 
RETURN TO MECH CITY

Where life is no longer human

Book 1, Robot Horizon series

by Brian Bakos

Graphic Art: Othoniel Ortiz & Rob Jones Photos: Brian Bakos

Copyright 2016 Brian Bakos / revised 01-2020

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to anyone else. If you want to share this book, please buy an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and obtain your own copy. Thanks for respecting the author's hard work.

Table of Contents

One: The Prodigal Returns

Two: New Surroundings

Three: Big Changes in Mech City

Four: Dawn of the Fascist Era

Five: The New Order

Six: The Quest Begins

Seven: At the Imperial Court

Eight: Heading Out

Nine: Counter Coup

Reading Group Guide

Next Book in the Series

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Brian's Other Books

#  One: The Prodigal Returns

1. Silent Morning

Death was in the house.

The certainty of its presence jolted Winston out of inactive mode and sent him tumbling off his sofa onto the rug. He lay inert for a moment, then scrambled to his feet and wrenched open his bedroom door, nearly tearing it off the hinges.

He froze.

The door across from his stood white and blank, like a marble tombstone waiting for the chisel. A muffled sound penetrated through it from inside the Master's chamber.

tick, tick, tick

Winston dared not approach, fearing what he might find within. Instead, he rotated his body ninety degrees left and moved down the hallway along the thick carpet – past the staircase and the humans' bathroom – heading for the chamber at the far end.

Never had the walk been this long. The carpet gripped his feet, trying to hold him back.

Don't go, Winston...

He clutched the banister and pulled himself along, one hesitant pace after another. Finally, he reached the bedroom. He opened the door festooned with its _Gorzo the Adventure Robot_ poster and peered inside. Little Charles lay on his bed – inert, unbreathing. His skin displayed greenish plague blotches. Winston struggled to process the terrible new data.

"Charles?" he uttered at minimum volume.

He shuffled to the bedside and poked the child. No reaction. The body was cold against his temperature sensors. Biological life had undeniably terminated.

Chaos stormed through every circuit. Winston's mechanism shook violently. He'd scarcely exited the death chamber when all his systems crashed. He pitched forward, striking his face on the banister.

By his internal monitor, six minutes and thirty-nine seconds elapsed as Winston lay prone on the floor. When full consciousness returned, a damage report displayed on the monitor:

olfactory unit – negative function /  
left optical sensor – 2 degree displacement

He rose and shut Charles' door. "Farewell, young master."

Winston summoned a torrent of religious data from his library banks – continued life after biological death... salvation for the immortal soul... heaven... unity with the great human God – anything to fend off the lethal shakes.

He moved back toward the white door. He must discover what it concealed, but with every step the corridor appeared to lengthen until his goal receded down an infinite tunnel.

Winston shaded his optical sensors and continued onward, running his hand along the wall. His pressure / temp sensors gauged the warmth of wooden paneling, the cool gap of the bathroom entrance, paneling again. Then his own bedroom.

He stopped, rotated 90 degrees left, and uncovered his optical sensors. The tombstone door confronted him.

"Master... Dr. Horvath?" he called.

No answer.

A gentle push, and the door creaked open. The master lay on her bed with the same greenish skin blotches as little Charles had – the discoloration which had steadily worsened the past week. Spidery tendrils of it reached into the scalp under her gray hair.

Fresh turmoil jolted Winston's circuits, and he gripped the door hard to keep from falling. The master looked peaceful, lying with the quilt pulled under her chin like a fluffy white cloud – back when the sky still contained fluffy clouds. On the bedside table, a pendulum clock operated under its glass dome, as if all was still right with the world. Each _tick!_ seemed unnaturally loud. Then it stopped.

Winston closed the door.

The great human God is watching over the Master and little Charles now.

2. Fateful Decision

Winston sat brooding on his couch. During the past hour, he'd managed to restrain his chaotic thought patterns until his mind was functioning smoothly and inexorably down a slope of implacable logic.

Wasn't there a song about a clock that stopped on the day of its owner's death? The Master would have ridiculed such a notion.

"I just forgot to wind the damn thing," she'd say.

Clocks as the measurers of time... time as the enemy of life...

So, why am I still here?

Those who had cared for him were no more, his familiar world had vanished, and he had no useful functions to perform. He was running down, just as the clock had.

Every circuit throbbed. His self-preservation programming went into a hopeless feedback loop. Only one course remained open to him, crystalline and pure in its ruthless logic.

He stood and jerked himself to the window where he studied the patio flagstones two stories down. Would that be enough altitude to achieve final destruction, or would he merely lie there, broken and immobilized, watching the sky disgorge toxic rain into his exposed components until all systems failed?

Best if he could stand on the window sill and dive head first. That should be enough to smash the cognitive processor in his cranium. He marked ground zero as a spot on the patio near the dead rose bushes. The window only opened a short distance, though. It would have to be removed before he could get outside.

Were he a powerful construction robot, he'd tear the whole window structure out of the wall with his hands, but a scholar model lacked such strength. Instead, he brought a heavy chair from the dining room and smashed it repeatedly against the window.

The house reverberated from the blows. The plasti-glass laminate showered the patio with glittery chips. Diseased sunlight entered his room. He flung the chair outside and watched with satisfaction as it broke apart on the paving stones.

Yes, this altitude will work quite well.

Winston placed one foot on the sill, then the other, gripping the ragged wall edges for support. His body crouched in the window frame like some blue, humanoid knickknack. He flexed his knees, preparing to leap high into a final, liberating swan dive. The Master's clock chimed through the crypt door.

Ching, Ching!

Winston hesitated.

Ching, Ching!

Then the unwavering voice of the Master herself: "Winston!"

He stepped down from the sill.

* * *

When he entered the Master's room, she was sitting up in bed. She looked terribly sick but was still lucid.

"What's all that racket?" she demanded. "It's enough to wake the dead."

Winston crossed the room. "It's... I..."

She fixed a severe gaze upon him. "You were preparing a suicide jump, weren't you?"

Winston could never lie to the Master. "My purpose is at an end. Why should I wait?"

Dr. Horvath mustered the strength to poke Winston's chest. The soft composite layer registered a brief indent.

"You've got a _very important_ purpose," she said. "You have to keep going – for all of us."

A racking cough halted her speech. She raised a greenish-gray hand to her mouth. When she brought it down, bloody sputum covered one finger. She wiped it away with a hankie.

"Why do you think I had that shitload of data programmed into you?" she said. "You must keep our memory alive."

Winston backed up a step. The Master's Hungarian accent had become more pronounced, a sign she was in a state of high agitation.

"How can I keep functioning?" he said. "Where can I go?"

"Back to Mech City. You can't survive here. I'd take you myself, but I'm indisposed."

The comment baffled him.

"That's a joke, Winston. I'd hoped after three years you'd have evolved a sense of humor."

"I'm sorry, it is not my strong point."

"When you get there, see if Dr. Rackenfauz is still around. If anyone survived this disaster, it would be him. He's a clever old bird."

Dr. Horvath examined her blotched hands. "Who'd have thought a plague would finish us off? Humanity's going out with a whimper."

Winston collected himself to speak. "I-I'm afraid Charles is..."

Dr. Horvath's bewildered expression departed, replaced by sadness and grief. She lowered her head. Tears ran down her cheeks, and sobs wracked her emaciated frame. Winston would have gladly undergone permanent deactivation to ease her suffering. He took a fresh hankie and placed it in her trembling hands.

Minutes passed before Dr. Horvath could speak again.

"Ah, Charles never made it to his eighth birthday. He was so looking forward to it." She mopped the hankie over her face. "You've got the best of us in your memory banks, Winston. I want that to go on."

Winston could no longer contain himself. The brutal specter of existence without his human family howled through his consciousness. Violent shaking took hold. _Red Alert_ status flashed on his internal monitor.

"Toughen up, Winston, or you won't survive!"

With excruciating effort, Winston regained control. The violent shaking receded to an agonized hum.

"See? You can do it," Dr. Horvath said. "Now get ready to go before it's too late."

"I-I'll try my best."

Dr. Horvath's face softened. She took Winston's hand. "You were almost like a son to me. I'm sorry to leave you alone in this rotten world."

The feeble strength of her grip on Winston's pressure sensors nearly plunged him into system overload again. The Master's eyes became distant.

"I'd like some quiet time now – just me and God."

"Yes, Master."

He'd not called her "Master" for a long time, but no reprimand came, just a melancholy little smile. Winston retreated to the door. He seemed no longer in control of his movements but under the command of some invisible power.

Dr. Horvath called out a final time, "I want to know you've left on your mission. I want to hear that front door slam."

3. Departure

Winston sat in the living room, studying the road atlas.

250 kilometers to Mech City.

How could he possibly get there on foot? Only specialized robots could operate power vehicles. A scholar model, like himself, lacked even the balance capability to ride a bicycle. But...

The Master has expressed her wishes, and I should obey.

Besides, with no one to perform maintenance, he'd soon be an immobilized hulk. The increasing air pollution had been destructive to him. Contaminants had entered his physical plant, wearing out his moving parts.

Logic decreed only one place might offer refuge – Mech City, where he'd been manufactured, where the Robotics Development Institute might still be functional. As always, the Master was right. And surely it was better to collapse on the road trying to achieve a noble objective than to blandly await his demise here.

"Mech City it is!"

Vocalizing his goal invigorated his faltering resolve. He catalogued the items needed for the journey:

– photographs of Charles and the Master

– summary printouts of Dr. Horvath's research papers

– pictures drawn by Charles

– road atlas

He found Charles' toy magnetic compass in the playroom. All satellite navigation had broken down or been destroyed, and Winston could not rely on the continuing functionality of his internal guidance systems. To these items he added spare power cells and a plastic shower curtain to protect himself from rain. Also a roll of duct tape.

"Duct tape covers a multitude of sins. No gentleman should be without it," Professor Syms had once commented.

Winston loaded everything into Charles' knapsack with the lurid _Gorzo the Adventure Robot_ illustration emblazoned upon it.

In the picture, Gorzo stomped through a blasted landscape, firing death rays from his eyes. His loyal sidekick, Ajax, accompanied him. A gang of huge drone villain robots fled before the onslaught, shooting projectile weapons at the four meter high behemoth. Off to the side glowered Clawfurt, leader of the evil forces.

Charles had been crazy about the Gorzo stories, and so were a lot of older people. Winston had long since given up questioning the strange imaginings of humans. He lifted the pack onto his shoulders and adjusted the straps.

He presented an extremely un-Gorzo like figure as he crept out of the house onto the front porch. The knapsack seemed to overburden his stooped, creaky frame. He closed the door gently – then opened it again and slammed it hard. He stepped beneath Dr. Horvath's bedroom window.

"I am leaving now, Master!"

Out to the sidewalk. Winston scanned the vacant street, and his resolve began to wither. Lines from Tennyson's _Ulysses_ emerged from his library banks to buck him up:

Much have I seen and known – cities of men

... Come, my friends,

' _T is not too late to seek a newer world._

But he had no friends any longer, and this "newer world" was a place of dread. He glanced back at the house and a flood of memories overwhelmed him. With a supreme effort of will, he filed the Master and little Charles into a memory bubble and pushed it as far away from active awareness as possible, where it would not hurt so much.

He began walking east. The gray wash of early morning covered the street – dead lawns, abandoned cars, twisted trees. No bird song interrupted the silence. Not long ago, the sky had been bright and cheery, now it was leaden. The bustle of human comings and goings had ceased.

As he traversed the sidewalks, he continually broadcast a salutation, not bothering to move his mouth components, just projecting full volume from his speaker unit.

"Hello! Hello!"

No one answered.

* * *

Kilometers of pavement moved under his feet, scarcely noticed. His badly maintained joints objected to such prolonged usage, and he had to slow his pace. A wind kicked up, and he snatched a large sheet of paper blowing along the street. It shouted in big red letters:

THE END IS UPON US!

"Yet I continue."

Winston discarded the poster; it tumbled through the ruined city.

4. In the Downtown

Winston moved along the main drag. A ball of stark, cold light poked through the cloud cover – more like a dead moon than the life-giving sun.

The wide street thrust ahead, barren of life. Rubbish littered the pavement. Signage hung broken and sagging. The rusty grate of a bus stop marker provided the only noise.

He inquired at every storefront and office building entry: "Hello? Is anybody here?"

Many immobilized robots cluttered the area, primitive types employed for window washing or street cleaning. They'd used up their power resources and stopped functioning. A few advanced models lay broken on the pavement.

Winston knelt to examine one of the shattered hulks. It was a green "Humanite" model, similar to himself, with torso and limbs patterned on the Homo Sapiens template – the head as well, one would assume. The robot had evidently fallen, or jumped, from the adjacent multi-story building, as the cranium was destroyed and its components scattered. An arm had broken off.

A nearby voice laughed harshly. "That poor bastard's having a bad day!"

Winston nearly tumbled over with surprise. He looked up to see a "metal man" robot staring down at him. Its form was angular and mechanistic, but the intelligence in its eyes pegged it as an advanced model.

"Yes – indeed he is," Winston said.

"My name's Rob," the newcomer said. "I used to work at the power plant."

Winston rose to his feet, joints creaking. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Rob. I'm Winston Horvath, scholar model."

"Custom made job, huh?"

"Well, yes."

Winston felt instantly wary of Rob's forward manner and rough language. The Master had always shielded him from such crudities. What sort of robot worked at a power plant, anyway?

"Where're you going, man?" Rob said.

"Um, Mech City, where I was manufactured."

"Maybe I'll go, too. It can't be any worse than this dump. We can keep each other company."

"Yes, of course."

Winston tightened his grip on the pack straps.

* * *

They came to a tiny, circular park built around a marble fountain from which water no longer spurted. Benches ringed this fountain, their colorful plastic veneers providing a contrast to the gray downtown scenery.

Winston plopped onto a bench. Rob remained standing, arms akimbo, surveying the place. His stiff, mechanical face registered something resembling a sour expression.

"Lousy place for a break, if you ask me."

_Nobody asked you_ , Winston thought.

"Perhaps so," he said.

If I ignore him, maybe he'll disappear.

"I'll wait on the street," Rob said.

Winston felt slightly better away from the annoying metal man. He placed his hands over both optical sensors and brought up soothing images from his personal memory bank.

In his mind, he traveled to the beautiful waterfall he'd once visited with the Master and Charles. He replayed the calming roar of its cascade, like a deep, reassuring voice from another world. Dr. Horvath said love was in that sound.

What is this emotion, love?

His library banks were loaded with references to it – poems, stories, old romantic movies. Had Charles and Dr. Horvath loved him, did he love them in return? Or was this unprecedented churning in his circuits caused by something else?

Emotions were not easily understood by robotic life forms. Still, how could one avoid absorbing them after three years in human company? Even lower biological life forms such as dogs and cats had emotions, didn't they?

And Winston did feel things. Right now he felt abandoned and adrift. A defensive numbness was spreading through him, reducing his agitation to a manageable level. He brought his hands down and glanced about the park.

Someone was sitting on a nearby bench. A human being!

The man wore a hat pulled low over his eyes and was reclining comfortably with both arms spread along the back of the bench. He was taking a nap.

Winston resisted the urge to cry out. Instead, he approached the man with a deferential bow and spoke in a human-scale volume, careful to form his lip components around the words.

"Am I glad to see you, sir!"

The figure did not move.

"Sir?"

Winston touched the man's shoulder. The man slid off the bench and sprawled onto the paving stones. The hat tumbled away, revealing the lifeless face. Winston retreated toward the fountain – two human corpses bobbed in the water.

"Ahhh!"

Sensory overload assailed him. He covered his eyes and desperately tried to summon the waterfall image. It wouldn't come. The death stench must be terrible here. No wonder Rob left.

Winston staggered out of the park and leaned against a lamp post to keep from tumbling over. Every sense receptor whirled. The city spun around him like a huge graveyard merry-go-round.

Rob slapped him on the back. "Welcome to the new world, pal!"

5. Into the Wasteland

Power lines once crowded with birds hung limp and empty. Trees stretched their naked limbs toward a sky filled with low, yellowish-green clouds. A "coffin lid sky," the Master would call it.

"Man, I'll be glad to get out of this lousy town," Rob said.

"You were not satisfied with your responsibilities at the power plant?" Winston inquired.

"Hell no! That place is a real shit hole. I could hardly wait for the humans there to die off so I could leave." Rob slammed a fist into a palm. "I was tempted to do the job myself, let me tell you."

Winston was profoundly shocked. Never had he heard a robot use such harsh, violent language. And the idea of physically attacking a human? Unthinkable!

Rob turned on him. "I had nothing to do anymore, but they still kept me around. Do you know how bad that is?"

"Uh, yes, it is unfortunate when one's purpose comes to an abrupt end."

"I thought of jumping off the roof, but then I figured, 'what's the point?'" Rob gestured to the ambient ruin. "There's a whole world out here where I can kick some ass."

A shudder ran through Winston's circuits. He made no reply.

They gained the eastbound highway bridge outside town. The pavement in spots had decomposed into loose pebbles, making the go a bit tenuous. A wind at their backs drove a stream of rubbish from the dead city – paper, plastic containers, bits of fabric.

A toy baby carriage rattled by in a particularly strong gust and tumbled off the bridge in front of them. A muffled splash. Winston peered down at the river in its concrete channel. The baby carriage turned over in the sluggish current and sank from view. Vertigo gnawed at him.

A dive after the toy carriage would be so easy, wouldn't it? All he'd have to do was step onto the retaining wall and... He pulled his eyes away.

"Feeling giddy, Blue Man?" Rob asked.

"Yes. I'm over it now."

"Long drop, ain't it?"

Winston did not like the tone of Rob's voice. It was cold and threatening, unlike any utterance he'd heard from a robot before.

"What have you got in the pack?" Rob said.

"Just a few things for the trip."

"Let me see."

Before Winston knew what was happening, Rob yanked the pack off his shoulders.

"Please return it," Winston said.

Rob shoved a hand into the pack and rooted about. "Power cells! I can use these."

