by Brian Bakos
She’ll understand soon enough, Winston thought, then things will go back to being nice again between us.
He began to feel more confident walking beside her. Warm recollections of their long history bubbled up from his memory banks. They’d been through so much together, and they’d meant so much to each other. He could have never made it this far without her devoted support.
So ... why had he scarcely given her a thought for the past month? A sharp pang of regret entered Winston’s consciousness.
Well, that was all going to change, as soon as this misunderstanding was cleared up. She’d come back to him once she realized his true greatness, his profound love for the people and their love for him.
His confidence increased as they entered the largest of the Institute buildings and moved along the corridor to the main workshop. How things had changed since he’d first trod this route with his former master and her nephew three and a half years ago! Who would have thought that he’d rise from such humble beginnings to reach the heights he occupied today?
What were those humans’ names again? ... Oh yes, Dr. Anna Horvath and little Charles. How silly of him to have forgotten.
They neared the main workshop door. Star spoke at last.
“Why don’t you leave your goon squad out here?” she said.
“Goon squad?”
Star gestured to the mech wolves.
“They ... you see, I’m so used to having them around,” Winston said.
“Do you want honest answers or not?” Star said.
“Well ...”
“Look, Winston, I really don’t have time for this,” Star said. “And I’m beginning to think that I don’t have any more time for you.”
She started walking back toward the lobby.
“Okay, wait,” Winston said.
He pointed to a spot next to the wall. The mech wolves moved reluctantly toward it and sat on their haunches.
“Satisfied?” Winston said.
Star gave him a perturbed look. “Call the ones from the workshop out here, too.”
“Sure thing,” Winston said.
Star walked alone into the shop.
Quincy and Jack were busy on the far side of the workshop repairing a damaged robot on a workbench. Around the big room, on all the other tables, lay more damaged machines. It was a depressingly familiar sight.
“Star!” Quincy said. “Great to see you.”
“How’s Iri doing?” Jack said.
“He’s fine, as far as I know,” Star said. “He’s been keeping a low profile.”
“That’s not surprising,” Quincy said, “after the way Winston double crossed him.”
Star glanced toward the door.
“Well, that’s another matter,” she said, lowering her voice.
“Can you help us today?” Jack said. “As you can see, we’ve still got a huge backlog,”
“But now that Iridium is finalized, we’ll be able to make faster progress,” Quincy added.
“Sure, boys,” Star said, “but we’ve got some other business to take care of first.”
Star returned to the doorway and stuck her head out into the hall. Winston was occupied with his wrist communicator. At his command, the mech wolf “assistants” left their workshop posts and brushed past Star on their way out the door.
“Where are they going?” Jack said.
“Who cares?” Quincy said, “as long as it isn’t here.”
Out in the corridor, the six creatures laid down together like a pack of lethal puppy dogs.
“Jack and Quincy are ready for you, now,” Star said.
“Certainly,” Winston said.
He approached the workshop door alone. He felt oddly vulnerable without his mech wolf escort, but submerged his unease under a jovial demeanor. He entered the workshop sporting his best politician’s smile.
“Hi, boys,” he said. “How’s it going?”
The repair bots stiffened and took a step backwards.
“Uh, we’re okay ... I guess,” Jack said.
“Is something wrong, Exalted Mayor?” Quincy asked.
“Not at all!” Winston said. “I’ve just come to see if you’re happy today.”
Quincy and Jack nodded dumbly.
“Of course we’re happy,” Quincy said. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“I mean to say ... are you pleased with the way I’m running Mech City?” Winston asked.
The repair bots looked around for mech wolves, saw none. They glanced toward Star. She nodded encouragement.
“Do you want our true opinion?” Jack said.
“That’s right,” Winston said, “give it to me straight, boys.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled confidently toward Star. Now she would understand the deep affection he was held in by everyone. Now she would appreciate his true worth.
Jack and Quincy drew themselves up and shouted in unison: “YOU STINK, WINSTON!”
“W-what?”
Winston recoiled with shock, as if he’d been struck a physical blow.
The robot lying on the workbench raised its head.
“Yeah, YOU STINK, WINSTON!” it cried.
Every sentient robot in the workshop, even the partially disassembled ones, joined the chorus.
“YOU STINK, WINSTON!”
Winston stumbled backwards, nearly falling over. Under the impact of three jackhammer words, he’d been reduced from the all-powerful mayor to a cringing shadow. He looked into Star’s face, hoping to find sympathy. He saw only hard determination.
“Shall we go, Mr. Popularity?” she said.
Star gripped his arm and led a badly shaken Winston out of the workshop.
5. Heroes’ Square Debacle
Jimmy, the construction foreman, gazed ruefully at the bulk of the new mayor’s palace rising on the edge of Heroes’ Square like some alien life form. Seventy robots labored amid its jumble of marble and steel. The only machinery in evidence was a crane type device fashioned from components of the former Clawfurt villain robot.
