by Brian Bakos
“And we’re the kids, now, right?” Star said.
“Yeah, something like that.”
***
They came to the end of the trail and descended the steps to the paved road. Dr. Rackenfauz’s truck stood nearby with the doors to its trailer gaping open. A bird crew was hauling some cargo down to the vehicle.
“Which way now?” Star asked.
A small group of birds detached itself from the workers and began flying down the road.
“We should follow them, I suppose,” Winston said.
“Lead on, my hero,” Star said.
Oh, please, Iri thought.
The birds led them for several kilometers down the road and then back along the main highway. The abandoned scrapper vehicle came into view, beyond it lay their scooters and gear.
Winston waved to their escort. “Thanks guys! We can take it from here.”
The birds did not fly away, however. They merely perched themselves atop the scrapper vehicle and waited.
“Guess they don’t want to lose track of us,” Iri said.
“I see what Dr. Rackenfauz meant,” Winston said, “they like to stay close.”
“I think you boys are being much too hard on them,” Star said.
She stroked the birds’ heads and was rewarded with affectionate coos and chirps.
“See? They just want a little appreciation,” she said.
“They almost ‘appreciated’ me right out the window,” Winston shot back.
“I wouldn’t say that too loudly,” Iri cautioned.
Winston stepped into the ditch where Edward had tumbled. The scrapper leader’s head was a bashed-in mess, and the body had broken apart. The limbs might be salvageable, though.
“Well, Edward, you came to a rather sticky end,” Winston said, “but your loss is my gain. Only fair, right?”
He proceeded to gather up the limb components. The left arm was still attached to the torso and required some tedious work with the tool kit Dr. Rackenfauz had provided. Iri looked on skeptically.
“Planning a makeover?” he said.
Winston glanced up from his work. “How come you’re always so cynical?”
Iri shrugged. “Papa designed me that way, I suppose. I’m still in one piece, so it must work for me.”
“Well, you never know when I might require these components,” Winston said. “I’d be a fool to leave them behind.”
“Whatever.”
Winston threw down his wrench. “It’s easy for you to talk, Iridium. If you ever need replacement parts, we can just scrap out a mech wolf.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Winston jabbed a finger at the great canine. “So far you’ve been lucky, but if you’re ever injured, you’ll need your friends. Remember that.”
Iridium glowered but knew himself to be on shaky ground.
The damn guy’s right, he thought, and that makes it worse!
But before the dispute could develop further, Star cried out: “They’re here!”
In the sky, a dark mass of birds was moving toward them with stately grace. In the vanguard flew the illustrious head of Warrior Ajax nestled in a billow of purple fabric.
54: The Long Road Back
They made rapid progress toward Mech City.
Except for Star’s prized leather bag, the birds carried all the gear, but they still managed to set a rigorous pace that Winston and Star could barely match. The situation improved, somewhat, when they obtained fresh scooters at a Cycho World outlet to replace their battered old machines. Iri scouted ahead, keeping mostly to his own counsels, as Dr. Rackenfauz had programmed him.
The dead, hushed landscape offered a grim contrast to the regenerating mountains. The only sounds, besides the rolling of scooter wheels, were the eerie howls of dust devils and the petulant outbursts of Ajax’s cabeza flying overhead like some demented angel.
Winston’s upgraded legs gave him the power to outpace Star, at least in flat or uphill areas, but he preferred traveling side by side with her through the endless hours along the broad, deserted highways. On downhill stretches, she zoomed out front, and he could enjoy watching her graceful figure negotiate the curves. Increasingly, human male type thoughts arose in Winston’s mind.
I’d like to negotiate her curves.
At night, they lapsed into a few blessed hours of inactive mode, only to resume the trek at dawn. The pace was exhausting, but compared to the dangerous outbound journey, the return to Mech City went very smoothly.
A scrapper gang spotted them on the third day, but a combined attack from Iri and the birds wiped it out. A mech bug assault was quickly defeated by the birds, and the ruined bridge outside Vicente Towne proved to be no obstacle at all. The birds simply transported their earthbound colleagues directly over the gap.