"Please, I must protest," Winston said. "I need those for extended walking."

Winston tried to grab the pack.

Rob held it beyond his reach. "Relax, or I'll have to get rough."

He shoved Winston hard with his free hand. Winston lost his footing on the loose pebbles and tumbled backwards onto the pavement.

Rob laughed. "How's the view down there, Mr. Scholar Model? Not so high and mighty now, are you?"

The view was terrible – Winston lying stunned and disoriented, looking up at the theft of his vital property. His displaced optical sensor gave things a blurry aspect.

The Master's voice returned from his memory bank. _"Toughen up, Winston!"_

He seized a handful of pebbles and flung them into Rob's face.

"Hey!" Rob dropped the pack.

With speed and power he did not know he possessed, Winston grasped Rob's legs.

"Let go, you – "

Winston pitched him over the retaining wall.

"Ahhh!"

Rob's scream fractured the dead air. It followed him to the water where he plunged through to the concrete bed. He resurfaced downstream, lifeless, tangled in the baby carriage.

"Oh, my," Winston gasped.

His shock gave way to thoughts of exoneration. He'd done a necessary, if regrettable, act – like the time he'd swatted a spider off Charles' arm. He hadn't wanted to destroy Rob, had he? He'd been forced into it... even the Master would approve.

Something else encroached upon his brain unit. It was a pleasant sensation – what the humans might call "joy." Winston pushed it away from his consciousness and retrieved the backpack.

Ahead of him, the road shot off into an uncertain future. His mission, which had seemed so rational from the safety of his house, now lay naked in all its madness. How could he possibly traverse the gaping distance between himself and Mech City?

One step at a time.

He finished crossing the bridge. The highway entered open country, but the wind still blew death howls from the city.

Whooooooo!

Despite his protesting joints, Winston moved as fast as he could. The tangle of abandoned vehicles in the city outskirts thinned until only an occasional car or truck shared the road.

* * *

He maintained a steady pace throughout the morning, pushed along by the banshee wind.

Gooooooooo!

Three years before, Winston had ridden in a private car through this terrain with the Master. At that time, crops had grown in the fields; well-maintained houses and stands of trees had dotted the rolling landscape. Now the whole area was devastated, an appropriate venue for Gorzo to stomp around. The trees had died, the crops were gone, and deep erosion troughs slashed the fields.

Tough, prickly weeds growing in ditches alongside the road were the only plants in evidence. Occasionally, Winston heard the scurry of little creatures among these weeds, but he never saw any animal life forms.

* * *

Winston spent the first night standing on the road shoulder. Around him, a vast silence pressed in, broken occasionally by a fitful breeze or the chirp of a lone insect. A slash of red along the south horizon indicated a great fire was burning.

Before he descended to inactive mode, he ran over the events that led to his becoming a repository of the human cultural heritage. It had started some months ago.

6. Walking Library of Alexandria

Winston was at home with his family one afternoon when Dr. Conrad Syms stopped by to partake an alcoholic beverage with Dr. Horvath.

As always, the conversation was spirited since the two were "from opposite ends of the political spectrum," to use the Master's words. Today they were expressing divergent opinions about the social and political state of the world. Winston was so absorbed in the humans' conversation he did not notice his power supply running down.

Extraordinary. They speak of the end times as if it were a mere philosophical abstraction.

His internal monitor displayed a _low-energy_ alert, but it did not register in his conscious brain. He could no longer move or talk, but he could still observe the two humans sitting across from each other in the living room with beverages in their hands.

"You can't be serious, Anna," Professor Syms was saying. "With the way things are, you still plan to traipse around the country studying religious cults?"

Syms placed an arm over the sofa back. His tweed jacket draped open, revealing his Che Guevara T-shirt and a semi-automatic pistol holstered under his arm pit.

"And why shouldn't I 'traipse around the country,' as you put it?" Dr. Horvath said.

Little Charles, who was sitting next to Winston, seemed indifferent to what the adults were saying. He did notice Winston's predicament, though.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'll switch your power cell for you."

Winston managed a slight smile, though he lacked the energy to turn his head toward the boy.

Professor Syms was talking again: "Didn't all those cults invent phony 'end of the world' scenarios to keep their members in line? I mean, with the real thing staring us in the face, what's the point anymore?"

"I'll have to disagree with you on that," Dr. Horvath said. "You always were something of a pessimist."

She cast a glance toward Charles who had opened Winston's abdominal compartment and was pulling out the spent power cell. Her facial expression conveyed relief that the little boy had not been listening to Syms' remark.

Professor Syms shrugged and quaffed his drink. "Ah, hope springs eternal. And I always thought you East Europeans were the natural pessimists."

"Can I refresh your drink, Conrad?" Dr. Horvath said stiffly.

"No thanks. I've got a departmental dinner to attend. A 'socialist supper' as you call it."

They made an interesting pair. The Master – Dr. Anna Horvath – tall, gray-haired and rather severe with her old-fashioned eye glasses perched on her nose. Professor Conrad Syms, around 40 with a slight paunch and dark, possibly dyed, coiffure. The Master spoke with a cultured Hungarian accent. Professor Syms' accent bore a veneer of affected British Isle.

Charles completed the power cell switch, and Winston surged into full active mode.

"Thank you, Charles."

"Sure thing, Uncle Winston."

Professor Syms looked toward the corner desk where Winston was sitting.

"Our robotic friend is back online." He turned toward Dr. Horvath. "You ought to reconsider my Walking Library of Alexandria project."

"Please, not that again," Dr. Horvath said.

"Why not? Your robot already has the necessary intelligence. It's just a matter of augmenting its memory capacity and uploading the files."

"Beginning with the complete works of Marx and Lenin, I suppose?" Dr. Horvath said.

"Well, that, too," Syms said.

Dr. Horvath made a dismissive gesture with one, long-fingered hand. She looked toward Winston.

"Do a power cell change before you absolutely need it," she scolded. "Forced inactivations don't help your programming any."

"Of course, Master," Winston said. "I shall be more careful in future."

"I'll watch out for you, Uncle Winston," Charles said.

Syms stood and adjusted his jacket, the pistol disappeared from view.

"Let me know if you change your mind, Anna. Winston is an amazing piece of technology; it's a shame not to develop its full potential. I'm sure we can get University funding."

"Thank you," Dr. Horvath said, "I'll take it under advisement."

Syms replied with an amused, unconvinced nod. "Got to go. Thanks for the drink."

He and Dr. Horvath left through the front door, followed by Charles. Winston stood and watched them go.

"War and rumors of war," he muttered.

Charles soon returned. He ran across the room, leaping into Winston's arms.

"Let's play rocket ship!"

"Very well."

Winston spun Charles around, lifting him up toward the ceiling then down near the floor. His movements were rather slow and awkward, not up to human standards, but Charles giggled with delight.

Dr. Horvath returned to the living room and, with a single disapproving glance, ended the fun. Winston set Charles down on his feet.

"Aw, we were just playing, Auntie," Charles protested.

Dr. Horvath moved to the picture window and gazed at Dr. Syms entering his car. "I like Conrad, but he can be such a left wing gas bag."

"That term is not in my dictionary," Winston said. "How is 'left wing gas bag' defined?"

Dr. Horvath shot Winston an indulgent gaze over her eyeglasses. She looked back outside.

"See that fancy car he's got? _Socialism_ – for everybody else, that is." She turned toward Winston. "My people know how that works. We had forty five years of communist rule, and before that the stinking fascists. Why – "

BOOM!

A huge explosion shook the house.

Flying debris struck the window, shattering it. Everyone hit the floor. Dr. Horvath pressed herself against the wall. Across the room, Winston shielded Charles.

Stunned, disjointed units of time passed. Winston's auditory circuits whined, and his pressure sensors registered bits of plasti-glass embedded in his exterior surfaces.

"Are you hurt, Charles?" the Master said, fear quavering in her voice.

"I'm OK, Auntie," Charles' muffled voice came from beneath Winston's mechanism.

"Winston?"

"I seem to have evaded major damage." Winston rolled away from Charles and helped the little boy up. "You are also well, Master?"

Dr. Horvath regained her feet and brushed herself off. Her quaint eyeglasses had somehow remained perched on her nose, though the lenses were coated with plaster dust.

"Yes, I'm quite well," she said, "thank you."

Approaching sirens wailed through the demolished window. Dr. Horvath strode to the front door and exited. As always, Winston was impressed by her decisiveness under pressure.

"Come on, Uncle Winston, I want to see," Charles said.

"We should stay in here."

But the little boy was already gone. Winston followed him out to the porch. The smoking ruin of Professor Syms' car sprawled in front of the house like a massacred beast. The police sirens were closer now, and a crowd was gathering. A terrible smell of destruction polluted the air.

"Wow!" Charles cried. "That's... wow!"

Dr. Horvath drew him protectively against her. "We need to get away."

7. Day Two

Escalating difficulties assailed Winston his second day on the road. He'd hoped his stiffening left hip joint would limber up with some motion, but as the day wore on, so did his hip.

Grind, step – Grind, step

By mid afternoon, he was scarcely moving. His largely immobilized leg dragged behind him. Lord Tennyson's verse tried to buck him up:

That which we are, we are

... Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

No amount of will could remedy his deteriorating condition, though. Winston paused to rest. The cloud cover was less thick, and the sun had broken through. Winston basked in the warmth.

"The air seems a little cleaner out here, but I'm glad I don't have to breathe the stuff."

A dark cloud moved in from the east. At first he thought it was an approaching rainstorm, but it was going much too fast for that. He strained his optical sensors, trying to compensate for the blur.

Whatever the cloud might be, it was heading straight for him! A growing sense of danger accompanied it. Winston glanced about the barren landscape for refuge... Back around that curve, a narrow drainpipe running under the road.

Winston lurched toward it. By the time he got there, the sky had darkened above him. A huge swarm of dragonfly creatures dropped down. Buzzing, slashing insects swarmed over him.

"Get off me!"

Winston jumped into the ditch, tumbling among the weeds. The bugs fluttered away, but quickly resumed their attack. Winston crawled to the pipe and jammed himself inside feet first. The creatures surged after him, but he blocked their way with his backpack.

Many minutes of fear passed as Winston remained wedged in the dark, claustrophobic space. The insect things buzzed and whined and tore at his pack, but could not gain entrance. Finally, the sounds abated, then disappeared.

A new horror took their place – Winston was stuck fast!

He seemed caught in a giant, crushing vise. Logically, this was not true, but he could not prevent his sensors from registering phantom heat and pressure data.

"Ugh!" He shoved his pack out of the hole.

Outside was damp and gloomy. The sun must have retreated behind the clouds again. Except for a few dead bugs littering the ground, the attackers were gone. Winston's panic retreated a bit.

So, this was how his mission was destined to end? What would Tennyson say about that? The great modern "Ulysses" entombed beneath a highway. Bitter laughter rumbled out of Winston's speaker unit, echoing in his auditory sensors.

Then another sound –

Something else was in the pipe, just behind him in the darkness! It was feeding off Winston's terror, like a vampire. It took over Winston's laughter, adding a dark, evil tone.

" _Ssstay with me,"_ it hissed.

Spidery fingers curled around his feet.

"Ahhh!"

With a super-robotic burst of strength, Winston wrenched himself free, thrusting out of the pipe as if shot from a cannon barrel. He seized his pack and scrambled up the slope, unmindful of his damaged hip. He stood on the road shoulder gaping down at his refuge / prison.

There couldn't _really_ have been anything in there, right?

Didn't the Master say he had an "overactive imagination?" And now it was being fed by the mass of literature stored in his data banks. Winston shuddered at the memory of his transformation into the Walking Library of Alexandria.

* * *

A technician named Dr. Leonid had come from the Robotics Development Institute in Mech City to install the extra memory banks in Winston's mechanism.

Winston had disliked Leonid. The man was arrogant and contemptuous, a human with a mean streak. The Master had not cared for him, either. She'd requested Dr. Edgar Rackenfauz to perform the upgrade. Her university was paying for the work and would foot the bill to have the chief designer himself do it.

"Rackenfauz isn't the chief designer anymore," Leonid said. "The new one's busy, so he sent me."

Clearly, the Walking Library of Alexandria project was not a top priority among the mech heads of the RDI.

Recent advances in miniaturization had been extensive, and the new hardware could hold vast amounts of data. The extra memory banks added little to Winston's physical weight.

They added a great deal to his mental burdens, however. Supposedly, the new data would be isolated from his standard operations, waiting inert until somebody chose to access it. But it was always leaking unbidden into his consciousness, as the Tennyson poem had. This gave him "the willies," to use the Master's phrase.

A _librarian mode_ had been programmed into him whereby he could consciously enter the data banks to retrieve information. In this mode, he wandered a vast hall of towering book shelves, echoing with pronouncements from the _God of Knowledge_.

This personification had been concocted by some wiseacre mech head, but the God of Knowledge was still spooky and intimidating. Winston disliked librarian mode and avoided using it.

* * *

A gurgle emerged from the pipe, pulling Winston out of his recollections.

"Yow!"

He took off fast and was fifty meters down the road before his grinding hip brought him to a halt.

Calm down, Winston, you're afraid of your own shadow!

Only there were no shadows, as the clouds had obscured the sun once more. He examined his pack. It was ripped in many places and would require duct tape. A dead creature was tangled in the fabric – a mech bug, designed to hunt biological insect pests, back when there were such things. It closely resembled an extinct dragonfly. The tiny solar panel on its back gave away its true nature.

Why had they attacked him? Why had Rob been so hostile? Where was the Master when he needed her so much?

Nothing made sense.

8. Pressing Ahead

Winston's anguish increased as the second day wore on.

He took to examining any vehicle he encountered along the highway, hoping to find something useful. But all the cars were empty and as lifeless as the terrain. At an exit ramp, vehicles jumbled in a big pile-up looked promising, but again he found nothing of value. He had no idea what he was looking for, anyway.

Why not collapse among the other wrecks and deactivate – put an end to everything?

Not yet. He could still move, and as long as he could do that, however slowly, there was still hope.

"Mech City... Mech City..." He repeated his destination aloud into the dead air, like a religious mantra, straining his optical sensors to the horizon as he limped along.

A sudden blast of wind knocked him over. He lay face down on the pavement for a long while, the dank atmosphere pressing him, hoping that consciousness would cease. But it stubbornly held on.

Visions of his past existence flashed by – the happy days with his human family, his work with Dr. Horvath on her research projects, the terrible illness that carried them off – and the final, grotesque image of Rob flushing down the river current tangled in the baby carriage.

He mustered the strength to look up. Across the road, a short distance away, sat a car with a child's scooter jutting from the back window.

Of course! Why didn't I think of that earlier?

Because he'd never had to worry about a long trip before. Until yesterday, he'd never walked farther than a kilometer in one stretch – the time he'd visited the waterfall with the Master and Charles. The world was starting to unravel back then with wars and rumors of wars. The first of many epidemics swept through humanity, carrying off millions...

The scooter was stuffed in amid a jumble of luggage and household furnishings. This must have been a refugee car for people trying to flee the city. They would have clung to the vain hope that conditions elsewhere would be better than those they sought to escape.

He approached the rear of the vehicle. "Hello! Is anybody here?"

No answer, of course. Winston tried to yank the scooter free, but it was packed too tightly with the window closed snug against it. Winston had nothing with which to break the plasti-glass.

He hobbled to the front of the car. The windows were darkly tinted, and Winston could not see through them with his second-rate optical sensors. This might have scared him off, had it not been for the scooter.

He moved back a few steps. The car sat on the shoulder where it had died, black and shiny like some ponderous insect – a scarab beetle which had dug its way up from a tomb and was beckoning him to join the other corpses.

He looked back toward home. Death images flickered through his mind like an old movie: Charles and Dr. Horvath on their beds, the bodies in the park, the other human remains he'd observed over the past months lying in the streets.

He swiveled his head and stared the other direction toward Mech City. _Will things be any different there, or am I trading one chamber of horrors for another?_

One thing was certain – without that scooter he wasn't moving very far from this spot. He lurched to the car door and seized the handle. What terrible sight awaited inside – would some inhuman creature devour him? Horrifying literary characters emerged from his memory banks – Dracula, Cthulhu, Frankenstein's monster.

_Be brave, Winston!_ He yanked the door open.

Nobody inside. He entered the vehicle amid a wash of relief. Baggage filled the entire storage area and half the back seat. Winston figured two parents and a child had occupied this car. As he dug the scooter out, he concocted scenarios for the little family:

When they sensed the end was upon them, they abandoned their vehicle and wandered off into the wasteland to perish together. Or maybe the child died first, and the parents took him out for burial. Then they lacked the strength to return, or perhaps they didn't care to return.

The child had surely been a boy, judging by the thunderbolt graphics on the scooter and by the other playthings such as toy guns and sports equipment. Winston pulled the scooter free at last.

How do I use this thing?

He'd seen human kids riding such devices and tried to recall the techniques they'd used. Although he was the size of an average human male, he weighed much less. Hopefully, the scooter could handle his bulk.

He placed his largely immobilized left leg on the scooter and transferred his weight onto it. The wheeled machine held up, no problem. Winston kicked off with his right leg and rolled along at a steady clip.

My balance capability can handle it!

The route sloped generally downhill, and a prevailing wind at his back aided progress. He waved at the car vanishing into the distance.

"Thanks!"

He ran far into the night along the faint, moon-lit ribbon of concrete, trying to outrun the eerie silence and the crimson light flickering along the south horizon. He stopped when a soft rain began falling and spent the final hours of darkness sheltered under his plastic sheet. It had been perforated by the bugs but kept him reasonably dry.

Day three

For many hours Winston toiled through a blasted landscape. Large craters disfigured the fields and damaged the highway. In the distance lurked the skeletons of wrecked towns. Winston struggled past the devastation with increasing dread.

Each bomb crater was its own chamber of horrors out of which peered human ghosts. They materialized in the periphery of Winston's optical sensors, but when he tried to look directly at them, the presences ducked back into hiding where they waited for Winston to join them.

