by a joy akin to religious ecstasy.
Around him, other groups of birds hauled cargo from the truck. Above them all, a great flying mass provided escort. Their cacophony of chirps seemed a beautiful sonata to Rackenfauz’s ears. The dramatic heights of the castle came into view!
His rapture faded when they passed over Pickle Lake. The water and rocky shore below him were littered with –
“Oh, no!” Rackenfauz pressed his eyes shut.
Maybe if he didn’t look, then the horrible scene would disappear back into the nightmare it had slithered out from. But the air began to turn putrid, invalidating his attempt at denial. Rackenfauz slipped his respirator mask back on and opened his eyes to the truth.
The water and rocky shore below him were littered with hundreds of human corpses. Rackenfauz almost swooned at the obscene affront. His stomach heaved. Fortunately it was empty, otherwise he’d be vomiting his guts out into the respirator mask.
“I came all the way out here for that?”
But his bird allies were already coming to his rescue again. Masses of them were zooming down to the lake and snatching up bodies. They bore their grisly cargo back downhill to dump it off only God knew where. Rackenfauz certainly didn’t want to know.
Finally, his escort deposited him at the castle front gate. It was unlocked, and Rackenfauz entered the vast reception hall.
“Anybody home!” His voice echoed off the bare stone walls.
***
His bird escort followed him inside and stuck close to him as he toured the castle. The tower rooms with their murals and intricate tile work had been turned into dormitories. Sleeping bags and other accouterments covered the once elegant wood floors.
Hundreds of people must have once lived here, all jammed together. They’d probably been members of that religious cult and were now the bloated corpses floating in Pickle Lake.
What happened here?
Rackenfauz thought of the 20th century religious lunatic, Jim Jones, and the mass suicide of his following. Had such a gruesome scenario played out here – or had those people all succumbed to the plague, choosing to die together in the beautiful setting of the lake?
It hardly mattered. In the context of the worldwide collapse, the fate of a few hundred fanatics could not amount to much.
Rackenfauz continued his tour up to the weird, funereal chamber on the tower summit. Bizarre religious ceremonies must have taken place here, he reasoned. Torches still burned along the walls, fed by some reservoir of flammable gas. The place gave him the willies, but the birds liked the huge pyramidal ceiling with its network of rafters.
The floor below this chamber of horrors was given over to a single, opulent apartment.
In contrast to the Spartan décor of the dormitories, this suite had lavish everything – from the many pieces of fine furniture to the opulent bed, to the oriental carpets on the floor. Thick tapestries covered every window, except one.
These beautiful works of art had been stripped from the entry hall and from the first floor corridors. Rackenfauz recognized some of them from his earlier visit. They presented various Christian tableaux. At first Rackenfauz thought that that the apartment’s inhabitant was paying homage to Christ.
No, this guy wanted to be his own Messiah.
The sole uncovered window looked out on Pickle Lake with its legion of corpses. Rackenfauz backed away from it and departed the chamber in a hurry.
Then on to the wings where he found ideal settings for his workshop and living quarters. The earlier residents seem to have ignored the east wing, and it was still in fairly good condition. Rackenfauz understood the necessity of establishing a work routine for himself. Otherwise, without definite purpose, he could be subject to a human variant of the Che Syndrome.
At the conclusion of his tour, Rackenfauz found what must have once been a large food cache by the dining hall. But it was almost depleted, except for some rather dubious looking dried fruit.
A locked iron door led to the basement regions. Rackenfauz decided not to try opening it. He’d seen enough of Pickle Lake Castle’s secrets.
49: Happy Reunion
“At least I learned one thing during my trip here,” Dr. Rackenfauz said.
“What was that?” Winston asked.
“I’m one helluva lousy truck driver!”
Rackenfauz’s cackling laughter bounced off the walls, assailing Winston’s auditory units.
“But there isn’t much road traffic these days, is there?” Rackenfauz said. “And no pain-in-the-derriere cops, neither.”
“That’s quite a story, Professor,” Winston said. “It seems we’re not the only ones who had an eventful journey.”
Star did not utter a word, but her mind was spinning full tilt. Never had she dared hope that a human robotics technician might have survived. But here he was – in apparent good health, too. Granted, he seemed a bit weird, but who wouldn’t be under these circumstances?
For his part, Iri put little stock in Rackenfauz’s narrative. It was just another mech head griping about his unjust fate.
Yeah pal, he thought, life’s tough all over. Deal with it.
Iri’d had his fill of neurotic mech heads back at the RDI, especially that jerk Blake.
He was much more interested in Ajax’s head than in Dr. Rackenfauz’s story. When would the thing flicker back into consciousness again – or was it burnt out for good? Most important, how were they going to get out of here?