A large sign nearby read:
Future site of Winston Horvath Government Plaza
Jimmy was a large, broad construction model robot nearly two meters in height and possessed of great physical strength. His advanced brain unit contained all manner of knowledge gained from years of working on building and renovation projects – first with the human masters and later with Boss Winston Horvath.
He admired the Boss, but every iota of his knowledge and experience cried out against this unworkable project. Well ... if the Boss wanted it, Jimmy would have to try, no matter how absurd the effort was.
An expression of deep perplexity attended Jimmy’s face. It darkened as he viewed the great bomb crater with its fetid pond sprawling behind the building site – a huge disfigurement that he was supposed to fill in somehow.
He’d told the Boss that a water diversion project would work much better – channel the nearby stream through the crater and flush out the stagnant water. Then, a small dam would back up the river into a robot-made lake.
“That’s all well and good, Jimmy,” the Boss had said with a dismissive wave, “but we need more dry land for the government plaza. Such building plans I have!”
Right.
Jimmy rotated toward the entrance of the square, a hundred meters off, where the great wooden statue towered on its pedestal three and a half meters high in total.
Before the revolt, the statue had portrayed Fascista Ultimo. Now is had been remodeled into a replica of Winston Horvath, complete with an oversized Mayor’s medallion hanging around its neck. Jimmy had done the initial chainsaw work on the statue while Quincy and Jack had provided the finishing touches. The end result was very ... unique.
Sam, the assistant foreman, approached. Like Jimmy, he was a powerful construction model.
“How’s it going, Jimmy?” he asked.
Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t understand the Boss sometimes. He turned down ev
ery one of the recommendations in my report.”
“What did you recommend?” Sam asked.
“I told him ...”
Jimmy looked around warily for mech wolves. A dozen of them circulated about the square, but none appeared to be in earshot. He lowered his voice, anyway.
“I told him that this entire project should be cancelled.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, that would be for the best.”
“I don’t want to doubt the Boss,” Jimmy said. “I made that mistake once before. Still ...”
He glanced sadly about the square – this honored ground where the climactic struggle against Fascista Ultimo had taken place. When the Boss, whom everyone had considered to be a traitor, had suddenly returned and rallied them to victory. Where Jimmy and his men had stood proudly beside their leader and battled the very mech wolves that were now keeping them in check.
What had happened since then?
Jimmy himself had been the first to cry out for the Boss to take over the mayor’s job. He had loved the Boss so much that we would have done so even if Ajax hadn’t been incapacitated. He would have fought anyone who dared to oppose the Boss. And now this!
Jimmy was not given to philosophical ramblings, his mind was taken up with technical considerations, but he couldn’t escape the dreary thought that he was Winston’s last remaining friend in Mech City. And maybe Sam, and maybe Star.
“We’ve got visitors,” Sam said.
Jimmy looked over to see Winston and Star enter the square. Instantly all doubts vanished, replaced with unswerving loyalty and respect. He turned his back on the building site and snapped to attention.
“Boss!” he cried. “I mean ... W. H.”
Winston and Star covered the last yards to the construction robots.
“Hello, Jimmy, Sam,” Winston said, “please be at ease.”
“Yes, sir!” Jimmy said, assuming a more relaxed stance.
“What brings you out here, W.H.?” Sam asked.
“I wanted to have a word with the boys,” Winston said, “please assemble them.”
“Sure thing,” Jimmy said. “Come on Sam.”
The foremen ran off toward the building site. Star gestured to the communicator on Winston’s wrist.
“Hadn’t you better reign them in?”
“Of course,” Winston said.
He spoke into the communicator. The mech wolves circulating about the square all moved to the periphery and lay down.
“You’ll see, Star,” Winston said. “These are my guys – all of them worked with me on the REX project. You’ll find out how much they love me.”
The words rang a bit hollow, even in Winston’s auditory units. The triumphant expression Star had worn at the RDI had changed to a melancholy, almost pitying smile.
“Yes, we’ll find out,” she said.
The whole work crew approached, herded along by Jimmy and Sam. Nobody spoke or called out a greeting.
They must be exhausted, Winston thought, I’ll have to tell Jimmy not to work them so hard.
“Line up in ranks, men,” Jimmy commanded.
The workers assemble themselves into five rows. Winston swelled with pride to see them. Here they were, all gainfully employed thanks to him, displaying excellent discipline and order. Winston strode up before them like a military commander and placed his fists on both hips.
“I’ll make this brief, guys,” he said. “I’m only here to solicit your frank opinions.”
The workers exchanged glances among themselves. They looked off toward the distant mech wolves, then back toward Winston. Nobody spoke.
“All I want is for you to tell me how you feel about my leadership as your mayor,” Winston said.
More glances, accompanied by nervous shuffling.
“It’s all right boys,” Winston said, “feel free to speak your minds.”
Time held still for a moment as the workers gathered themselves to express a single, merciless judgment:
“YOU STINK, WINSTON!”
The words battered Winston like a storm surge against a wrecked ship. He staggered under their brutal power.
“That’s no way to talk to the Boss!” Jimmy shouted.