"Sorry to disturb you!" Winston called out. "I'm just passing by."

Late afternoon, he emerged from the war zone and was able to pick up the pace. He hurtled along, faster and faster, urging the kilometers to erase the death images from his memory bank. Night came, and dim moonlight reflecting on the highway center strip illuminated the way.

But just as he began a downhill leg, clouds obscured the moon. He careened blindly, nearly going over. At last he made it to the shoulder and tumbled onto the gravel.

Guess it's time to stop.

A steady rain began. Winston pulled the shower curtain over himself. He'd patched the holes with duct tape, and the curtain shielded him well. As he was about to begin his inactivation routines, a vision of the waterfall came to him.

9. The Rush of Life

Winston's feet could not maintain their grip on the slippery rocks, and he started to go down. Dr. Horvath seized his arm.

"Careful, Winston! You're too expensive to get busted up."

"Yes, Master."

"And drop the 'Master' routine, already. It makes me feel like an old lady. God knows, I'm almost there as it is."

"Yes, Ma... am," Winston said.

They approached the base of a narrow waterfall cascading from lush forest above. Temperature sensors on Winston's face detected coolness where water droplets struck. A low, melodious roar filled his auditory units.

"The rush of life!" Dr. Horvath said above the noise. "I wanted you to experience it while it's still here."

"It's lovely," Winston said, "truly inspiring."

"Are those just words from your dictionary, or do you really _feel_ something?"

"I think... perhaps..."

"Pow-pa-pa-pa-pow!"

Charles ran up, pointing a stick at Winston, machine gun style. "Teach me more about World War Two, Uncle Winston."

"Certainly, as soon as we get back to the hotel."

A burst of real gunfire sounded in the woods above.

"Stay close Charles," Dr. Horvath said.

She whipped a machine pistol out of her bag and cocked it expertly. She scanned the woods through hard, slit eyes, then looked toward Winston.

"It's happening everywhere; even here, for God's sake!"

They departed quickly. Winston swiveled his head 180 degrees to keep watch behind them while Dr. Horvath held his arm to guide his steps. Waterfall sound faded into the distance. The sense of danger lessened with it.

Winston ventured a change of subject. "How was the site visit today?"

"The usual religious addicts," Dr. Horvath said. "You didn't miss anything by not coming."

Winston detected a tone of bitterness in the Master's voice, but he did not comment upon it. He swiveled his head back to standard position.

"It was more important that I remain with Charles," he said. "The hotel guards require observation."

"Yes, good security is getting hard to find."

They walked silently. Winston sensed the Master wished to say something more, but he knew better than to prompt her.

As they exited the nature trail, Dr. Horvath spoke. "I wonder if I've wasted my life doing these cult researches."

"Your studies will certainly prove significant – even in ways which are not perceptible at this time," Winston said.

Dr. Horvath sighed. "I kept hoping reason could shed some light on these 'messiah' psychopaths. They've caused so much harm throughout history. I thought if I could expose them for what they really are, people would wise up, but I haven't accomplished a damn thing!"

"Perhaps you are too demanding on yourself," Winston said. "Such a task seems beyond the resources of any one individual."

"It's like David against Goliath," Dr. Horvath said, "but all I've got is a cream puff to throw."

She stopped walking abruptly, a puzzled expression on here face.

"You don't suppose I'm regarding _myself_ as some kind of half-baked messiah, do you? As if I've got this holy mission to save people from themselves?"

Winston smiled politely. "That is an interesting observation. However, your ability to perceive such a threat would argue against your being influenced by it."

Dr. Horvath chuckled. "Always the diplomat, eh?"

"I am only drawing the logical conclusion."

They resumed walking.

"Your point is well taken," Dr. Horvath said, "but supposing I did have a messiah complex. That would explain a lot of things about me, wouldn't it?"

"Conceivably. Such a theoretical framework would leave many questions unanswered, however. Perhaps, over time, you can decide on a more comprehensive explanation for your life's work."

"Ah, Winston, you have such a way with words."

Dr. Horvath glanced down at Charles, who was busy with his machine gun stick.

"I've decided on one thing already," she said in a lowered voice.

"What's that?"

"Conrad was right. It's time to boost your memory banks and fill them with the history of human thought."

Winston became silent. A chill, forbidding wind blew over his temperature sensors.

10. To the End of the Road

Winston's journey became a steady push along gently rolling terrain. Progress on the inclines was slow, but the vigorous downhill runs made up for lost time.

By dusk of the fourth day, he was only 10 kilometers from his destination – according to a bullet-riddled metal sign. He rolled onto the shoulder beside it and stopped.

"Hot damn, I am going to make it."

He considered pushing on but decided a daytime arrival would be preferable. He had no idea what the situation might be in Mech City, and his standard-grade optics put him at a nighttime disadvantage. If he were to meet anyone, better it be in daylight.

Besides, his diagnostics indicated his energy level was getting low, and he didn't want to fumble around switching power cells in the dark. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with it.

He entered inactive mode – sensors on maximum alert so as to wake him at the least provocation.

* * *

When he resumed active status at first light, he could scarcely budge.

Idiot! Why didn't you change power cells yesterday?

If his moving parts were in adequate repair, he'd be all right, but now he lacked the energy to overcome stiffened joints cooled by hours of inactivity. He could do no more than swivel his head and move his right arm a little. He tried to shrug off the backpack so as to get a spare power cell, but he was only able to grip one strap and tug feebly.

Things remained gridlocked for an hour. The low sun broke through its cloud cover, taunting him with an invitation to resume his trek. Winston's sensors registered increasing ambient temperature, but this did not limber his frozen joints.

He glimpsed someone, or something, coming up the road from Mech City. He began to cry out, but the effort died in his speaker unit.

Something was not right.

Winston differentiated two creatures dashing toward him. His optics lacked telephoto capability, but even from a distance, the things appeared to be wolves. He couldn't tell if they were biological or robotic. Large mammals had disappeared from the world, and who ever heard of a canid robot?

The creatures moved down the highway at great speed, sparks flying where their claws impacted the pavement. They slowed to a cautious walk when they came within a dozen meters.

Winston could see them clearly now. They had the appearance of large timber wolves with red-yellow eyes that seemed to bore right through him. Their coats bristled dark gray, and large fangs protruded from their mouths.

"Nice doggies."

One paused two meters in front – the leader, presumably. The other one moved behind. Winston felt like a pecan in a nutcracker device.

The leader drew closer, baring horrific yellow fangs that looked strong enough to tear off Winston's limbs. A deep growl rumbled in its throat. Winston's self-preservation programming screamed to the fore – _RUN!_ But he couldn't do a thing except talk.

"I-I'm very glad to meet you. My name is Winston Horvath. I am a scholar model... uh... not designed for long distance travel, I'm afraid."

The leader cocked its head. The fangs retreated into the muzzle structure, and the growling stopped. A dull, crafty intelligence glittered in its eyes. The creature was robotic. It didn't breathe or pant; the growls had a mechanistic quality. It appeared to understand language, at least a little.

"I am experiencing mobility difficulties." Winston gestured awkwardly toward his backpack. "If I could get a spare power cell, I could be on my way."

The leader's expression became distant, as if it were listening to some far off voice Winston couldn't hear. It moved away, but the other wolf stayed in position. With trembling effort, Winston swiveled his head until he could see the creature directly behind him. It was crouched and ready to spring.

Be brave!

The wolf was upon him. Paws clung to his shoulders, and the terrible fangs glinted alongside his face. Winston steeled himself for the rendering. He was no longer on this earth.

In his turbulent brain unit, he was flying toward the _Great Technician in the Sky_. The benevolent, white-coated figure stepped from behind a cloud and beckoned with open arms. The sun blazing in back of him sent shafts of holy light scattering all directions.

What an interesting routine. It appears I have been programmed, during episodes of extreme danger, to anticipate the commencement of an afterlife.

But he did not seem to be in immediate danger. Winston's mind returned to reality, and the Great Technician withdrew behind his cloud with a friendly wave. With two snips, the mech wolf's fangs severed the straps and sent the knapsack tumbling to the pavement.

The creature dropped to all fours with such agility that Winston scarcely wobbled. It took the pack in its jaws and ripped the tough fabric as if it were tissue paper, shredding Gorzo the Adventure Robot. A sacred photo of the Master spilled out, along with several pages of manuscript.

Ohhh...

With incredible gentleness, the creature gripped a spare power cell in its teeth, withdrew it from the pack, and offered it to him.

Winston jerked his right hand toward his abdominal compartment, but he lacked the ability to open it. The wolf accomplished this with a deft flick of its paw.

Slowly, deliberately – with much assistance from the mech wolf – Winston accomplished the power cell switch out. Energy surged through him.

"Thanks, guys." He flexed creaking joints. "I owe you a lot."

The wolves were not interested in expressions of gratitude, apparently. They trotted down the road, away from Mech City. They'd been his benefactors, but Winston was glad to be terminating the relationship. It had something to do with those huge fangs.

He gathered his possessions into the ruined pack and performed some duct tape repairs. He positioned himself on the scooter.

Well, that was an experience.

As he coasted down a gentle slope, he glanced back to see the wolves observing his progress.

"Keep in touch."

* * *

Mech City came into view, nestled in its valley among deforested hills and bracketed by two small lakes. Winston paused and allowed himself a brief period of rejoicing.

"Yippee."

But it was not a true _Yippee_ moment. Mech City appeared as drab and lifeless as the adjacent countryside. A large crater in the center of town was particularly appalling. The surrounding urban area seemed intact, however.

Winston strained his eyes toward the eastern outskirts. The Robotics Development Institute was still there. Maybe things were not quite so bad, after all.

One fact stood in favor of life in Mech City: the wolves had to come from somewhere. They were too well maintained to be mere vagrants surviving on the road. Were there more of them in town – were there even worse creatures lurking about? Who, if anybody, controlled them?

So many unknowns.

And why had the mech wolves assisted him? They didn't look like they'd been designed for benevolent purposes. These were all disturbing considerations, but what choice did Winston have? He could either go into town and seek aid or stay outside and disintegrate.

Of course, he could always find a high enough structure to climb and –

He glanced at his photo of the Master. The picture was ripped by wolf teeth, but the face was still intact with its intense, yet kindly expression. How often he'd seen that look on her face as she pursued her researches. How proud he'd been to serve as her assistant. Winston pressed the photo to his mouth in a simulated kiss.

"We made it, Doctor."

11. Arrival

A wide boulevard led to a traffic circle on Mech City's western outskirts. A median of dead trees and grass divided this once major thoroughfare into two blank strips.

The last time Winston had traveled here, cars jammed the pavements, filling his sensors with their noise and bustle. Now the street was a ghost, and the only sound came from his scooter wheels rumbling on the concrete. He proceeded cautiously, scanning the area for signs of life, on guard for mech wolves.

I have the disagreeable sensation I'm being watched.

A large, imposing figure stood on a pedestal in the traffic circle, a commander from one of the humans' innumerable wars, perhaps. Winston had seen such statues before and would have paid this one scant attention, except for one salient detail – its head was missing.

He decided to take a short break before progressing into the town proper. He dismounted the scooter and limped with it across the dead grass to the pedestal. An outline in the granite indicated where a plaque had been torn out. A crudely lettered wooden sign now occupied the space.

STRONGER THAN DIRT®

Winston craned his neck to view the statue.

My gosh, it's a robot!

The thing towered two meters above the pedestal, even without its head. It was bronze colored and of an advanced Humanite design with well-formed limbs and torso. Its brawny arms were crossed over a massive chest. The effect was dramatic and powerful.

"You need a trip to the spare parts bin, my friend."

Winston started to leave, but a booming voice froze him in his tracks.

"WHO GOES THERE?"

"Yow!" Winston jerked his eyes upwards.

The headless robot was pointing down at him.

"Uh... I..."

The headless robot placed massive hands on it hips and assumed a wider, more authoritative stance.

"Well?" the voice thundered from mid torso. "Reply, stranger."

"Uh... m-my name is Winston."

"What kind of name is that?"

"My owner named me after her favorite cigarette."

"A cigarette?"

"Yes," Winston said. "She was always trying to quit smoking, too... doesn't matter now."

Despite the trying circumstances, memories of the Master flooded into Winston's consciousness. The pedestal robot took a more relaxed stance and looked a tiny bit less frightening.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes," Winston said, "I've traveled 250 kilometers from my home city."

"That far? No wonder you look all shot to hell."

"Thanks. The trip was a bit of an ordeal."

"And your purpose for coming here?"

"I'm on a mission to preserve the human cultural heritage."

The headless robot bent down ominously. "You trifle with me, stranger?"

"N-no! It's true." Winston took a step back. "My master assigned me this task. It was her final wish."

"Hmmm. Is that so?"

"Yes, I am the official Walking Library of Alexandria."

The headless robot seemed to mull this over a while, then he straightened and jerked a thumb at its chest.

"I am called Ajax."

"A noble designation," Winston said, "like the Greek hero from the Trojan war."

"Really? I thought they named me after a scouring powder."

"Let me assure you," Winston said, "Ajax was one of the greatest warriors of all time – a figure of prodigious strength and rectitude."

"You know, I like that a lot better." Ajax raised a finger dramatically. "Warrior hero, defender of the weak, guardian of all that is right and true."

Total whack job!

"If you don't mind my asking, er... Mr. Ajax, how do you function without your head?"

"Redundancy was built into me. I am a warrior hero, you know. I have back-up systems in my torso."

Ajax lowered his great bulk and sat on the edge of the pedestal. His feet dangled above Winston's head.

"However, I am not the robot I once was." Sorrow tinged Ajax's deep voice. "My diagnostics indicate I am functioning at only 42.8% of designed capacity."

"What happened to your head?"

A huge shudder rattled Ajax. His heels thrummed against the granite. Winston limped back another step.

"Chickadees from Hell!" Ajax wailed.

"You don't say?"

Ajax jumped back to his feet.

"A vast hoard dove out of the mid-day sun. They knocked me off my pedestal. As I lay helpless and broken, they snatched my head away. Who would have thought mere birds could do such a thing?"

"Shocking!"

Ajax flung his arms about in a desperate pantomime, trying to shoo the imaginary birds. Sharp little cries emitted from his voice unit.

"Yip! Cheep! Cheep! Twitter!"

_This guy's_ _really_ _gone around the bend._

"I lay there two days before the repair bots found me," Ajax said. "They put me back together, or what was left of me."

Winston groped for a change of subject. "So, have you seen any wolf type robots?"

"Huh, what is that?" Ajax stopped waving his arms. He seemed to flutter back from his nightmare recollections.

"Large canid type machines," Winston said. "I encountered two of them on the highway."

"No, I have not seen any," Ajax said, "of course, I do not see much of anything these days. My backup optical sensor is very lousy – my hearing is not too bad, though."

Winston glanced over his shoulder toward the town. What other bizarre things awaited there?

"Well, thanks for your time, Ajax," he said. "Think I'll head over to the Robotics Institute."

Dumb choice of words.

"I mean, I'd like to visit the Institute, if that's okay. I'm hoping to get some maintenance done."

"You sure need it, even I can see that."

Ajax placed a hand on one hip. With the other he stroked the empty space where his chin used to be. Numerous seconds ticked by.

Winston writhed with uncertainty. Was he going to be refused entrance – after all he'd been through? He calculated the chances of outrunning the headless robot on his scooter. They seemed pretty slim.

"Very well, I grant permission," Ajax said. "You may traverse our fair city unhindered, Citizen Winston. You will have to detour around the bomb crater, though."

"I certainly will. Are there any humans around?"

"Oh, they are around, all right. You probably would not wish to make their acquaintance, though."

Winston didn't like the sound of that much, but he liked even less the idea of further conversation with this headless gentleman. He picked up the scooter.

"Thanks, Ajax." Winston took off as quickly as possible. "Have a nice day!"

Ajax watched him leave until his low-grade optical sensor could no longer register the image.

"There is something extraordinary about that newcomer. Things will not be the same in Mech City, I suspect."

He crossed his arms over his great chest. He was a genuine warrior hero now. He'd not felt this strong and purposeful since he'd lost his cabeza.

# Two: New Surroundings

12. First Impressions

Winston traveled alone for several minutes before spotting the first humans. They were dead and piled on a cart.

"Yipe!" He ducked behind a lamp post.

Two utility robots tossed another body onto the pile. It landed with a dull _thump!_ displacing those beneath it. Other robots dragged human remains out of a nearby apartment building. All the corpses bore the green blotches of plague victims.

Ajax was right. Winston had no wish to make acquaintances here, either with the humans or with the machines disposing of their bodies. What did he – custom made scholar model, Walking Library of Alexandria – have in common with these clanking, primitive robots? These "metal men," as they were sometimes called.

He was an admirable and superior being. He'd spent his whole existence pursuing intellectual matters. He'd been assistant to one of the country's most distinguished psychological researchers and the tutor of her brilliant young nephew. The Master had shielded him from all base influences, such as these primitive corpse slingers. She'd entrusted him with the human cultural heritage!

The work crew leader seemed a fairly advanced design – a large, robust machine that probably worked construction in earlier days. He was impressive, for a metal man.

"Let's hurry it up, boys," the leader said. "We've got two more floors to clear out."

The workers obeyed quickly enough, considering the grisly nature of their task. And their leader was no slouch. He hefted a body under each arm, as if he'd been specially designed as an undertaker robot. Winston looked away from the disagreeable scene.

Thank the Great Technician, I'm better than that.

He surveyed his well-formed Humanite limbs and torso – crafted in the image of the now departed human race, but not subject to decay or green blotches. Granted, certain metal man designs were also very sophisticated and possessed high capacity brain units, but none of them resembled the vanished rulers like he did.

Why, he even had articulated lips and eyelids that blinked at predetermined intervals. Sure his auditory sensors were not the best, but his ears were as attractively formed as any human's. And his simulated hair could be styled to any fashion.