Rackenfauz moved toward him.
“Is that Iridium I see reposing in the corner shadows?” he said.
The guy knew his name! Iri bared his teeth – just for show. He knew he could never bite a human, but he could let the guy know that he was not
held in high esteem.
“What’s it to you, buddy?” he said.
“What’s it to me?” Rackenfauz’s eyebrows shot up with surprise. “I led your design team, is what. You’re my very best work.”
The news struck Iridium like a thunderclap. He suddenly felt tiny and weak, not much more than a mech bug. He poked his head out of the shadows.
“I-is that really true?” he asked.
“Of course, it’s true,” Rackenfauz said. “Why would I lie about it? They kicked me off the project just before your activation, and Blake took all the credit. But you were built to my exact specifications.”
Iridium could scarcely believe what he was hearing – the whole narrative of his life was being upended. A bright new world suddenly exploded open.
“Papa!” he cried.
He scampered out of the shadows and wrapped himself around the Professor’s legs like a huge kitten.
“I thought Dr. Blake designed me,” Iri said. “I was so ashamed.”
“Well, I can certainly understand that,” Rackenfauz said.
He patted Iridium’s head, and the massive canine purred with contentment.
All his existence, Iridium had loathed Dr. Blake. He’d watched that horrible man create a pack of mech wolf savages in his, Iridium’s, image. He’d wanted to stop Blake, but could not overcome the programming that barred him from attacking a human.
But now he knew better. Blake was nothing to him! In a flash, Edgar Rackenfauz had morphed from an old screwball into the ultimate father figure.
Dr. Rackenfauz looked toward Winston and Star. “Iridium has a wonderful sense of humor, doesn’t he? I programmed it myself.”
“Uh ... yeah,” Winston said.
He would have never characterized Iri’s sarcastic utterances as ‘humor,’ but it seemed wise not to disagree on the point.
“There, there,” Rackenfauz stroked Iridium’s chin. “You’re just a big old puppy dog, aren’t you?”
I doubt he’d say that if he’d seen Iri take those scrappers apart, Winston thought.
“I’m not much of a people person,” Rackenfauz said. “So I decided to branch out with my designs – try to replicate ‘man’s best friend’ as it were. Interesting results, eh?”
“Oh, yes!” Star said.
“Excuse me, Doctor,” Winston said, “but I’ve been meaning to ask. Are you related to the botanist Jonathan Rackenfauz?”
“Ah, you are a true scholar,” Rackenfauz said. “Yes, he was my grandfather. He did pharmaceutical research in the South American rain forests, back when there still were rain forests.”
Winston groped for a connection. “Did that have something to do with your surviving the plague?”
“Very astute, young fellow!” Rackenfauz said. “Yes, I inherited Grand papa’s experimental vaccines. I never imagined they’d be worth anything, but I kept them in deep freeze just the same. They were all he left me, you know.”
He mimicked giving himself a shot in his arm. “But when the final plague hit I said, ‘What the heck?’ I started thawing and injecting. Looks like it worked, eh?”
“Why didn’t the other technicians use the vaccines?” Star asked.
“Ach!” Rackenfauz made a dismissive gesture. “They didn’t want any help from ‘the Old Faggot.’ So, I shipped the vaccines to a colleague at the West Coast Robotics Center.”
“So, other mech heads – I mean, other robotics technicians – have survived?” Star asked.
“Who knows?” Rackenfauz said. “We lost touch in any case.”
Star turned her eyes toward the window. Incredible possibilities fluttered out there, agitating her mind.
“Uh, you must be wondering why we came here, Professor,” Winston said.
“You want that head, of course,” Rackenfauz said. “What for, I can’t imagine.”
“That’s right,” Winston said.
He proceeded to explain the situation in Mech City and their plans to overthrow the Fascista Ultimo dictatorship. Throughout, he was careful to emphasize Iridium’s contribution, so as to stroke the Professor’s paternal ego.
***
“Hmmm,” Rackenfauz said when Winston had finished his account. “I should have blasted that Nilo creature and his oversized drone when I had the chance.”
“We can take the head back with us, then?” Winston asked.
“I sure don’t want it,” Rackenfauz said. “Take the goddam thing, I say.”
“Good,” Winston said.
“Maybe not so good,” Rackenfauz said. “It’s a very complex matter.”
“Oh?”
Rackenfauz pointed toward Winston’s damaged limb. Winston had been so taken up with the conversation that he’d scarcely remembered his injury. But now the melancholy awareness of it returned full bore. He shifted awkwardly on his crutch.
“Let’s tackle the simpler problems first, shall we?” Rackenfauz said. “Your missing leg, for instance. Have an accident, young fellow?”
“No thanks, doctor,” Winston said, “I already had one.”