The rigorous pace discouraged conversation, but Winston occasionally waxed philosophical.
“I wonder if there are functioning robot communities anywhere else,” he said at one point.
“That doesn’t seem very likely,” Star said, “unless you count the scrapper gangs. And you saw how things turned out in Vicente Towne. Maybe out on the West Coast things are different ...”
She let the thought trail off.
“We need to find other survivors,” Winston said, “once we’ve reestablished order in Mech City. We ought to send out scouting parties, get the old short wave radios going again, build new communities.”
“That sounds wonderful, Winston,” Star said.
She allowed him to chatter on, as it could do no harm. Out here, under the protection of the birds and with Iridium scouting the road ahead, it was easy to speak of grand stratagems – of what they’d do once they captured Mech City. Out here, Fascista Ultimo and his minions seemed to be scarcely any threat at all.
But her thoughts all flowed in the opposite direction – toward the West Coast and Dr. Jerry Che, to the little bag slung around her shoulder.
“Just imagine,” Winston was saying, “this whole area turned green again, with new trees and flowers – like in the mountains. There must be some way we can expedite that.”
“I hope all our plans work out,” Star said.
***
Then, on the morning of the ninth day:
“Look,” Winston cried, “we made it!”
Mech City squatted in all its shabby glory, just a few kilometers away from their hilltop position. The same hilltop from which Winston had first glimpsed the town so many weeks ago.
The mech birds began to descend, and Iridium trotted back from his forward position.
“Congratulations, pal,” Iri said. “Looks like things are working out.”
“That’s right, Iridium,” Winston said, “and I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Again, the flattery worked. Iri felt a burst of pride and satisfaction, but it didn’t last long.
This guy’s a natural made politician, Iridium thought. I’d better keep an eye on him – he could be a lot more dangerous than he looks.
“Oh, Winston!” Star cried. “Are we really going to win?”
“Yes, I truly believe so.” Winton slipped an arm around her waist. “And I couldn’t have done it without you, either, Star.”
They embraced, Star smothered his face with kisses. Iri’s thoughts turned sour.
Oh man, I’ve got to get away from this Mutual Admiration society!
Winston released Star from his arms, but still retained one of her hands.
“We’ve got almost a week until Ajax’s execution date,” he said. “Let’s finalize our strategy.”
“Okay, shoot,” Iridium said.
“Here’s how I see it,” Winston said. “There are no bars on Ajax’s windows at the REX. He promised not to jump, and nobody doubts his word, not even Fascista. So, under cover of darkness, just before sunrise, the birds haul him down so that we can reattach his head.”
“Then what?” Iri asked.
“At the same time, we�
��ll go after Fascista Ultimo at his temporary ‘palace’ two kilometers from the REX. There are forty five mech wolves all together ... ”
“Make that forty three,” Iridium interrupted.
“Uh, yeah,” Winston said. “There’s a lot of them, but they’re spread all around – at the REX, the RDI, and on patrol. Fascista keeps a half dozen as a personal body guard.”
“We can handle six,” Iridium said, “provided the birds help us out.”
“But will the birds help us?” Star asked. “They seem to have a mind of their own.”
“I’m certain they will,” Winston said. “Besides, they wouldn’t be fighting for us but for Ajax.”
“Good thinking, Winston,” Star said.
“The key is to get Fascista’s wrist radio,” Winston said. “He uses it to control the mech wolves over an encrypted frequency. If we can get it away from him, then we will control the wolves. Without them, Fascista can count only on Clawfurt and the mech brats.”
“And that giant drone,” Star added.
“He’s too dumb to be much of a problem,” Winston said. “Back in human times, guys like him generally dug ditches or were elected to political office.”
“This all sounds great,” Iri said, “but don’t count your chickens before they’re manufactured. I’d better scout the town first.”
“Yes, I was about to suggest that, Iridium,” Winston said.