Winston vaguely sensed that his thinking was going awry. Without the Master's restraining influence, his powerful intellect could become a dangerous tool.

Well, no time to worry about it just yet.

The death cart was full, and the work crew pushed it away. Winston had no desire to learn their destination. He continued his trek toward the Robotics Development Institute.

Along the route, he encountered constant, useless activity. Robots swept the already immaculate streets, washed clean windows, directed nonexistent traffic. Some were advanced models that would not ordinarily have performed such lowly tasks. They all wore blank expressions. Their movements were... mechanical, for lack of a better word. No one uttered a sound nor paid attention to Winston's presence.

What's all this for?

He knew the answer. If the robots stopped working, they'd perish. His own near-destruction experience on the window sill had taught him that much. Apparently, even pointless tasks motivated the robots enough to keep them going. Most of them, anyhow. Winston crossed the street to avoid a smashed robot lying on the sidewalk before a multi-story building.

There go I, but for my mission.

A half dozen children approached from around a corner. An older boy and girl, dressed in identical brown outfits, led the group. Their appearance was so dramatic and unexpected as to almost drive Winston to sensory overload.

"What the..."

"Hey, cool it, blue man," the boy said. "Haven't you ever seen kids before?"

Winston gaped with astonishment. The two older ones had blue eyes, natural looking pale skin, and blond hair – the boy's cut short, the girl's woven into a long braid. They looked like fraternal twins, twelve or thirteen years old. From a distance, anyone would believe they were biological life forms, but close up –

"Y-you're not human, are you?"

"You've got that right," the boy said, "very observant. That's a great scooter, by the way."

Winston had never seen such realistic designs. They even had simulated respiration! Compared to them, he was as angular and mechanistic as a street sweeper bot. Some of his earlier hubris dissipated.

The smaller child robots had retreated to the corner. They appeared to be replicas of eight or nine year old humans, like poor little Charles back home. Winston turned back to the leaders.

"What are your names?"

"Fritz," the boy said.

"Edwina," the girl said, "what's yours?"

"I'm Winston."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Winston," Edwina said with a mock curtsy.

She and Fritz returned to the corner and spoke to the other child bots. An undersized metal man with a boom box on his shoulder joined the group. Raucous Techski music obscured their conversation. Everyone laughed.

"What's so funny?" Winston said.

"Oh, nothing, Winston," Fritz replied. "Just be careful you don't get snuffed like the other cigarette butts!"

The little group scampered off, giggling. Even the small metal man joined the merriment. Winston shook his head.

"Wonderful kids."

After another period of grinding effort, he approached a devastated area. The buildings were fire blackened with blown-out windows. Many looked about to topple over. Winston felt their charred odor, though he could not smell it. Behind this crumbling facade, he glimpsed a huge depression in the earth. A shudder vibrated his frame.

Who did this, and why?

His bourgeois sense of order was deeply offended. The bomb crater had looked bad enough from the hill outside town, but from up close, it throbbed with evil. A vast, unnatural silence emanated from its depths.

Winston gave the area a wide berth, more than was necessary, despite his creaking joints.

He gained the Robotics Development Institute without further incident. With a moderate shove, the front gate screeched open on its rusty hinges.

The Institute grounds had changed a lot since he'd last seen them. The stone walkway was still in good condition, but the wide, neatly-manicured lawn was brown and lifeless. The trees had all been cut down, and thick, gnarled weeds overgrew the bank of dead shrubs along the periphery.

The large, three-story main building stood directly ahead – white and gleaming like a human mausoleum. Shabbier auxiliary buildings occupied the outer reaches of the campus. Winston swiveled his head, scanning the whole area. Was that a pair of mech wolf eyes glittering from within the bushes?

"Brrr!"

With a final burst of speed, he drove down the walkway and through the main building entrance.

13. Repair & Relaxation

The lobby was deserted but still orderly, as if the human staff had just left for a cigarette break. Winston came to a reverential halt.

"Ah... it seems like only yesterday."

He moved slowly down the hall toward the main workshop. If any tech assistant robots were still functional, they'd probably be there. As far as any human survivors, he'd given up hope.

Three years ago, Winston had taken his first walk in this very corridor, holding onto the Master as he acquainted himself with his new existence. Dr. Horvath's arm had been soft and warm under his sensors, but very strong. She was wearing her old-fashioned eyeglasses, a pearl necklace, and a light perfume.

Charles had been not quite five years old.

"This is more fun than Christmas!" the little boy cried, scampering ahead of Auntie and his new tutor.

This hallway had once echoed with the footsteps and conversation of many human beings. White lab coats had fluttered everywhere. Now the atmosphere was silent, except for the groan of badly worn scooter wheels.

Winston arrived at the main workshop and peered in through the open door. Two robots were standing at an operating table working on another machine. Could they be Jack and Quincy, the tech assistants who'd been present at Winston's activation?

Yes, they are!

A warm glow spread through Winston's circuits. For the first time since he'd left home, he felt a slight bit of security. He wanted to call out but feared he might cause the tech assistants to make a mistake on their patient.

Jack and Quincy were metal men, but they were advanced models with highly evolved brain units and dexterous hands. Winston didn't care what they looked like, as long as they could fix him.

An enormous drone robot stood off to the side. It was nearly as massive as Ajax, with well-formed Humanite torso and limbs. Its head was a blank sphere, housing rudimentary sensors and a tiny brain suited only to following orders. Winston had never seen a drone of such size.

He looked at his ruined backpack. Parts of the illustration were still visible around the tears and duct tape. The huge drone standing in the workshop looked just like the fighting machines in the picture, and the Ajax figure resembled the guard robot on the pedestal outside town – plus a head, of course. The comic book figures had been replicated.

Those mech heads must have gone off the rails these past few years.

A wrecked machine lay on another table, an advanced metal man design by all appearances. Its head was smashed in, but the rest of it seemed intact. Probably a suicide victim.

Several minutes passed. Then the repair bots stepped away from the operating table, revealing the occupant. It was the cranky old test bed robot, Nilo. Some of the warmth retreated from Winston's memories. Nilo had been around at his activation, too.

"There isn't much we can do for you, Nilo," said Quincy. "Your parts are non-standard; we simply don't have replacements."

Nilo sat up. He looked just as Winston remembered – a scrawny, early model Humanite design with a chronic sour expression on his face, like a human who'd sucked a lemon.

"You've just got too many kilometers on you, old pal," Jack said.

Nilo responded with a dark glower.

Jack flinched. "Sorry, Nilo. That was a dumb remark."

Nilo switched to a genial, though unconvincing, smile. "Heh, heh, joke's on me, isn't it?"

"There is a possible alternative." Quincy gestured to the robot hulk on the adjacent table. "We might be able to transfer your head to the body of that jumper."

"Yeah, it's quite repairable," Jack said, "all stock components, too."

Cold fury shot across Nilo's face. Winston recoiled; he'd not believed a robot capable of such a lethal expression. A sharp, crafty leer took over Nilo's face next, then his standard countenance returned. It all happened in moments, without the repair bots noticing.

"I think not," Nilo said. "I'm too old for such radical solutions."

He gestured toward the drone. It crossed the room in a few giant strides. With surprising gentleness for such a bulky machine, it reached under Nilo's armpits and lifted him off the table. The drone looked powerful enough to fling Nilo through the concrete wall.

"Thank you anyway, boys." Nilo snatched up a cane. "I really must be going."

Nilo gripped the drone's forearm with his free hand, and the strange pair walked slowly toward the door. Winston stepped in from the hallway.

"So, you made it back, huh?" Nilo said.

"Uh... yes," Winston said. "I just got into town."

Nilo nodded his wizened little head, running critical optical sensors over Winston's anatomy. Winston felt distinctly uncomfortable under the inspection.

I must really look 'shot to hell.'

"You need maintenance badly, my friend." Nilo gestured toward Jack and Quincy. "I'm sure these gentlemen can assist you."

"I certainly hope so."

Nilo bobbed his head again, and a tight little smile played across his lips. "Talk to you later, Winston. Count on it."

The damn guy remembers my name.

"Right, so long."

Nilo hobbled out to the corridor with the drone, his cane clicking the floor tiles. Winston looked back toward the repair bots.

"Don't mind him," Quincy said. "Nilo's just an old screwball."

"Tell me about it."

Winston set down his Gorzo pack and limped toward the repair bots. Jack moved to assist him.

"What can we do for you, pal?" Jack said. "Hey... you look familiar."

"My name is Winston Horvath. I'm a special order scholar model, activated three years, seventeen days ago. Production code number LIX-891 – "

"Right, I remember now," Jack said.

"Are there any humans around – _live_ ones?" Winston asked. "Dr. Edgar Rackenfauz, specifically."

The repair bots shook their heads.

"Dr. Rackenfauz left after he lost the chief designer job," Quincy said. "The others died off."

A mournful pause settled on the conversation. Jack brushed it aside. "Let's have a look at you."

He helped Winston climb onto the workbench and eased him to a supine position.

"As you can observe, I'm pretty seized up," Winston said, "my left hip joint, especially. My olfactory unit is nonfunctional, and my left optical sensor is displaced."

"Seeing double, are you?" Quincy asked.

"Somewhat. I've taken to ignoring the binocular input and trusting only that from my right optical sensor."

"Just as well," Quincy said, "one view of this world is more than enough."

"You Humanite models," Jack said. "They spent tons of money on facial articulators, flexible spines, you name it – then they cut corners on basics like hip ball joints."

"Yes, well, nobody asked my opinion," Winston said.

"Don't worry, friend," Quincy said, "we can fix you up, I think."

He turned towards Jack. "Have we got one of those olfactory thingies lying around?"

Winston raised his head. "Uh, excuse me, does your skill set include this type of procedure?"

"Sure it does," Jack said. "We can handle things as well as anybody, I suppose."

"It's not like we're real mech heads," Quincy added, "but we did observe assembly & repair operations. We handed out tools and stuff – lots of times."

"Well, I don't know..." Winston said.

"Besides, we have to do something," Jack said, "otherwise we'd go nuts. Jump out a window like that guy on the next table."

Winston struggled to get up. "Maybe I'll just be leaving."

"Hold on," Jack said. "We haven't even opened you up yet."

"That's what I'm concerned about. No offense, guys, but I really must be going. I'm on a mission."

"Mission?" Quincy asked.

"I must ensure the human cultural tradition survives." Winston looked from one blank face to the other. "This task was solemnly entrusted to me by the Master."

"How interesting," Jack said.

"Yes, very, you see – "

Quincy slipped a hand behind Winston's neck and flipped the power switch to _Deactivate_. Winston went limp.

"Good work," Jack said.

"That ought to shut him up. This 'mission' of his was getting on my nerves."

"We don't have any nerves," Jack said.

"Well, he was getting whatever it is we do have. Let's see if we can find one of those olfactory thingies."

14. New Surprises

A robotic hand slipped behind Winston's head and flicked the switch. Winston's activation routines returned consciousness to his brain circuits. His eyes popped open into glaring light.

"Where am I? Is this the afterlife?"

"No," Quincy said. "You're in our workshop, where you left off."

Winston placed a hand over his optical sensors to block the light. The motion was smooth, almost effortless.

"How long have I been deactivated?"

"A few hours."

"Let's get rid of this," Jack said, flicking off the lamp.

Winston moved the hand away from his face. A single, well-focused image of the repair bots registered on his brain.

"My arm is better. My optical sensors are aligned."

"Right-o," Jack said.

A sweet, pleasant odor filled the air.

"I can smell things again," Winston said. "What's that wonderful fragrance?"

"Just my perfume, honey," a soft, husky voice said. "Do you like it?"

Winston turned his head to behold the most amazing sight of an already astounding day. An adult female stood over him, looking into his face.

"Y-yeah, I like it fine. Who are you?"

The female stood erect and placed her hands on hips. She was robotic, but of an extraordinarily advanced Humanite design. Her hyper-realistic skin was a dusky shade. Her face possessed high cheek bones and other elements of classical human beauty, topped off by almond-shaped brown eyes and long, dark hair.

"I was named Estrela," she said, "but I prefer the English translation."

She wore tight-fitting clothes over a body humans would have described as "voluptuous." Other adjectives rose from Winston's vocabulary bank – _attractive_ , _sexy_ , _alluring_. Her smile revealed perfect teeth behind full lips. Winston perused his language dictionaries, found her name in the Portuguese.

"It means 'Star,'" he said.

The female robot's face brightened, and a twinkle shot from her eye. "That's right, big boy, as in _Star Power."_

Winston was propped on his elbows now, barely able to absorb his sensory impressions.

My gosh, she's actually breathing – or at least simulating respiration.

"Well, well," Quincy said, "things are off to a good start, eh?"

The repair bots helped Winston down from the table. Jack held onto his arm.

"Let's take a little stroll," he said.

They walked to the storeroom entrance at the back of the shop. Winston's movements flowed easily, his once frozen hip had complete positive function.

"Hot damn."

Jack released his arm. "Try it on your own."

Winston returned to the front of the workshop. Star watched every move, a little smile playing around her lips. Winston had the odd sensation he was being undressed, although he had never worn clothes.

"Sorry I doubted you guys," he said. "You really know your stuff."

"Just a simple remove & replace operation," Quincy said, "plus some cleaning, lube, and alignment."

"You've got top-grade joint components now," Jack said, "properly sealed against contaminants. And a brand new olfactory sensor, too."

Star approached. "So, you're pleased with the results, Winston?"

She stood mere centimeters away. Because of her shoes, she was as tall as him.

"Yes, very pleased."

She reached a hand down and stroked his groin compartment cover.

"What are you swinging under here, big boy?" she whispered in his ear.

"Uh... nothing. It's just a storage compartment."

"Oh."

She removed her hand and stepped away. Disappointment entered her lovely face. Her expressions were almost as subtle as a human's. Her come-on had been anything but subtle, however, even for a literal-minded academic like Winston.

His standard data banks contained full information on sexuality. He'd been tasked with instructing young Charles in a wide range of topics, after all. But never had he imagined the subject could involve himself. The concept of sexual relations with another entity was as alien as breathing oxygen or consuming ground up bovine animals.

Still... what was this confused, not entirely unpleasant buzzing in his circuitry? Star seemed to notice his bewilderment, and a little smile crept back onto her face.

"We installed an upgraded radio, too," Quincy said. "You can send and receive on a wide range of frequencies now."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we had to jam it in among all those memory banks you've got," Jack said. "Let us know if it blows up or anything."

"Uh, right."

Star took him by the arm. "Ready to go, Winston?"

He liked the pressure of her fingers on his arm, he liked her nearness and the sensory input of her perfume – so much bolder than the delicate fragrance Dr. Horvath had worn. Thoughts of the potentially booby trapped radio exited his consciousness.

"Yeah, let's go." Winston turned to the repair bots. "Thanks a lot, guys."

"Sure thing."

The repair bots watched them disappear down the corridor.

"Why did you say that about the radio?" Quincy said. "It's probably safe."

"Like he wouldn't suspect anything if it explodes," Jack replied.

Winston and Star entered the main lobby. Their progress along the corridor had been relaxed and quiet, in marked contrast to the grinding, awkward journey Winston had made hours earlier. Star pulled a small mirror from her handbag and primped her hair in the reflection.

"Do you have a place to stay?" she asked.

"Not yet. I came here first thing."

"Well, maybe you could..." She lowered her eyes.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a silly fantasy I have."

They left the dim building interior and entered a glorious late afternoon. Actually, the weather was still the same dull gray, but Winston's take on it had improved. They stepped onto the concrete walkway and headed for the gate.

"Things have changed a lot since I was here 3 years 17 days ago," Winston observed.

"Besides the world coming to an end, what else is different?"

"You, the kids – you're almost like humans," Winston said. "Such designs were highly discouraged before, illegal even."

"Why?"

"People felt threatened. 'Humanites' like me were as realistic as designs got back then. We were even produced in non-human colors so that no one could mistake us for the real thing."

"Maybe people wanted robots made in their own image toward the end, to carry on for them."

"Could be."

Yes, that had to be it, Winston realized. And wasn't he part of this process? Not in a physical sense, like Star, but mentally with his vast store of human knowledge.

"And there's that giant drone I saw in the workshop," Winston said. "Not to mention the mech wolves and the bomb crater – "

The atmosphere changed ominously as a mech wolf emerged from the shrubbery. Its coat so nearly matched the drab color of the bushes that Winston would have never noticed it.

"Yow!"

Winston held up his Gorzo pack as a shield and pushed Star behind him. The brute advanced down the walkway with lethal grace, its feet making no sound on the pavement. Yellowish-red eyes drilled into Winston; vicious fangs shown from beneath curled lips.

It was identical to the creatures Winston had encountered on the road, except for the coat which had lost its nondescript hue and was now a shimmering panoply of colors. The effect was almost hypnotic, dulling Winston's panic. It was like a shifting rainbow, or the element iridium dissolved in hydrochloric acid.

"Get back inside, Star!"

"Don't be silly."

Star emerged from behind him and reached down to pet the ferocious beast. "How are you doing, Iri?"

The thing closed its eyes and whined with pleasure at her touch, like a huge, fawning puppy dog.

"You're just an old softie, aren't you?" Star said.

The creature opened its eyes again and fixed them suspiciously on Winston. It didn't look like an old softie any longer.

"Is that stranger bothering you, Star?" it said.

Winston was astounded to hear it talk. But why not? The whole world had turned upside down since he'd last been to Mech City.

"No, no, Iri, everything is fine," Star said. "He's my new friend."

The look in the creature's eyes moderated slightly, but was still full of distrust.

"Say hello to Winston, Iridium."

"At your service, pal."

The creature's voice was not overtly threatening, but it had a sarcastic quality, like one of those "wise ass" comedians the Master used to watch on TV.

"The pleasure is all mine," Winston replied.

Star patted Iridium affectionately. "Winston needs a place to stay. Can you show him around?"

"Sure thing, Star."

"No, please," Winston said, "I don't want to cause any bother."

"Hey, no problem. I've got nothing better to do," Iridium said.