“YOU STINK, WINSTON!” seventy speaker units cried again.
“All right, you’ve had your say,” Jimmy yelled. “Back to work, everybody!”
The grumbling workers shuffled back toward the building site. Only Jimmy and Sam remained behind.
A terrible minute passed as Winston fought to recover his equilibrium. Not since the death of his former master and young Charles had he received such a direct shock.
“Are you okay?” Star said.
“N-no, I’m not,” Winston said.
Every circuit thrummed with agitation. Winston’s body began to shake, soon he would be out of control. Star wrapped her arms around him and held on tight.
“Hang on, baby,” she whispered in his left auditory sensor. “I’m with you.”
The horrible trembling finally ceased.
“I’m sorry, Boss,” Jimmy said, “but that’s how they truly feel. I ...”
He looked down at the paving stones. His face expressed more sadness than seemed possible for a “metal man” robot.
“Yes that’s pretty obvious,” Winston managed to say.
“If it wasn’t for the mech wolf guards, all the workers would have quit already,” Sam said.
Now Winston was staring at the paving stones. Several more moments dragged past.
“Begging your pardon, Boss,” Jimmy finally said, “but this whole project is nuts.”
“Yes, well, uh ... let’s take the rest of day off, shall we?” Winston said.
“Sure thing, Boss,” Jimmy said.
He and Sam moved off to the building site. Winston stood alone with Star, now, gazing off toward the stagnant water. Inside, he felt as blasted as that bomb crater. How could things have gone so wrong?
“You’ve got the rest of the day off,” Jimmy announced to the workers, “courtesy of the Boss.”
The workers threw down their tools and stomped away en masse, shoving right past their foremen.
“It would appear that employee morale is somewhat low,” Winston observed.
The workers trooped past Winston without so much as a glance his direction. They approached the exit of the square by the statue.
“Let’s send him a message, boys!” somebody shouted.
The workers swarmed around the statue, throwing their massed strength against it. Someone produced a cable. They wrapped it around Winston’s edifice and pulled hard in two teams, like in a tug of war. Shouts and laughter echoed around the square.
“Hey, stop that!” Jimmy cried.
The construction foreman hefted a sledgehammer and bore down on the vandals.
“It’s okay, Jimmy!” Winston called. “Leave them alone, please.”
Jimmy lowered his weapon and watched helplessly as:
CRACK!
The heroic statue broke off at the knees.
THUD!
It tumbled onto the paving stones.
“Oh, my!” Star cried.
“Forget it, Star,” Winston said. “I deserved that.”
Thanks for reading!
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Connect with the Author
I hope you enjoyed the story.
Please visit my website and blog at: “The B2”
Brian’s Other Books
If you liked this book, then please order copies of my other novels for more of the same madness. They are available at all major online retailers. Visit my website at “The B2” to find the links.
Expedition Westward
Sequel to Return to Mech City
What is the cost of rediscovering true love in a shattered world? Whatever it might be, Star is willing to pay, or not survive the outcome. A trek along dangerous roads provides the answer. The dystopian adventure continues.
Science Fiction / Humor / Dystopian
4th Musketelle
Those who don’t keep the faith eventually get “the point.”
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Murder seems a reasonable solution. Laila plots to use Frank’s infamous temper against him and make his death seem like an “accident.” Things don’t work out as planned, though, and it’s not certain who will survive the final cut.
Dark Humor / Romantic Homicide
Raptor Aces
The terrifying Zone of Destruction – ZOD, the absence of God. It has taken over the lives of the Raptor Aces, an elite Youth League air squadron and its commander, Dytran. They must overcome its toxic influence or face annihilation.
Dytran is the cream of his nation – proud, dynamic, convinced of his inherent superiority. Although a supporter and beneficiary of his totalitarian society, he lacks the brutal heart of the true fanatic. His world unravels when a poor decision goes horribly wrong, resulting in death and destruction. When his fighter ace brother is reported killed in the great Eastern war, the bottom goes out of his life.
An encounter with the Magleiter, leader of the nation, bucks him up. He grabs at a chance to volunteer for support aviation service in the war. At the front, he and his comrades encounter an enemy who is not the degenerate race of the propaganda broadcasts but a tough, resourceful foe. They are scattered to fend for themselves in a landscape so ravaged by war that normal reality has become unhinged. Dytran becomes swept up in violence and revenge until escape seems beyond reach.
New Adult / Action-Adventure / War
DAS ROAD
A road novel with fascinating turns through exotic Asia, workaday America, and Iran caught up in revolution. Travel realms where anything is possible, wonderful, or horrible. And always on the road ahead, the mythical figure of Jon Glass who haunts the entire journey. A story imbued with meaning just below the level of articulating. A siren call to your wanderlust.
Travel / Mystery / Adventure
Career Moves for Burnt Out Personifications
Santa, the Grim Reaper, and others scramble to find new careers and identities. Outrageous political and social satire. “A smorgasbord of paranoid ramblings ideally suited to today’s sensibilities.”