The mech birds came to earth and deposited their precious cargo on its cushion.
“What’s going on?” Ajax’s head demanded. “I’m feeling a bit down.”
All the birds, except for a few airborne scouts, formed themselves into a large heap surrounding Ajax’s head.
“To be or not to be,” the head exclaimed, “ask the man who drives one!”
Iri positioned himself to begin his dash.
“Bye-ee,” Star said. “Good luck, sweetheart!”
Iri took off at a blazing run, his coat forming a rainbow blur down the road. Hand in hand, Winston and Star watched him go.
“He’s one damn good fellow,” Winston said.
“Ooo, I love it when you talk like that,” Star said.
55: Ultimo’s Ultimatum
Keeping a reverent distance, the troop of robots followed Fascista Ultimo up the REX main staircase: Clawfurt, Comrade Drone, six mech wolf Squadristi. The lowly repair bots, Jack and Quincy, brought up the rear lugging a sack between them.
Ordinarily, Fascista did not deign to take the stairs, but today he wanted to lead a procession, and the elevator car would have cramped his style.
They gained the penthouse floor. The three mech wolves on guard duty snapped to attention. With a subtle movement, Fascista pressed a button on his wrist transmitter.
“At ease!” he commanded.
The mech wolves receded down the corridor and Clawfurt, sporting a glittery Order of the High Jailer medallion, advanced to Ajax’s cell door. He unlocked it, then moved aside so that Fascista could enter first.
Ajax turned from his window to observe the intruders.
“Hello, Ajax!” Fascista boomed. “Today’s the big day.”
Ajax glanced at his wall calendar.
“Already?” he said. “But I thought – ”
“Tut, tut.” Fascista waved a dismissive hand. “No need to stand on technicalities, Ajay. Let’s just swear you into your new office and be done with it.”
“But – ” Ajax said.
“See, I’ve brought your new Party Secretary medallion,” Fascista said.
Comrade Drone presented a small box, and Fascista withdrew a gold medallion suspended from a vibrant red ribbon. The front of the medal depicted a ghastly human skull with a dagger clenched in its teeth. The words El Superfascista ran along the top, and I Can Be Ruthless curved around the bottom.
Fascista turned the medal around. The back depicted a smiling skull with a long-stemmed rose in its teeth. The words: I Can Be a Sweetie to My Friends bordered the appalling image.
“Do you like it, Ajay?” Fascista asked. “I designed it myself, you know. I think it covers the two characteristics needed for the party secretary job.”
“It is quite ... innovative,” Ajax said.
Fascista held up the award by its colorful ribbon, everyone snapped to attention.
“Party Comrade Ajax,” he intoned, “By the authority vested in me by myself, I hereby appoint you the ...”
He lowered the medallion.
“Well, silly me, you’ve got nothing to hang this around, do you?”
“Yes, that is something of a disadvantage,” Ajax said.
Fascista snapped his fingers. “Get in here, metal men! Install the new cabeza.”
Jack and Quincy bowed their way into the room under the contemptuous glares of Fascista and Clawfurt.
“Hi, Ajax,” Quincy said.
“That’s Commandante Ajax to your sort!” Fascista snapped.
Quincy flinched, Jack glided in front of him.
“Don’t sweat it, Commandante,” Jack said, “we’ll fix you up in no time.”
He withdrew the dummy head from the bag. Its vacuous eyes stared out from its perfectly chiseled Greek god face, a sunray sparkled in the blue eye glass.
Jack fluffed the hair. “This’ll make you look quite the gentleman, Commandante.”
“But F.U.,” Ajax said, “with all respect, I have yet to give you my formal acceptance.”
“Oh, very well,” Fascista said. “Let’s have it, then. I suppose we should observe all the formalities.”
Ajax stood at ramrod attention. Fascista also assumed a formal pose, looking upon the warrior robot with benign confidence, awaiting a positive, obsequious reply.
Instead, Ajax pronounced: “I would rather be recycled than serve your evil purposes, Great Leader.”