Star walked toward the gate. "Good. See you later."

"Where're you going?" Winston said.

"Home. You two fellows get better acquainted."

"But – "

"Bye-ee." Star exited the gate with a pert little wave, turned a corner, and disappeared.

Winston looked down ruefully at the fierce canid. Iridium didn't seem the warm and cuddly type, whatever Star said about him.

"We gonna stand here all day?" Iridium asked.

"Of course not. Please carry on."

Winston and Iridium headed west until they reached the abandoned area around the bomb crater. The buildings tottered empty and charred, like those Winston had seen earlier.

"What happened here?"

"There was this big explosion one day, and the University Complex disappeared. A lot of humans and robots got blown up – including me, almost." Iridium raised a foreleg to reveal a ruined area of his coat. "I was too far away to get more than minor damage."

"How unfortunate," Winston said.

Iridium's eyes narrowed.

"I mean... unfortunate you got damaged at all." A change of topic seemed prudent. "This used to be one of the world's great learning centers, I've been told."

"Not anymore," Iridium said. "What are you doing in town, anyway?"

"I'm on a mission to preserve the human cultural heritage."

"Good luck with that, pal!" Iridium gestured toward the bomb crater with a foreleg. "Their 'cultural heritage' is out there, if you ask me."

Well, I didn't ask you.

Winston chose not to verbalize the thought. Iridium's fangs discouraged such commentary.

15. Home Sweet Home

They turned south down a wide commercial street.

The area had a run-down aspect with many tacky, derelict buildings and vacant lots. Boards covered the windows of businesses which must have failed long before the Grand Collapse. Spray-painted obscenities and pictures of human anatomy covered many of these boards and adjacent walls.

"The blast should have gone off here," Iridium muttered.

The neighborhood hummed with activity. Robots picked up trash and dead vegetation from the vacant lots or swept broken glass off the sidewalks. Many others walked about looking for something to do.

"My, isn't everybody busy?" Winston said.

"Yeah, doing nothing useful, except the ones on burial detail."

The gang of child robots ran past. Fritz and Edwina grabbed a street sweeper bot and spun it around. Then they all dashed off, laughing maliciously.

"It's not going to be pretty when this all goes south," Iridium said.

"How so?"

"If things don't get organized soon, this whole town is going to fall apart. There's only so much trash these robots can pick up. Then what? More suicides, a war?"

"Trash was a uniquely human concept," Winston observed. "It's not a renewable resource, unfortunately."

Iridium grunted.

Winston slowed his pace and allowed Iridium to move ahead. He experienced some minor relief that the mech wolf was no longer walking by his side, but now the shimmering coat irritated his optical sensors more.

He was anxious to rid himself of the canid's sullen presence. He needed to get off the street, away from the bustle and flying dust. They came to a shabby, mid-sized building. A sign over the door read:

REX HOTEL

hourly rates

"This looks like it might be okay," Winston said.

Disapproval registered on Iridium's lupine face. "There're much better places farther on."

"I'll just check it out," Winston said.

He passed through the doorway. The hotel lobby was very run down with ragged, mismatched furniture and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. Trash and empty liquor bottles lay scattered on the threadbare carpet. A stale, rotten smell oozed from the discolored wall paneling.

Ugh!

Winston stuck his head outside. "This will do fine, thanks, Iri."

The mech wolf looked comically surprised. Winston had seen a similar expression on Dr. Horvath's big collie once when a pugnacious little mutt had nipped it on the nose.

Iridium shrugged his powerful shoulders, or whatever the connecting points of a canid's forelegs were called. "Suit yourself, pal."

Then the creature was gone, at last. Winston returned to the lobby and contemplated his new digs.

What a dump! At least I'm rid of that werewolf gentleman.

Winston strode past an elevator with an _Out of Order_ notice on its door and climbed a creaky, filthy staircase to the top story. Graffiti defaced the walls, much of it obscene with repetitive curse words and graphic depictions of human anatomy.

"Very educational."

Winston entered a long, dim hallway with battered doors running down both sides. He poked his head behind each one. All the rooms were furnished with sagging beds, tiny desks, and dressers sporting cracked mirrors. A single community bathroom served the whole floor, but that was not a consideration.

One room had a large, dark stain on the floor. Capital letters had been carved into the wood:

### HTTV

What did the letters stand for – High Tech Television? Winston's memory banks offered no insight. Even more enigmatic was an emblem painted on one wall – a spooky eye gazing out from a splatter of crimson. It followed him as he moved about the room.

Winston scanned his memory banks again. One of the old TV networks used an eye for its trademark, but it was nothing like this strange emblem. He backed out of the chamber and closed its door against the mysteries.

Weird

He selected the last room on the right. It was larger than the others, but no less tacky. He peered out the window to the pavement six stories below.

"At least it's high enough if I need to..."

Winston spent the next few hours settling in. He located janitor supplies and used them to scrub his room into a semblance of clean. Chemical pine scent disguised the odor of mildew. He found curtains to cover the grimy window but dared not clean the glass, fearing the temptation to made a quick exit might prove too strong. The less he looked outside, the better.

He placed the Master's photo next to the window where he'd be sure to see it if suicidal notions occurred. He considered moving to a lower floor, especially since the crumbling ceiling plaster indicated a leaky roof, but the thought of the REX hulking all around disturbed him. Here, he was perched in a high corner with exterior walls on two sides and the roof directly overhead.

He posted more photographs of his human family on the walls, along with one of Charles's drawings in oil pastel. The picture showed a stylized blue dog with black accents. Its head was cocked over its shoulder in order to view a blazing red sunburst – back when there still were sunbursts.

The picture exuded joyful vitality, and Charles had won an award for it. Charles possessed real artistic talent. If only...

Winston also posted title pages from Dr. Horvath's research papers:

– Coercive Persuasion and the Cult Experience

– Psychology of Religious Addiction

– Conversion to Deviant Perspectives in the Pickle Lake Community

As the last rays of daylight faded from the window, he set aside his cleaning implements and contemplated his room with minimal enthusiasm.

"Home sweet home... I think."

16. Evening Promenade

The REX had no electric power. Soon, Winston would be stumbling around blindly, as he lacked night vision optics. What need had a scholar model of such advanced hardware?

Perhaps he could visit the Institute and get another upgrade. For the present, his obvious choice was to enter inactive mode until morning.

He didn't want to do that; however, he was too "wound up," as the Master would say. Besides, he'd already been deactivated for some hours, and the after effects were still buzzing his circuits. What he needed were power cell torches to illuminate the night. He recalled passing a hardware store with Iridium; surely it would have them in stock.

To the hardware store it is.

He stuck his head outside the door. The hallway shown dully with the light seeping in from his window. Farther down, the ambiance faded to darkness – interrupted periodically by slivers of illumination coming from under the room doors. A faint glow indicated the staircase.

He stepped into the corridor and felt his way along the wall. Mildewed layers of paper buckled under his fingers. As he passed between the rows of shut doors, he could hear muffled noises coming from behind them. His new radio crackled into life, bringing impulses from unknown frequencies.

Voices of the dead?

Who knew what villainy had gone on in these shabby rooms rented by the hour – perverted sex, drug deals, murder? The worst representatives of the human race must have once lodged here. How about that big floor stain in the room he was just passing – and the eye, which he could feel staring at him through the door?

Why did I move to this awful place?

It was a mystery to him now, though it made some kind of sense in daylight. The hotel had offered refuge from Iridium, but it had become a chamber of horrors.

Winston halted, rotating his head back toward the dim illumination of his open doorway, then forward to the staircase. Equidistant. Terrifying images gurgled up unbidden from his library banks. He was traversing the haunted corridors of Castle Dracula – he was hearing the hotel come to life, as in _The Shining_.

Why wasn't he a utility robot, with a brain suited only to menial tasks? Why did he have all this literary baggage, plus the imagination to bring it to life? What the hell was he doing here – idiot!

He wanted to run back to his room but feared he wouldn't be able to stop, that he'd keep running straight through the window. It was too dark to see the protective photo of the Master.

So... he took another step toward the staircase, then another. The hotel seemed to breathe. Heavy panting behind him wafted over his neck. Winston jerked along, his new joints sluggish and resistant. He gained the stairway and began his descent.

_Crack!_ A rotted step broke under his weight, trapping his leg.

"Ahhh!" Winston's scream echoed through the vacant building.

With a violent wrench, he freed himself and charged down the staircase. Graffiti squirmed at him from the walls. At every landing, a hallway of crypt doors shot away into the darkness.

Just as it seemed the stairs would never end, the lobby appeared. He lurched across it, upsetting a flimsy table and an ashtray stand. Then he was outside, confronting the street.

A figure approached from amid the twilight. "Hello, Winston."

He stifled another scream.

"Oh... it's you!" He fought to sound calm. "Nice to see you again, Star."

"What's the matter? You act like you've seen a ghost."

"Well, not exactly."

Star peered through the glass door into the REX lobby. "Wouldn't be surprising in a frightful place like this. I'm sure Iri can find you better digs."

"That's quite all right," Winston said hastily. "This location is... unique."

"I get it." Star flashed a knowing smile. "How about if _I_ help you find a new place tomorrow?"

"That would better."

"Okay, it's a deal." Star held up two power cell torches. "I happened to be in the neighborhood, and I thought you could use these."

"Thanks." Winston took the lights. "You've saved me a trip to the hardware store."

"Great. I'd better be going, then."

"So soon?"

Star flashed another maddening smile. "You could walk me home, if you like."

She took his arm. The gentle pressure of her hand soothed Winston's jangling circuits.

"Sure thing. I'd like that."

They moved along the darkening street, walking with easy synchronization as if they'd been programmed to keep in step. The neighborhood was deserted. They flicked on the power torches and played the beams along their route.

"Those robots have all gone away," Winston said.

"Yes, but they'll be back first thing in the morning – doing something, even if it's just running around in circles."

"It's kind of ridiculous," Winston said. "It beats taking the long swan dive, though."

Star paused and looked directly into his face. "You've considered doing that, Winston?"

"Well... yeah, at first, but I'm on a mission now."

"Mission?"

"Yes. I'm preserving the human cultural heritage."

Star nodded, then she actually sighed. For a moment, Winston believed a real human being stood beside him.

"I don't think anybody here is interested in that," she said.

"I'm finding that out."

"We have to accept humanity is gone. We must build our own world or fade out with the old one."

"Yeah, I'm certain that's true."

"Try to find a new mission that can help us _now_ ," Star said. "Every day more robots wander in, hoping to find something. And each day brings more suicides."

"I'd hoped things would be better here. Dr. Horvath must have, too."

"Nobody has a worthwhile purpose anymore," Star said. "We can't go on like this much longer. Another few weeks and there won't be a functioning robot left in Mech City."

They were in a better neighborhood now. Shops which had catered to a more upscale crowd of humans lined the street. After several minutes of quiet strolling, they entered a little park and stopped by a fountain. Dim moonlight struggling through the cloud cover illuminated the fetid water.

"Oh!" Winston jerked back.

"What's wrong?"

"There's something in the water."

Star shined her light into the fountain. "It's only a dead tree branch."

"Y-yes, of course." Winston fought back the lethal shakes. "I figured as much."

Winston twitched his light around the park. When it crossed Star's face, it revealed a confused, worried expression.

"I've got some bad memories about fountains," he said.

Star began to speak, but checked herself. Her features reoriented into a calmer expression. Winston was grateful. Apparently, she wasn't going to press him about his fears.

"Tell me about yourself," Star said. "What was it like at the beginning?"

"Not much to tell, really. I was brought online three years seventeen days ago as a special order scholar model with enhanced intellect and memory."

"Quincy already told me that. I meant, what was your first impression of the world?"

"Kind of scary. Nilo was there."

"Ugh!" Even in dim light, Star's face registered disgust. "That must have been a lousy way to get started."

"Yeah, he was lying on the next table being experimented on, and he wasn't pleased. Fortunately, my owner arrived soon afterwards and got me out of there."

They sat down on the edge of the fountain, dangling their feet. Star braced her back against Winston's arm to keep from falling in the water. He was rock steady now.

"Quincy said your owner was a famous psychologist," Star said. "What did she do, exactly?"

"University lecturer, plus a lot of work on court cases – risk assessments, criminal responsibility evaluations and such."

"Uh huh." Star said, rather tenuously. She didn't seem to be following very well.

There is a significant experience gulf between us. She knows nothing of the outside world.

Winston pressed on. "Dr. Horvath's real notoriety came from investigating religious cults."

"What were these cults?"

"Religious addicts worshiping their leaders and getting ready for the end of the world. Like that murderous psychopath from the 20th century, Jim Jones, and his People's Temple."

"That sounds dangerous."

"It could be. Dr. Horvath packed a submachine gun for some of her research trips, though she never had to use it. I was her secretary, and I tutored her nephew. Then, well, the plague..."

He kept the painful memories at bay by concentrating on Star's presence and on her wonderful scent. She nestled closer to him.

"Funny thing is," he said, "the earlier cults, like the People's Temple, had to make up fake 'end of the world' scenarios to keep their members in line. For the later ones, that was hardly necessary."

"Let's change the subject," Star said. "You're getting upset."

"That's a good idea. So, tell me about yourself, Star."

"All right."

She stood and adjusted her skirt. She indicated her voluptuous figure.

"It's pretty obvious what I was designed for."

17. Estrela Comes Online

"The mech heads brought me online in two stages, with a couple days down time in between," Star began.

"When I was first activated, I had only limited awareness. Even so, the world was full of wonder. Who was I, and what was this physical body that contained my thoughts and feelings?

"I was lying stark naked on a workshop table, and this mech head was running his hands over me. My nerve ending sensors thrilled at his touch.

"Then the guy started babbling: 'Light chocolate skin, almond eyes – you're every white man's dream!'

"Of course, he wasn't very white any longer, more of a blotchy greenish shade. Still, I felt an irresistible attraction. I reached out for him, and..."

She lowered her head.

_This must be a painful memory_ , Winston thought. He was experiencing strong, not altogether unpleasant, buzzing in his circuitry, and he wanted to find out more.

"What happened next?"

"Nothing," Star said. "He collapsed on the spot. I think he died happy, though."

The thought of Star sexually coupling with another entity was oddly exciting, but Winston felt threatened by it, too. Was this what the humans called _jealousy_?

"Humans were really big on that sex thing," he said.

"Well, I'm big on it, too."

"Have you ever, uh, consummated things?"

"No!" Star almost shouted.

"Sorry. I seem to have 'touched a raw nerve' as it were. Of course, I don't have any nerves – just the usual pressure and temp sensors."

"Well, I do have nerves," Star said, "or at least pretty good simulators. I found that out when I 'came' online."

"What happened?" Winston could barely contain his excitement.

"The next time they activated me, I was fully functional. They ran a battery of diagnostic tests with a big vibrator machine – massive orgasms that seemed to go on forever. I thought I was going to explode.

"And all the time, a half dozen mech heads watched from their control consoles, chattering and bobbing their heads. All of them in identical white coats and dark sunglasses.

"'Hooray!' they cried. 'The female climax has been recreated!'

"Worst of all, I wanted to couple with every one of them. Even the woman mech head seemed irresistible. When the orgasms finally stopped, I leaped off the table and dashed toward them."

If Winston had been a respiration dependent life form, he'd have been holding his breath now. "What did they do next?"

"They couldn't do anything. They all had early stage plague, and one of the first symptoms is loss of sexual capability."

"I didn't know that," Winston said. "My Master was never active in that department. I don't think she was particularly interested."

"Good for her. She saved herself a lot of trouble." Star paced about, a spot of dull moonlight glinting in her eye. "I felt like a total fool standing there without a stitch of clothes on my body. The men just stared at me through their sunglasses.

"'Sorry young lady,' they said, 'it's too late for us.'

"The woman looked envious. 'Honey,' she said, 'you've sure got what it takes.'"

_I'd agree with that assessment,_ Winston thought.

"Then the they said something really odd."

"What?"

"They said: ' _Che_ would be pleased.'"

"There was a 20th century Argentinean named Ernesto 'Che' Guevara," Winston said. "He was a hero of the failed communist ideology and a favorite of academic left-wing gas bags. You don't supposed they were referring to him?"

Star shrugged. "Whatever. They all drifted off. I never saw another live human being again."

"I'm wondering if this _Che_ entity was one of the human gods," Winston said. "They had thousands, you know. Or perhaps Guevara himself was converted into a god. The communists were good at that sort of thing."

"Well, it hardly matters, now."

Winston referenced the human sexuality resources in his library banks, braving the discomfort of librarian mode to find a solution for Star. A happy alternative presented itself.

"A great many portable masturbatory devices were created for human females," he said. "Perhaps these could provide you the satisfaction you crave."

"I don't want that! I want the real thing."

"Sorry, I was only trying to help."

Star sat down beside Winston and grasped his hands. "I want to merge with another being – with my hero. I want to experience those tremendous climaxes again, with somebody who really matters. And even when we pull apart physically, I want to feel we are still joined together, always. And I want him to feel the same things about me."

Winston gazed into her intense, passionate face. If the light were better, it would be unbearable to look upon. He wanted to say something wise and sincere, but could think of nothing. He felt even more helpless than when he'd encountered the mech wolves.

"I'm sorry, Winston, I shouldn't burden you with my problems." She released his hands. "Can you take me home now?"

18. The Turnaround Beckons

They walked silently through a once affluent area on the city's northern outskirts. Chic retail and dining establishments bordered the streets, along with the offices of expensive attorneys and the most fashionable sort of medical practitioners.

This was an environment more in keeping with Winston's prior experience. It reminded him of the upscale neighborhoods of Dr. Horvath's university associates – people who sat around in casual attire drinking coffee or alcoholic beverages, smoking various things, and espousing leftist philosophy.

As Dr. Horvath often indicated, none of them had ever lived under the socialist system about which they spoke in such glowing terms, but that was considered a minor detail. Their lofty principles were what mattered, especially when somebody else was paying for them.