“We did bring a replacement part,” Star said.
She indicated the late Edward’s leg propped against a wall like a rolled umbrella.
“Oh, I see,” Rackenfauz said.
He disentangled himself from Iridium and walked over to the limb. He studied it closely, then moved back to Winston and examined his stump.
“That’s a good, clean break, young fellow,” he said.
“I gave it my best effort,” Winston said.
“Yes ...” Rackenfauz hefted the spare leg. “This should make a good replacement, if you don’t mind a few teeth marks, that is. And the color coordination is way off.”
“Great!” Winston practically shouted.
Birds rustled in the dark ceiling region.
“No problem with the color,” Winston added. “It’s perfect. I always like a touch of red, isn’t that right, Star?”
“Of course!” Star was nearly as overjoyed as Winston.
“Let’s get to my workshop, then,” Rackenfauz said. “We’ll take the express route.”
He produced a 30-centimeter long tube from under his lab coat and spoke into one end of it. Bird sounds emitted from the other end.
“Tweet! Chi-chirpa!”
Rackenfauz lowered the tube. “They have their own language,” he said. “More of an avian Morse code, actually. I designed this translator in my spare time.”
Birds began stirring in the rafters, soon a large group descended. They seized Rackenfauz, Winston, and the leg and carried them toward the windows.
“Hey, me too!” Star cried.
“Very well, young lady,” Rackenfauz said. “I’ll send them back up for you.”
Winston and Rackenfauz disappeared through the window.
“See you soon!” Star called after them.
She turned to Iridium and patted him on the head.
“What about you, Iri – are you coming down to the shop, too?”
“No, I’ll just stay here and keep an eye on our friend.” Iri gestured toward the head. “Besides, if Papa wanted me to fly, he’d have given me a jet engine.”
A few minutes later, the birds returned. Half of them assembled around Star and began to hoist her off the floor.
“Have a nice trip,” Iri said.
“Bye-ee!” Star waggled her fingers.
She dropped out of the window with her bird escort. Iri hunkered down, resting his chin on his crossed paws and looking very much the big puppy dog. From across the chamber, the head glared back at him.
“Just you and me now, pal,” Iri said. “And a few gazillion birds.”
50: Overhaul
“Wheee!” Star cried.
The trip to Dr. Rackenfauz’s workroom was an abrupt and scary drop to one of the castle’s lower wings. But Star enjoyed the sensation after so much time cooped up in the awful tower chamber. Wind whipped through her hair and cooled her temperature sensors. Her ski
n bristled with pleasure.
Winston was going to be repaired! And maybe a lot more, as well. Huge ideas churned in Star’s mind, and a romantic new future beckoned from beyond the mountain peaks.
Dr. Rackenfauz must really know his stuff! she thought. Anyone who’d designed Iridium had to be truly brilliant – far beyond that nasty bunch of mech heads I saw during my activation.
Now, if only ...
The birds set her down inside the workshop then departed en masse back through the window. Star adjusted her clothing and smoothed her hair as she took in her new surroundings.
The place was very neat and well laid out, quite a contrast to Rackenfauz’s rather disheveled personal appearance. Star’s confidence ratcheted up even further. Winston was lying upon the operating table while Rackenfauz stood at a workbench across the room prepping the salvaged limb.
“Make yourself at home, young lady,” Rackenfauz said.
“Thank you, Professor,” Star said.
“Star!” Winston began to sit up.
“You just relax, young fellow,” Rackenfauz said. “I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”
Winston settled back down. Star walked over to him and stroked the back of his head affectionately.
“Thanks for coming, Star,” Winston said, “I’m a bit nervous, as you can imagine.”
“Don’t worry,” Star replied, “everything will be just fine.”
Winston looked toward Rackenfauz. “Will you have to deactivate me for the procedure, Doc?”
“No, that isn’t necessary,” Rackenfauz said.
Star flicked the deactivation switch at the base of Winston’s cranium. He blinked out instantly.
“Oh, yes it is,” she said.
Rackenfauz’s eyebrows shot up. “Young lady, what are you doing?”
Star moved swiftly across the room and took both of Rackenfauz’s hands into her own. An urgent, pleading expression covered her face.
“Doctor, I need your help,” she pleaded.
“Yes, what is it?”
“It’s ... well ... as you know, I was made for love.”
“Sorry, young lady, I can’t help you there.” Rackenfauz withdrew his hands. “I’m gay, you know.”
“I meant Winston. Can you make him functional, doctor?”
Understanding dawned in Rackenfauz’s eyes. He glanced toward the comatose figure on the operating table.
“Oh, I see,” he said “You must be feeling very frustrated, eh?”
“That’s putting it mildly, sir.”