“What?” Fascista gasped.
He stumbled back. Instantly, he was no longer the all-powerful leader, but crotchety old Nilo – a wormy, insignificant creature that others could dismiss with contempt. Every humiliation he’d ever suffered flashed through his turbulent brain.
“Let me rephrase that, if you do not understand,” Ajax said. “Screw you, F.U.!”
“Right on, Ajax!” Quincy and Jack whisper cheered.
Fascista’s expression blurred from astonishment, to fear, to murderous rage.
“Very well, my high-minded friend,” he blustered. “Soon you’ll be nothing more than a pile of metal shavings!”
He stalked out of the apartment, drawing the retinue in his wake like sludge swirling down a drain. Clawfurt slammed and locked the door behind them.
Alone now, Ajax turned contemplative. If he’d had a chin, he would have stroked it.
“Now that guy has a way with words,” he said.
Outside in the corridor, the floor shook with Fascista’s angry stomping as he made for the elevator. Bits of plaster flaked from the walls and ceiling. Then Fascista abruptly spun around to face his entourage.
“Give me that damn thing, metal man!” he said.
Jack crept forward and offered up the cabeza with trembling hands. Fascista snatched it and flung it hard against the metal frame of the elevator. The head exploded, sending a thunderclap throughout the REX. On all the floors, prisoners cringed within their cells.
“Now, get out of my sight!” Fascista shrieked.
Jack and Quincy ran down the stairs, trailed by their mech wolf escort, and fled back to the Institute.
***
“Oh man,” Quincy said, “This is the end for poor Ajax!”
“At least he’s got his head on straight – in a manner of speaking,” Jack said.
“Yeah, not like our old pal, Winston.”
“I wish it was his cranium exploding back there,” Quincy said.
***
Fascista stalked into his office at his temporary “palace” in the old city library. Edwina and Fritz were there with Albert, their metal man servant. Everyone snapped to rigid attentio
n.
“Make preparation!” Fascista shouted. “This is execution day for the race traitor, Ajax.”
Fritz and Edwina glanced at each other quizzically.
“But Ultimo,” Fritz said, “wasn’t it scheduled for next week?”
Fascista slammed his swagger stick onto the desk. “Do you question my order?”
“Of course not, Ultimo,” Fritz said.
Fascista leaned in on Fritz. “What is the first law of Roboto Fascism?”
“Fascista Ultimo is always right!” Fritz shouted.
“Correct. And the second law?”
“Fascista Ultimo is never wrong!” Edwina cried.
F.U.’s fury abated. He slipped back into his benign, avuncular mode.
“Excellent!” He smacked his hands together. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“We are yours to command!” The youth leaders cried in unison.
Fritz and Edwina shot out their arms in the party salute. Clawfurt joined in with his great claw arm – even the mech wolves raised their paws.
Screw you all! Albert thought.
“Assemble the metal men to witness the execution,” Fascista said.
“It shall be done as ordered, Great Leader,” Clawfurt rasped.
“And have their tools at hand,” Fascista said, “We begin the construction work immediately after sentence is carried out.”
He glanced around the office contemptuously.
“It’s high time we got out of this dump and into a new party headquarters.”
“Hail Ultimo!” the flunkies cried.
Everyone cleared out hastily. Fascista sat behind his desk and studied the wall calendar. A date farther down the page was circled in red, with the notation:
Ajax – swear in or shut down
“What do you know? The kid was right!”
He smiled sheepishly and held up his hands.
“Ah well, one day is as good as another for a rendezvous with the cruncher, isn’t it?”
***
An hour later, mech wolf Squadristi herded the captives into the large open area by the bomb crater. Over a hundred metal men stood rank and file before a large wooden platform upon which a speaker’s podium and a stout post had been erected. A wide aisle separated the captives into two equal wings.
Piles of tools lay off to the side – picks, shovels, sledge hammers – waiting to be put in service of the great building plan. Immediately after the execution, they would begin tearing down the charred buildings bordering the crater.