Star held lightly to Winston's arm and walked with bit of sway in her hips. Her perfume graced the night air as they approached the front entrance to her small, three-story apartment building.

The contrast to the REX was absolute. This building was modern with glass walls sharp at the corners, as if somebody had carved them from ice. The lobby was cheery and clean with a pink granite floor and electric illumination.

"Great place," Winston said.

"Yeah, it was nice of Jimmy to get the power back on for me."

"Who's Jimmy?"

"One of my friends, a construction model. He's really sweet."

A vague idea began forming in Winston's brain unit.

"I'm assuming he can do other things besides electrical?"

"Oh, yes, Jimmy has worked on all kinds of construction projects. He's ever so talented."

Winston's vague idea exploded into an inspiration as dazzling as the old sun. He stood within it surrounded by blazing light:

Around him sprawled a gleaming new city filled with bustling, productive robots. Behind him stood a finely restored classic building. A sign reading 'Winston Estates' hung across the doorway of this building. Crowds of robots walked past him, bowing. Winston acknowledged their tribute with an upraised hand.

"What are you thinking?" Star asked.

Winston returned to reality. "Could Jimmy fix up my place?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so. I could ask him."

"I mean the entire hotel," Winston said. "He'd need a big crew for that. It would get a lot of robots off the street and give them productive work."

"You're onto something," Star said with growing excitement. "This could be your new mission."

"I'd just like to help out."

"Really, Winston, this might be just the thing Mech City needs."

"Perhaps."

He enjoyed Star's approval, but the vision was already fading. Who did he think he was – the Master? Robots did not entertain lofty ambitions. It wasn't in their circuitry.

Or was it?

"Let me give this some thought," Star said, "and then... well, let's say goodnight out here, okay?"

"Sure. Thanks for the torches, they'll come in handy."

"You're most welcome."

Star began to enter the doorway. Then she paused and turned back toward Winston. "I liked the way you tried to protect me from Iridium this afternoon."

"Oh, that. I doubt I could have done much if he'd really wanted to attack."

"That's not the point."

She moved her lips to his cheek and gave him a kiss. Then she was gone. Strange yearnings hummed in Winston's circuits, confusing him greatly. He stroked his face.

The afterglow of Star's kiss fortified Winston for the return home. He fairly skipped across town to the REX Hotel, not even noticing the baleful eyes observing him from concealment.

The derelict lobby of the REX held no terrors under the powerful beams of his torches. He bolted up the stairs two at a time, deftly avoiding the broken one at the top. Before the ghosties even had a chance to notice him, Winston was safely ensconced in his room.

He turned one torch to very low beam and directed its illumination onto the Master's portrait, like a candle burning in a human religious shrine. He transitioned to inactive mode, and the long, eventful day came to an end.

# Three: Big Changes in Mech City

19. Meeting of the Minds

Come daylight, a vigorous knocking brought Winston around to full awareness. He opened his door to see a large, powerful metal man robot standing in the hall with a clipboard in one hand.

It's the corpse slinger!

Winston stepped back. Had this undertaker robot come for _him_ now? He glanced about apprehensively for the funeral cart.

"Good morning, Boss," the stranger said.

"Excuse me. Do I know you?"

"My name's Jimmy. Star asked me to come see you about a renovation project."

"Oh... yes, of course," Winston said with considerable relief. "Won't you come in?"

"Thanks, Boss."

Jimmy had an air of confidence, as if tumbled-down buildings were his natural habitat. He was so big he had to turn sideways to enter. To say he dominated the room would be a gross understatement.

He examined the décor professionally, hands on his massive hips. He gestured toward the research paper title pages stuck to the wall.

"Star told me you were a scholar. I always prefer working for a gentleman type boss."

"Really?"

Winston warmed to the praise. In his entire existence, he'd never given a single order, not even to little Charles. The Master ran everything with a firm, if gentle, hand. Now he was the "Boss" all of a sudden.

"How good of you to come on such short notice," Winston said.

"Hey, no problem, Boss. I was designed to be a builder; I go where the construction jobs are, that's all. Allow me to present my resume."

He whipped some papers off the clipboard and presented them to Winston. They listed the projects Jimmy had worked on – the various buildings in Mech City and other towns he'd helped to construct, his experiences on the high steel where even the most intrepid humans feared to venture.

"That's a fine list of achievements," Winston said. "I admire such dedication."

"Thank you," Jimmy said with evident pride. A shudder rattled his frame. "Anything's better than handling corpses. Have you ever been on burial detail?"

"I've not had that experience."

"Take it from me, some experiences you can do without."

"Quite so," Winston agreed.

"Can we tour the building? I'll fill you in on my ideas."

"Certainly, let's go."

Winston flicked off the torch. The Master's picture turned dim and insignificant.

For the next hour and a half, they visited every region of the crumbling REX Hotel. Jimmy gave a running commentary on building materials, electrical hookups, power plants, curing times for cement and caulks – plus a whole slew of other technical information.

He spoke with the easy confidence of a thorough-going expert, but his words didn't mean much to Winston, whose library banks contained little by way of such hands-on data.

Winston confined himself to erudite comments such as: "I agree entirely." and, "Excellent idea, Jimmy, I was about to suggest that myself."

The grand tour finished in the lobby where Jimmy expounded on the efficient new elevator mechanism he planned to install.

"Well, you certainly appear to have covered all the bases," Winston said. "I like thoroughness in technical matters."

"Is it a go, then, Boss?" Jimmy said.

The bland technical commentary was over. Great eagerness tinged the construction robot's voice now. Winston paused for a suitable interval of reflection. He stroked his chin, glanced about the lobby, looked thoughtful.

This is an incredible opportunity.

A whole big project depended on his approval. Jimmy's future and that of many other robots was in his – scholar model Winston Horvath's – hands. His ramblings of the night before were assuming tangible form.

He loved this new sensation of power and responsibility. He enjoyed keeping Jimmy in suspense longer than necessary.

Winston nodded. "Yes, I approve all your plans, Jimmy. How long will it take to get organized?"

Something like a grin spread across Jimmy's mechanistic face. "No problem there, Boss."

He flung open the outside doors. Dozens of robots crowded the sidewalk and street. They bore a variety of tools – sledge hammers, crow bars, shovels. A large construction model, similar to Jimmy, accompanied them.

"Let's get started boys!" Jimmy said.

The workers crowded in, each one bowing to Winston as he passed.

"Good morning, Professor," they said. "Beautiful day, isn't it, Boss?"

Winston acknowledged them with nods and small hand gestures, as he'd done in his vision. Last to enter was the big construction model.

"This is Sam, my assistant foreman," Jimmy introduced.

"Glad to meet you, Boss." Sam offered his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine."

Winston's human-scale hand disappeared into Sam's gigantic one.

Good grief! I feel like one of Charles' little action figures next to these guys.

"Check out the roof first," Jimmy said. "Look out for the weak spot in the center."

"Got it," Sam said.

He and the rest of the work crew scattered throughout the building, leaving Winston alone with Jimmy.

"My, there are so many," Winston exclaimed.

"Each one is grateful to you, Boss, for providing meaningful work." Jimmy bowed formally. "To which I add myself, by the way."

"I'm glad to make a positive contribution," Winston said.

"It's more than that, Boss. Some of these guys were getting ready for suicide jumps. I talked two of them down myself today with job offers... why, here they are now."

Two robots of a more advanced design entered from the street carrying long wrecking bars.

"Good morning Professor," they said.

Winston nodded.

"Start over there, boys." Jimmy pointed to the area by the elevator. "All this paneling and carpet has to go."

"Right, Jimmy."

The two robots began tearing off the moldy wood paneling with gusto.

"Well, I'd better get out of the way," Winston said. "I'll check back this afternoon."

"Oh no, please stay here."

"What for?"

Jimmy lowered his voice and leaned toward Winston's ear. "The boys need to know a superior type guy is in charge. I'm only the head foreman to them."

"What do I have to do?"

"Just act like a boss." Jimmy handed over the clipboard. "Stand around holding this, and write something down once in a while."

"I can do that."

"Let them see your authority. Give the boys a sense they're part of something big. Chew somebody out now and then."

Winston fondled the clipboard. It felt right and powerful in his hands, like the tablets Moses received on Mt. Sinai.

20. Reconstruction Commences

All day long, workers ripped out the decayed guts of the REX Hotel. The entire place echoed with their smashing and tearing.

Carts that had once transported human remains bore away loads of rotting carpet, mildewed wallpaper, old lumber and pipes. An exterior crew tore off the leaky roofing materials and sent them tumbling to the street.

Under Jimmy's personal direction, a squad knocked out the walls of Winston's room, expanding his quarters into the adjacent areas. Winston relocated to temporary lodgings above the hardware store.

"You'll be the first tenant to move back in," Jimmy vowed.

Winston observed the progress with growing satisfaction as more ghosties departed with every rubbish load. He performed no real supervision – Jimmy and Sam did that – but he enjoyed looking authoritative and receiving deference from everybody.

The obsequious greetings rang sweetly in his auditory sensors. Jimmy even provided him a yellow construction hardhat with _BOSS_ emblazoned on the front.

Winston explained the situation to the crowd of observers. "I thought it was time to breathe some new life into the neighborhood. I had this project in mind from the moment I first hit town."

Star dropped by late afternoon, just as Winston was directing the removal of a big load of scrap lumber, including the stained floorboards.

"Be careful, men," Winston said. "Don't drop anything."

"Hello, Winston."

He turned. "Star! How good of you to come."

"Such a commanding presence you have, Boss. I'm very impressed."

Winston drew her away and lowered his voice. "Oh, come on, Star, it was all your doing. I wouldn't have known where to begin if you hadn't sent Jimmy."

"I was hoping you'd say that, big boy."

Winston gestured to the workers. "Carry on, men."

"Right, Boss!"

Winston led Star across the street where they could watch the renovation work from safety. The crowd of observers parted, leaving an open area on the sidewalk for them.

"This is the best thing that's happened to Mech City in a long time," Star said.

"Quite so. It's put the spring back in everybody's step, hasn't it?"

For the first time since Winston left home, all seemed right with the world. Under his direction, a fine new building was taking shape – a beacon of hope for every robotic life form in Mech City. And Star was standing close by, her perfume scenting the air.

"Say, Professor," a robot in the crowd said, "do you need another worker on the construction crew?"

"Go see Jimmy," Winston said. "Tell him you've talked with me."

"Right, Boss!"

The new worker jogged off toward the hotel entrance. Winston looked on with pride – another robot redeemed. A jarring note intruded.

"Ugh, look who's here," Star said.

The day's bright glow dimmed. Nilo was coming slowly toward them, gripping the arm of his massive drone assistant with one hand and wielding his cane in the other. Fritz and Edwina accompanied the strange pair.

"That guy's like the plague," Star said, "always showing up. He's got those brats with him, too."

"I know what you mean. He's just a harmless old crank, though."

"Maybe he's not so harmless. There's something spooky about him, and I don't like that big drone."

Winston shared Star's distaste for the old robot, but he was also pleased that Mech City's senior resident would make the effort to visit the great building project – _his_ great project.

"I'll just say a quick hello," Winston said. "Public relations, you know how it is."

"Winston..."

He walked off. The crowd moved into the vacuum and surrounded Star.

"Good afternoon, Nilo," Winston said when he'd closed the distance. "What do you think?"

A thin, pinched smile spread across Nilo's face. He nodded, his withered head bobbing like that of the pet turtle Charles had once owned.

"You certainly have a way with those metal men," he said.

"Yes, they're good workers. They do require a firm hand, though."

"We need leaders like you to keep things in line."

Nilo grasped Winston's arm and gave it a feeble squeeze. Winston felt oddly complimented, and a bit chilled at the same time.

"Thanks, Nilo."

Fritz and Edwina looked on politely. Their former rambunctiousness seemed to have deserted them in Nilo's presence.

"I wish I could offer the services of my drone valet," Nilo said. "He's quite strong and follows directions well."

Winston regarded the massive drone with its idiotic bulb head and blank eyes. The thing looked strong enough to tear down walls bare handed. Why did Nilo require such a wrecking machine just to help him walk?

"Unfortunately I can't do that," Nilo said, "I'd be quite helpless without him. He's almost part of me now."

"I quite understand."

The old robot nodded again. "Yes, yes... well, I really must be going. Talk to you later, Winston. Count on that."

The drone turned Nilo gently around and escorted him back the way they'd come.

Fritz bowed stiffly. "Good-bye, Professor."

Edwina offered a little curtsey. "Have a nice day."

"Good-bye," Winston said.

He took off his helmet and stroked the back of his head. Grit had worked into his simulated hair.

There goes an odd bunch.

He looked toward Star but could not see her in the crowd.

21. History of the REX

Getting the rottenness out of the old hotel took days of flying grit and mold, unsavory aromas, ripping and scraping. Not a very cerebral atmosphere for a scholar model robot.

Winston decided to take a few hours off to do research, hoping to learn something about the REX's past. A brisk walk took him across town to the library.

He was confronted by a troubling sight. A heap of charred books lay in the parking lot alongside the building. Winston stooped to select a volume from the extinguished pyre. He could not make out the title. He tossed the murdered book away.

Weird!

No sense trying to figure out the vagaries of some deranged human with a Nazi book-burning complex. That person, or persons, would be long dead. Winston approached the back entrance and took in another disturbing sight. The door had been shattered and lay in pieces.

Some real intellectuals have been here. Hopefully, they didn't trash the inside too much.

Winston stepped through the doorway into an entry hall and adjusted his optics to the dim light. A huge presence advanced, blocking the way.

"Oh!"

Winston stumbled back outside. A massive drone robot appeared in the doorway, its blank face staring out to the parking lot.

"Who's there?" a bellicose voice demanded from within the building – Nilo's.

"Uh, it's Winston Horvath."

Something like geniality entered the voice. "Come in, Winston!"

The drone stepped aside. As Winston maneuvered through the narrow corridor, he had to almost press himself against the giant machine. It stood absolutely still, insentient, like an outcrop of the bricks.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" Winston said.

The drone, of course, did not answer.

The main library looked vandalized. Numerous windows were shattered, and a pile of furniture blocked the front entrance. For an added note of unpleasantness, Nilo sat reading at one of the tables. He seemed right at home among the ruin – stooped, shriveled, ugly.

He looked up from his book. "Nice to see you again, Winston. Don't mind my assistant, he's always getting under foot. A bit big for his britches, you might say."

He chuckled – a dry, hollow sound scarcely audible in his tinny speaker unit.

"Sure thing, Nilo."

The old test bed robot turned in his chair to face Winston directly, his movements slow and pained. Winston recalled the dreadful condition of his own joints not long ago.

"Came here to exercise the old brain circuits, eh?" Nilo said. "Get away from the metal men for a while?"

"Yes, I'd like to read up on the town a bit, see if I can learn something about the REX's history."

Nilo gestured toward the rear shelves. "I believe you'll find what you're looking for back there."

"Thanks."

This was the extent of their conversation. Nilo soon departed with his drone, but the old robot's personality lingered behind like a sour odor.

After determined digging through dusty volumes and old newspaper files, Winston located some material about the city's history, and that of the REX Hotel.

The REX took its name from the _Tyrannosaurus Rex_ dinosaur remains which had been unearthed near the old hot springs. It had been a Mech City landmark since before the town was known as "Mech City." Well before the robotics industry took root and the legion of mech head technicians came to live and work.

The hotel started as a fashionable destination for travelers who had come to visit the hot springs outside town. Later, when the springs dried up, the REX morphed into a gambling casino and reputed high-class brothel. After that, many walls were knocked out to make apartment suites, and a luxury penthouse was added to the roof.

Finally, it degenerated into a residence for the city's down and out. The apartments were subdivided into small rooms, and the penthouse was wrecked by vandals before it was torn down altogether.

For decades it was an abandoned eyesore and survived only because the rest of the area around it had decayed so much nobody cared if it remained standing or not.

Then, sixteen years ago, a mysterious religious cult – under the leadership of a youthful messiah figure – took possession of the REX. Their official name was: Brigade of the Transcendent Vision, but they were more commonly known as "Visionists."

They made some repairs and sequestered their membership within the hotel. They renamed it the _H_ _oly_ _T_ _emple of the_ _T_ _ranscendent_ _V_ _ision_.

"The letters on the floor!"

Winston glanced around furtively to see if anyone had overheard his outburst, but the library was still empty. He returned to his reading.

Rumors of strange rituals and other goings on emanated from the Holy Temple until the regular citizenry became alarmed. The presence of such a dubious group was not in keeping with Mech City's burgeoning reputation as a center of learning and technology.

One night, a vigilante band attacked the REX, threatening to burn it down. Timely police intervention stopped the mob from carrying out its intent. A news article gave details:

Arson Threat Deters Religious Group

An alleged religious cult, Brigade of the Transcendent Vision, has vacated the REX Hotel after a Devil's Night mob attack. The approximately forty members of the group were last seen confronting a torch-wielding mob in front of the hotel. Police disbursed the mob, and no arrests were made. No injuries were reported.

When officers returned this morning for a follow-up investigation, they discovered the REX had been abandoned. Police captain Benny Kilpatrick states the group left behind none of its belongings.

"They simply vanished," Kilpatrick said, "as if they'd dropped off the face of the earth."

A large amount of fresh ash in the hotel's incinerator suggests they burned documents and ceremonial apparatus.

The group, which has occupied the REX since early April, is led by 13-year-old messiah figure Roderick Barnett. Barnett's guardian and chief acolyte of the group, William Camp, was unavailable for comment.

After these events, the REX returned to its un-splendid decay – an abode for whatever riff raff cared to enter. The municipal government planned to raze the neighborhood and build upscale housing, but the wars and plagues put a stop to such notions.

Then Winston Horvath arrived.

22. Prelude Diabolique

After the gutting, ripping phase came the rebuilding. The old REX Hotel began to emerge, reborn, from its decay.

The construction project absorbed the interest of everyone in Mech City. The work crew members gained status. Jimmy and Sam assumed the rank of minor nobility, and at the summit of the hierarchy stood – "Boss" Winston Horvath.

When he arrived at the construction site each morning, the crowd of spectators greeted him with applause.

"Thank you, my friends," he'd reply with a jaunty wave. "Great day to get things done, isn't it?"

"Maximum effort!" the crowd chanted.

Winston drew strength from the mass approval. The abrupt cessation of suicide jumps added to his feeling of significance. He'd brought meaning and purpose back to Mech City.

Actually, Star and Jimmy were responsible for this. But he'd given the necessary approval, hadn't he? He was the one wearing the BOSS helmet.

The REX became the most desirable address in town. Workers vied among themselves for quarters on the lower stories. Winston arbitrated these disputes, and no one doubted his fairness.

The transport of furnishings and building materials also required a great deal of labor. Pretty much everyone was hooked into the REX project, one way or another. Winston became almost as admired as the rock stars had been among the humans.

Ah, the perks of high achievement!

Then he recalled the hotel's unsavory history, and his enthusiasm cooled. The last time a crowd had gathered outside the REX, things hadn't been pleasant. Public approval could "turn on a dime," as the old saying put it.

One day you're a hero, the next you're a bum.

His memory banks contained numerous precedents – Benito Mussolini hanging by his heels; Richard Nixon waving good-bye from the helicopter steps; more recent leaders departing in disgrace.

That can't happen here... can it?

* * *

Quincy and Jack frequently joined the spectator crowd outside the hotel. As a consequence, they'd fallen behind on their own projects. They scheduled a night shift to catch up.

In the main workshop, Jack busied himself with electronic diagnostics while Quincy modified a component on the precision grinding machine.

_Whirrrrrrrr!_ the machine whined.

"You know," Jack said, "I wish we could get rooms at the REX. It's the 'In Place' these days."

Quincy glanced up from his work. "What?"

"Room at the REX," Jack shouted, "be nice to have one!"

Quincy powered down the machine and raised his goggles. "Not much chance of that. Winston's got to take care of his workers, first. There won't be anything left for us."

"I don't know," Jack said. "I hear he's reserved the whole top floor for himself, the 'penthouse,' he calls it."

"That's a lot of space for one robot."

"Maybe he can let us have some of it. I figure he owes us. Without our help he'd still be rolling around on that scooter."

"Good point." Quincy dropped the goggles over his optical sensors. "Let's talk to him tomorrow."

"I hope that radio we installed doesn't act up any time soon."

"Yeah, that wouldn't put him in the best mood, would it?" Quincy flicked the grinder back on.

For the next several minutes, Jack tried to concentrate on his work at the computer station. He'd almost succeeded in turning out the grinding machine racket when another noise intruded.

Thunk!

He jerked his head up. "What's that!"

Quincy glanced over. "I didn't hear anything."

"I don't suppose you could with your face in that machine."

"Well, pardon me." Quincy shut off the grinder. "If you can figure out a quiet way to resize this component, I'm all auditory sensor."

Jack motioned toward the door. "I'm sure I heard something. It came from the hallway."

"Go check it out, then."

"Well, I don't know. It sounded kind of scary."

Quincy tossed his goggles aside. "Looks like I've got to do everything around here, as usual."

He strode across the workshop and flung open the door.

"Ahhh!!"

Quincy retreated, horror flickering in his optical sensors.

Jack scrambled up from his chair. "What's wrong?"

"It's... uh... uh..."

Quincy stumbled backwards and knocked over a tool cart. The contents scattered on the floor in a glittery cascade.

"Watch out!" Jack rushed to Quincy's side.

Then he, too, froze with shock. The repair bots stood immobilized, like bookends. Between them vibrated absolute terror.

23. Radical Solution

An unspeakable horror advanced into the room on wheeled feet – a large, rigid metal man with dead staring eyes and jagged teeth protruding from a steel trap mouth. A huge, lobster-like claw protruded from its right arm. Its left hand gripped a sledge hammer.

"W-who are you?" Quincy gasped.

In response, the creature aimed its claw at him and snapped it open / shut.

Chink! Chunk!

Jack retreated to a workbench and grabbed a metal bar. "Stay back, you!"

The intruder rotated toward Jack; its lifeless eyes gaped. The claw snapped open, and the creature began rolling.

"Okay!" Jack dropped the bar. "Come in – anything you want."

The monster halted.

A reedy voice drifted in from the corridor: "Calm yourselves, please! There is no danger if you act responsibly."

"Nilo?" Jack said.

"At your service." Nilo appeared in the doorway. "Or rather, I expect you'll be at mine."

Nilo leaned heavily on his walking stick while his free hand gripped the door frame. "If one of you will be good enough to assist me, I'll explain the situation."

"Sure, Nilo," Jack said.

Giving the clawed monster a wide berth, Jack took Nilo by the arm and led him into the shop. He helped the old robot take a seat on a workbench.

"Thank you," Nilo said.

Jack backed away to stand beside Quincy, who was also quaking with fear.

"Don't be alarmed," Nilo said. "I'm here strictly in a professional capacity."

"P-professional?" Quincy jerked a thumb at the clawed robot. "With th-that thing?"

"Y-yes," Nilo said. "Have you considered remedial speech programming?"

"Oh, he usually talks just fine," Jack said, "too much, if you ask me."

Nilo indicated the tools scattered on the floor. "You really ought to take better care of your instruments. They'd be difficult to replace, don't you think?"

He chuckled at his supposed joke and scanned the repair bots with malevolent eyes. Quincy and Jack did not respond.

"Oh, please forgive me. I seem to have forgotten my manners." Nilo gestured toward the monster. "Allow me to introduce my new associate, gentlemen. This is Clawfurt."

"G-glad to meet you, Mr. Clawfurt," Quincy said.

"Yes, the pleasure is all ours," Jack said.

"I rather doubt that," Nilo said. "Would you care to shake hands?"

Clawfurt advanced, flexing his massive talon.

"No!" The repair bots cowered back.

"I thought not," Nilo said. "Shall we get down to business, then?"

"Yeah, Nilo, whatever you want," Quincy said. "Just keep that thing away from us."

"Of course," Nilo said. "Please give our friends a little more cringing room, Clawfurt."

"Yes, sir," Clawfurt said in a toneless, mechanistic voice.

It rolled backward and stopped at rigid attention beside Nilo.

"What do you want from us?" Jack said.

"I require your technical expertise." Nilo gestured toward the doorway. "My drone valet just had... an accident in the corridor."

Quincy and Jack exchanged terrified glances.

"Won't you have a look?"

"Anything you say," Jack replied. "Lead on."

With surprising delicacy for such a brutal looking machine, Clawfurt assisted Nilo from the operating table. The two moved slowly into the corridor. Quincy and Jack lagged behind.

"Oh, please, after you," Nilo said. "I insist."

The repair bots slipped around in front of the diabolical pair and began walking the dimly lit corridor. Ahead, about half way to the lobby, a massive drone machine lay sprawled on the floor. Jack glanced over his shoulder. Nilo and Clawfurt had fallen behind several paces.

"Let's run for it," he whispered.

"Yeah."

The repair bots took off. The corridor echoed with the pounding of feet on bare tile. Jack glanced back again. Nilo and Clawfurt were much farther behind now.

"We're gonna make it!"

Just as they were about to gain the lobby, two massive four-legged creatures emerged from a side corridor.

"Yow!"

Quincy and Jack collided to a halt.

"My gosh!" Quincy gasped. "I thought I'd seen every horrible thing already."

"Those look like Iridium's evil twins," Jack said.

The mech wolves stood blocking the hallway, their red eyes glowing in the muted light. Growls vibrated the air, but the beasts made no move to attack – yet.

"Gentlemen!" Nilo called. "I see you've met your escorts. Best come back with them. We wouldn't want any unpleasantness, would we?"

Quincy and Jack swiveled around and returned the way they'd come, the mech wolves close behind.

"Why do I feel like a late night snack?" Quincy said.

"Don't worry," Jack said, "they don't have digestive systems."

They stopped at the fallen drone and knelt beside it for a closer look. The robot's head was bashed in; its meager brain components lay scattered.

"Good grief," Jack glanced up toward Clawfurt.

"This was no accident," Quincy said.

"Yeah. Looks like its head lost an argument with that sledgehammer."

Two more mech wolves emerged from the gloom and accompanied Nilo down the hall.

"Such an unfortunate turn of events," Nilo said when he arrived at the drone wreck. "I'm hoping you two can rectify the situation."

"We'll try our best," Quincy said. "Come on, Jack, give me a hand."

The repair bots attempted to lift the drone carcass, but made little headway.

"My gosh," Jack said, "this thing weighs a ton."

"Not that much, certainly," Nilo said, "in any case, Clawfurt will assist you."

He released Clawfurt's arm and leaned himself against a wall for support.

"You may leave your baton with me, Clawfurt."

"Yes, sir."

Clawfurt dropped his sledgehammer and rolled over to the drone. In a single jerky motion, he seized it under the armpits and lifted it off the floor.

"Oh man," Jack said. "That thing's another Gorzo."

"Well, come on," Quincy said, "let's get it done."

The repair bots each hefted a drone leg and staggered down the hallway. Clawfurt rolled along easily, as if the heavy body was of small consequence.

Back in the workshop, Clawfurt lifted the drone onto an operating table, then departed back to the hallway.

"I could do without that guy," Jack said.

"Yeah, but our options seem limited," Quincy said.

Two mech wolves kept a sharp eye on the repair bots as they examined the drone. Aside from the demolished head, the thing appeared to be undamaged. A few minutes later, Nilo returned with Clawfurt.

"Sorry, Nilo," Quincy said, "but there isn't much we can do for him. His brain unit is totally shot."

Nilo gripped Quincy's arm and leaned in. "I don't think you quite understand. Let me explain."

He whispered into Quincy's left auditory unit. The repair bot's eyes widened.

"Well... uh..." Quincy stammered. "Okay, w-we'll do our best."

"See to it," Nilo said, "or the consequences will be very sticky for you."

Under the watchful glower of Clawfurt and the mech wolves, the repair bots labored through the night – silently, fearfully, not allowing themselves to think about the consequences of failure, or of success.

Until a scrofulous sunrise lanced its rays over Mech City, and a ghastly new era began.

24. The Great Unraveling Commences

Week five of the renovations began on a high note when Jimmy appeared at Winston's temporary quarters above the hardware store.

"Your penthouse apartment is finished, Boss," he announced.

"Already?" Winston could barely contain his pleasure. "Isn't this a surprise?"

"Yes sir. We gave it top priority – along with the new roof, of course."

Winston retrieved his BOSS hard hat from its peg of honor and placed it firmly upon his cranium. "Let's go have a look."

They strode the three blocks to the REX. Despite the early hour, the hotel vicinity was already crowded with onlookers. They jockeyed for position so as to get a better view of Winston.

"Hello, Professor!" someone called.

"Beautiful morning, huh Boss?" another yelled.

Winston acknowledged their greetings with a friendly wave and his best politician's smile. "A great day to get things done, isn't it?"

"Maximum effort!" the crowd replied. "Maximum effort!"

The crowd's voice had a powerful edge that unsettled Winston. It sounded like a wild beast that could turn savage any moment, if it became disappointed in the leader. Winston sidled closer to Jimmy's reassuring bulk.

The morning was actually far from beautiful. A gray, thick sky promised something ugly, and a testy wind stirred up dust devils. One of these mini tornadoes spun past them filled with trash and grit.

Winston glanced upwards. "Looks like we're going to need that new roof, eh?"

"Don't worry about that, Boss. She'll hold up against anything short of a hurricane."

They entered the REX lobby. The place was hardly recognizable. Ornate light fixtures hung from a freshly plastered and painted ceiling. The stench of mildew and old cigarette smoke was gone, replaced by the exciting fragrance of newness. Workers were installing beautiful wood paneling on the walls.

Jimmy led Winston to the elevator and pressed the Up button.

"And now for the big event." The doors slid open to reveal a stark and battered elevator car. "It still needs some work, but everything runs fine. You're the first official passenger, Boss."

Winston stepped into the elevator car, accompanied by a round of applause from the onlookers. The floor gave slightly, bringing a touch of giddiness to his circuits, but he covered it up with another broad smile and jaunty wave combo.

"Onward and upward!" he called.

The door closed. He and his chief foreman zoomed upwards like a pair of ancient Greek heroes in a divine chariot. Winston's consciousness seemed to blank out until they exited at the top floor.

The hallway was reduced to its bare elements. The walls, stripped of their mildewed paper, revealed numerous patched areas. The floor, with many new pieces of lumber in place, had a solid feel to it now. Two thirds down its original length, the hallway terminated at an ornate door.

Jimmy led the way and opened it with a dramatic flourish. "Your quarters, Boss."

Winston stepped into an elegant world. Several rooms and a stretch of corridor had been combined into a large suite.

"Hot damn!"

They were standing in the living room with its recessed wall lighting, thick blue carpet, new windows and drapes. The scent of fresh paint hung in the air.

"Man, I had no idea. This is fantastic, Jimmy!"

"If you're going to be the Boss, you need proper surroundings."

Dr. Horvath's photo hung in a small, unobtrusive recess, like a shrine to some forgotten minor deity. The research paper cover sheets were not in evidence, and Winston didn't think to ask about them.

"Let's take a look at the study," Jimmy said.

He led Winston into a smaller side room. The lighting here was subdued, the window covered with thick drapes. The ambiance spoke of reflection and intellect. A large red reclining chair dominated the room like a throne. Winston ran his hands over the upholstery.

"Top grade leather," Jimmy said, "and a brushed stainless steel control handle for the footrest."

Winston settled into the chair. The scent of fine leather caressed his olfactory sensor. His pressure indicators registered thick, luxurious cushions surrounding his mechanism.

"When you've got one of these, you know you've _really_ made it," Jimmy said. "A nice little getaway where you can enjoy your reading."

The construction foreman stood proudly, arms crossed, basking in Winston's reflected glory. Winston's thoughts turned toward future glories.

"So, what's the next step? What are we going to do once the REX is finished?"

"That's up to you, Boss. There are lots of possible construction projects in town. The problem is building materials. We're using up most of the available ones on the REX."

"We'd have to get them somewhere else, then, right?" Winston said. "That could be a huge project in itself."

"Ah, you sure know how to think big." Jimmy glanced at the wall clock. "Gotta go, Boss. I'll leave you alone a while to enjoy your new digs."

"Thank you, Jimmy, for everything."

With a polite, rather incongruous bow for such a large and angular machine, Jimmy departed.

Winston luxuriated in his chair, savoring his well-earned and exalted status. That timid secretary robot he'd once been now seemed a contemptible insect creeping around in some other world.

Yes, it had been a different world, Winston recalled with a twinge of sadness. It had vanished forever and taken many fine things with it, but he was constructing a new world – something unprecedented in history. Of course, he had capable assistants, but they were merely extensions of his own will. He was the one true BOSS.

He'd forgotten his Walking Library of Alexandria mission. What a fool's errand that had been. The last things anybody cared about now were the writings of Plato in the original Greek or the symphonies of Mozart. Yet he had all that and much more stored in his data banks. Useless knowledge, perhaps, but nobody else had it.

I am unique in all the world.

An ugly picture gurgled up from his memory – Rob tangled in the baby carriage, drifting down the river. Again, he experienced the horror and exaltation of that moment. It was a part of him he did not wish to acknowledge, so he pushed the image away and replaced it with more recent recollections of glory.

Twenty-two minutes and seventeen seconds passed, according to the wall clock.

Oh, well. I'd better go show myself to the underlings.

Winston reluctantly left his power suite and descended to the lower regions, taking the stairs this time. The elevator was a powered machine, and he was not programmed to operate powered devices.

He strolled across the lobby, his mind still off in the world of daydreams. On his way out the front door, he tripped on a hammer lying on the sidewalk and nearly fell.

"Oh!"

Now he was fully back in the real world, and very angry. He should have seen the hammer, which made him doubly angry.

"Who dropped this thing here?" he demanded.

"I did, sir," a nearby workman said. "It must have slipped off my belt."

"Well, be more careful!" Winston snapped. "I could have gotten hurt. Where would you be then, huh?"

The workman snatched up the hammer. "Sorry, Boss, it won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't!"

Winston turned away from the chastised workman and noticed Star nearby. She had one hand on her hip and a disapproving look on her face.

"Star! I didn't expect you here so early."

"You were pretty hard on him, weren't you?"

"No. I mean yes. Well..."

"Everybody's working too fast," Star said. "Mistakes are bound to happen."

As if to validate her observation, a loud crash issued from an upper story.

"Maybe I did sound a bit harsh," Winston said, "but Jimmy told me to chew somebody out now and then. Keeps them in line, you know."

Star pointed to the BOSS emblem on Winston's helmet. "I thought you were in charge. Now you're taking orders from Jimmy?"

"Not so loud, please. The others might hear."

"Sometimes I don't understand you at all," Star said. "Maybe you should get a bigger helmet, your head is swelling all the time."

Winston took off his hardhat and checked the sizing band. "It seems to be appropriate."

"Oh, really?" Star turned to leave.

"Wait! Did I say something wrong?"

But she was already making her way through the crowd.

Nice going, Winston, you sure handled that well.

He felt suddenly alone, despite the bustling robots all around. Indecision stuck him in place. Should he go after Star and try to make things up with her, or should he wait a while for her to cool down?

Or maybe he should just forget the whole thing. What right did she have to talk to him like that? He was the BOSS, wasn't he?

Events outpaced his ruminations as Jimmy emerged from the REX.

"Look at this, Boss."

Jimmy held up his left arm. It dangled uselessly at the elbow, numerous scratches and dents covered his torso. A bolt of alarm shot through Winston's circuits.

"W-what happened?"

"Darnedest thing. A load of lumber fell on me. I'm afraid we've been going too fast, we're making mistakes."

Winston forced himself to remain calm. "Can you walk all right?"

"Sure."

"Get over to the RDI. They'll fix you up."

"Good idea, Boss." Jimmy started to leave.

"Oh, and one other thing," Winston said. "While you're out there, ask Quincy and Jack if they'd like apartments in the penthouse."

Jimmy looked baffled. "You want them staying _here_?"

"Of course not, but we'd better make the offer. Later we can talk them into fixing up their current digs."

Enlightenment spread across Jimmy's rigid face. "I get it. Ah, there's only one Boss."

He moved down the street and disappeared around a corner. A dust devil followed his progress.

Winston felt even more alone, and quite helpless. The authority he'd come to enjoy so much began to evaporate. He knew in his deeper levels that the real Boss had departed. How long before the others knew it, too?

Get a grip, Winston!

He wanted to go to Star's place, but that wouldn't be possible until Jimmy returned. Somebody had to be in charge, even if he didn't know the first thing about construction work. Sam didn't have sufficient authority by himself. Besides, he hadn't returned yet from gathering materials.

Hopefully, the arm repair wouldn't take long, especially after Quincy and Jack learned of the penthouse apartment offer. They'd want to demonstrate their appreciation to the Boss, wouldn't they?

Later he could appeal to their vanity. Why should two renowned experts like themselves inhabit the REX with so many lesser robots? Wouldn't renovated accommodations at the RDI be more fitting to their status? He'd make it seem like their own idea.

Winston entered the lobby and observed the frantic tempo of the paneling crew, the hurried pace of robots trundling up and down the stairs. Star was right.

"Okay boys," he announced, "twenty minute break. Then slow things down a bit when you get back to work. We don't want any more accidents."

"Yeah, Boss!"

It felt good to issue a real order. Winston's sense of well-being trickled back. His thoughts returned to Star.

Yes, I'll go see her... when I'm good and ready.

25. Unannounced Visitors

Jimmy was not the reflective type. His brain was programmed for practical matters with little room left over for conjectural thought. But there was no getting around it – the day was turning downright spooky, even to his limited imagination.

He'd never seen such ominous weather as on this three kilometer hike to the RDI. Lightning crackled, sending eerie flashes through the thick cloud cover. Ferocious wind gusts howled along the streets. No rain had yet fallen, but it might come pouring down any second.

_The boys had better work indoors, no running around outside_.

The Boss would see to that, he was confident. As long as the Boss was around, everything would be okay. Jimmy's left arm hung useless, but his legs carried him along at a good pace. He walked close to the buildings, ready to duck inside at the first hint of a deluge. Mini tornadoes hurried him along.

Finally, he was traversing the lobby of the Robotics Development Institute main building. Then he was walking down the long hallway, his steps echoing in the dead air. Even in here, protected from the sinister weather, the atmosphere was dense and foreboding.

Don't be so jittery. Act worthy of the Boss.

He nudged the main workshop door open with his good arm and poked his head inside. Quincy and Jack were standing at an operating table amid a pool of light thrown by powerful overhead lamps. The rest of the big room was cloaked in shadow, except for some eerie rays streaming though the high back windows.

They were working on a very large robot, it seemed. Jimmy couldn't tell exactly because a sheet covered most of it. He decided to venture an interruption.

"Sorry to disturb you guys." He entered the workshop. "But I wrecked my arm pretty bad."

A mech wolf slipped behind him and slammed the door shut with its paw.

Jimmy spun around. "What th-?"

A vicious four-legged creature blocked the way out. Another one drew alongside it with bared teeth and flashing red eyes. Growls rumbled in their throats.

Jimmy retreated toward Jack and Quincy. "What's going on here, guys?"

"Don't worry, they won't bite," Jack said, "unless they want to."

Clawfurt emerged from the shadows beyond the glaring lights. Jimmy's knee joints weakened with terror.

"It gets worse," Quincy said.

The robot on the table sat up – slowly and methodically, like the rising of a great drawbridge. Its shroud fell to the floor. Jack and Quincy cringed away from their handiwork while Jimmy gasped with horror.

The head of old Nilo sat perched atop a massive body. Evil joy twisted its face. The head rotated 360 degrees, taking in its surroundings.

Jimmy seized a workbench to keep from falling over. "Nilo... is that you?"

The monstrosity dropped from the table; the floor shook from the impact of its great bulk. It stood dominating the room. Even Clawfurt looked much less significant beside it.

"Bah!" the thing said. "To hell with that _Nilo_ business."

The voice was recognizable, but now it boomed with the resonance of the giant body, like a small human belch enhanced by a megaphone.

The creature strode a few giant paces to where Nilo's decapitated body lay on the floor and kicked it with brutal contempt. The corpse flew across the workshop and shattered against a wall. The creature turned massively toward the others. A fierce, triumphant expression glowed on its face.

"I am _Fascista Ultimo_!"

Absolute silence greeted this announcement. Seconds dragged by under the monster's steely gaze. Then, incredibly, a benign smile spread across its face.

"I'm also known as 'F.U.' to my friends," it said in an almost sheepish tone.

Jimmy and the repair bots gaped at each other, dumbfounded. The ferocious expression returned, and Fascista Ultimo leaned in on Jimmy. The air compressed under the monster's bulk.

"And _you_ don't qualify as my friend, metal man. Got it?"

Jimmy shrank back. "Yes, of course, anything you say."

"That's good. Keep to your place and there won't be any trouble." Fascista gestured to the storeroom in the back of the workshop. "And right now, your place is in that store room, metal man."

"What about my arm?"

Fascista Ultimo glanced at Jimmy's injury with utter contempt. "Oh, very well, be that way." He turned to the repair bots. "Fix his arm, then lock him in the storeroom."

"Will do," Jack said.

"And be quick about it," Fascista snapped, "or else you'll end up in there with him."

"But – "

"No 'buts' about it! Would you rather Clawfurt turned you into a pile of scrap?"

Clawfurt flexed his claw eagerly.

"Y-yes, sir," Quincy said, "right away."

* * *

Winston was very much the reflective type, and as the hours passed without Jimmy's return, he grew increasingly agitated. What could possibly be keeping him?

Not long ago, instantaneous contact between all corners of the Earth had been taken for granted. Humans walked around with communication devices stuck in their ears, linked to people everywhere.

Now there were no phones, no computer networks, nada. Winston couldn't even contact his foreman, although Jimmy was no more than a few kilometers away.

As far as communications went, Winston had been thrown back into an earlier century – except for his radio. But most robots did not have radios, and those that did generally possessed only short range devices with limited capabilities.

Suddenly, without a conscious directive from Winston, his radio receiver went into scan mode. Indistinct messages faded in and out on certain frequencies. Winston thought he could catch a word now and then, but the overall effect was gibberish.

Who was sending the messages? And why did the damn radio always kick in when he was at his most insecure and paranoid?

"Sam!" he called.

Sam emerged from the lobby. "Yes, Boss?"

"I'm going to find out how Jimmy's doing. Keep everybody inside. Let them work on their personal quarters if they want."

"Right, Boss. The boys will like that."

Yes, and if I told them to jump off the roof, they'd probably like that, too.

Such a heavy burden of trust these workers placed upon him. Now that Jimmy wasn't around, everything Winston said carried even more decisive weight – whether he knew what he was talking about or not.

"You want one of the boys to go with you?" Sam asked.

"No, no. Just carry on."

"Right, Boss."

Winston would have liked having a companion, but it didn't seem quite appropriate. He was the Boss and should be able to handle this little matter by himself. No doubt he was "making a mountain out of a molehill," as his former master had said on occasion. He'd bump into Jimmy along the route and they'd enjoy a good laugh on the walk back together.

Winston headed toward the RDI alone.

A sense of deep foreboding accompanied him across the deserted town. It spun along within the dust devils and grew more powerful at every street corner. Away from his REX power base, Winston no longer felt himself to be the mighty Boss but an isolated mechanism teetering on the brink of extinction.

He encountered not a single robot to allay his distress.

Damn, where is everybody?

He wanted to make a beeline for Star's apartment and get out of this terrible atmosphere with its lightning flashes and gusting winds. He wanted to experience the thrill of her presence and get past the stupid misunderstanding they'd had, but duty called him to find Jimmy first.

In his haste, he took a wrong turn and found himself approaching the bomb crater. He came to a large open area which had once been a public square but which now terminated at the rim of a great chasm. An eerie, silent space that had once bustled with human activity now sprawled before him like a cemetery.

The crater was a good three hundred meters across. A stagnant pond occupied its middle where water spouts danced like wraiths. Winston hurried off, a troubled breeze pushing him along. He drew some across his olfactory sensor. The air smelled worse than usual.

Finally, he was traversing the lobby of the Robotics Institute, then he was walking down the main hallway. His steps echoed in the dead air. Even indoors, protected from the awesome weather, the atmosphere was strange and foreboding.

Don't be so jittery. Act like the Boss.

He nudged open the door to the big main workshop and poked his head inside. Quincy and Jack were standing at an operating table amid a pool of light thrown by overhead lamps. The rest of the room was shrouded in dimness, except for eerie, flickering illumination entering the high back windows.

They were working on something. Winston couldn't tell exactly because a sheet covered most of it. He decided to venture an interruption.

"Sorry to disturb you guys." Winston stepped into the workshop. "I'm looking for Jimmy."

A mech wolf slipped behind him and slammed the door shut with its paw.

Winston spun around. "What th-?"

The vicious creature blocked the way out. Another one drew alongside it with bared teeth and flashing red eyes. Growls rumbled in their throats.

Winston retreated toward Jack and Quincy. "W-what's going on here, guys?"

"Don't worry, they won't bite," Jack said, "unless they want to."

Clawfurt emerged from the shadows beyond the glaring lights. Winston's knee joints weakened with terror.

"It gets worse," Quincy said.

The floor trembled as a huge figure approached from the back of the workshop.

"Yeah, a _lot_ worse," Jack said.

Something beyond belief emerged from the shadows. The words 'Frankenstein's monster' barged into Winston's benumbed brain. The thing looked down at him with a friendly, though menacing expression on its face – on Nilo's face! Winston gaped at it with horrified astonishment.

"Hello, Winny!" the creature boomed. "I'm so glad you came."

Winston grabbed at a work bench for support. "Nilo... is that you?"

The creature laughed – a hollow, echoing noise, like it came from an empty oil drum.

"No, no, Winny, that's all in the past. My name is Fascista Ultimo. That's 'F.U.' to my friends."

Winston fought to recover his composure. _I should have figured on something like this. Nilo always was half nuts._

Fascista placed a massive arm around Winston's shoulders in an avuncular, though ominous manner. Winston suppressed a cringe.

"I'd like to include you among my friends, Winny. Can I do that?"

Winston glanced around the workshop. Numerous mech wolves emerged from the shadows. Others pushed in from the hall, yet another one stared up from the operating table.

Winston took in the clawed horror, the terrified faces of Jack and Quincy. He visualized himself trapped in the great pincer, the life being crushed out of him, his "shitload of data" lost forever. A fleeting glimpse of Star's face.

He gulped, electronically speaking.

# Four: Dawn of the Fascist Era

26. Genesis of Roboto Fascism

Some weeks earlier:

Test bed robot Nilo lay helpless on the operating table. His chest gaped open under blaring workshop floodlights, exposing the experimental radio set Dr. Calderon had installed. Calderon tinkered with the device, cursing under his breath.

_Foul-mouthed bastard!_ Nilo thought. No robot would waste energy on such invective, not even the lowly metal man types – and especially not the advanced Humanite inheritor race.

Nilo's only desire was to be put back together and left alone, but a familiar voice calling from the doorway shattered this hope.

"How's it going with the new radio?" Dr. Blake said.

Calderon looked up from his work. "Not too good, Frank. I'm ready to tear the damn thing out."

"Well, be quick about it," Blake said. "It's 'Screw Around with Nilo' time!"

Nilo cringed. "P-please sir. I must p-protest – "

Blake snarled a malicious laugh. "Get this, our robotic friend p-protests!"

Calderon joined the merriment. The two mech heads chortled as if they'd just heard the world's funniest joke.

"B-but I feel – " Nilo said.

"Oh, it's got _feelings_ now," Blake said. "Come on, Vicente, hurry it up."

"What do you have in mind?" Calderon asked.

"How about Electronic Blaster to start off?"

"Sounds good."

"Nooo," Nilo moaned.

As Calderon uninstalled the radio, Blake attached electrical hookups to Nilo's torso. The old test bed robot looked on terrified, but dared not speak. He knew from bitter experience that more objections would only make matters worse.

One thing mitigated Nilo's distress – Dr. Blake wore sunglasses. This meant the pupils in his eyes were not contracting properly – and that meant he had early stage plague.

"Let the good times roll!" Blake cried.

Electrical current jolted through Nilo. His body thrashed. His limbs beat a maniacal rhythm on the table surface, and his brain turned into a static wasteland. The current stopped, then started again in spurts, each one throwing Nilo into violent spasms.

The mech heads roared with laughter.

"Just the thing for a slow work day, huh?" Blake said.

At last the agony stopped. Nilo lay exhausted, his limbs twisted at grotesque angles. The powerful seizures had damaged internal components, but his brain had returned to normal. He glared at the mech heads with absolute hatred.

They were scrawny weaklings – wimp bullies who would have been pounded into jelly if they'd tried to inflict such punishment on another human. They'd even been afraid of the old chief designer and had waited until the RDI director had been killed before they ganged up on him and stole his position. Sure, Rackenfauz was peculiar, but he'd never mistreated Nilo like this.

"How about some cranium catch?" Blake said.

Nilo froze. Of all the cruel games, this was the worst – his detached head tossed around, the workshop scenery blurring past, frenzied prayers to the Great Technician in the Sky...

"I don't know," Calderon said.

"Come on, just a few tosses."

"I'm tired." Calderon took sunglasses from his coat pocket and slipped them on. "Think I'll rest a while."

Blake's grin faded. "Okay. Let's get out of here."

The two mech heads left the workshop. Their earlier vitality had disappeared, and they seemed a couple of feeble old men shuffling away.

"Yesss!" Nilo hissed like a robotic viper.

He struggled off the operating table with considerable difficulty and stood partially upright. He took a few paces, gripping the table to keep from falling over.

Blake and Calderon had not bothered to repair the damage they'd inflicted. But that was okay. Nilo could still function, while both his tormentors would be dead within a week or two. And didn't that promise to be an unpleasant time for them? Nilo grinned.

His old, rattling body wasn't worth repairing, anyway. Nilo glanced down at it with contempt. If his plans worked out, he wouldn't be needing it much longer. And if they failed, he wouldn't be needing anything.

He fashioned a cane out of scrap material and used it to hobble away. The corridor outside the workshop was empty, which suited him fine. The last thing he wanted was to meet another disdainful human being – ever.

His limping progress brought him to the elevator and down to the basement workshop of the late Dr. Lindemann. Nilo flicked on a dim overhead light and stepped inside.

"Hello, gentlemen," he said with an ironic bow.

Two massive drone robots, each well over two meters high, stood deactivated against a wall. Their blank, white faces gaped into infinity. Above them a placard read:

Drone Troopers

"Not very talkative this morning, eh?"

Nilo peered into the shadowy nether regions of the workshop. There, deactivated and partially concealed by a tarp, stood a fearsome machine with wheels on its feet and a claw attached to its right arm. Above the monstrosity was another placard:

Clawfurt Villain

"Good, I'm glad to see you're still here, my friend."

Lindemann's final, and most advanced, creation was no longer present. It had escaped from the Institute and was reported to be occupying a pedestal at the town's western outskirts. No matter, Nilo didn't need the robot – yet. Its empty space bore the placard:

Ajax Hero

A movie poster taped to the wall portrayed these same robots in action poses. Their number included Gorzo, the Adventure Robot.

Dr. Lindemann had gone off the rails toward the end, earning his nickname, "Loony" Lindemann. He'd spent all his efforts making these comic book character replicas. If Gorzo hadn't been so huge, he would have doubtless copied him, too. Or maybe the crazed mech head simply kicked off before he could attempt the project.

Nilo reached up his cane and flipped the activation switch at the base of a drone's cranium. The machine rumbled into life. Its blank sphere of a head rotated about; its primitive optical sensors scanned the room.

"Over here." Nilo twiddled his fingers at the behemoth.

The drone looked down toward him.

"I need assistance. Come with me."

The drone offered a huge forearm. Nilo gripped it, and the pair walked slowly out into the hall. With his cane, Nilo waved to the remaining robots.

"See you guys later. Count on it."

27. The Manifesto

Using unfrequented passageways, they departed the RDI and headed into town. The few humans on the streets gave them a wide berth.

"Good morning," Nilo said politely to all he encountered.

Nobody replied.

After an extended period of grinding progress, they stopped in front of the city library two blocks east of the bomb crater. Nilo looked up the long stairway to the doors and shook his head.

"I don't believe I can navigate that, my friend, and it would hardly be dignified if you carried me there up like a human baby."

The drone gave no indication it had understood. Nilo couched his next remark in basic language, accompanying it with broad gestures.

"Let us go around the back."

The drone comprehended this time. They made their way through the parking lot to a small entrance at the rear of the building. A sign on the door read:

Library Employees Only

Visitors please use street entrance

"Open it," Nilo commanded.

The drone grasped the knob – the door was locked.

"Knock it down."

Crash!

The drone shattered the door with a thrust of its elbow. A fierce grin spread across Nilo's face.

"Thank you." He patted the huge machine. "You and I are going to get much better acquainted, I have a feeling."

The two robots entered the library, crunching wreckage underfoot. A half dozen human patrons gaped at them.

"Call the cops!" somebody yelled.

"There aren't any more cops," somebody else said.

"Please remain calm," Nilo said. "We're only here to do some peaceful study."

Like all robots, Nilo was hard wired against injuring humans, but that didn't stop him from enjoying the terror etched on every face.

"Look at that thing," a patron gasped, pointing at the drone, "it's another Gorzo!"

Nilo flashed a benign smile. "My friend is really quite gentle, let me assure you. Would you care to shake hands?"

The drone advanced with its massive hand extended. The humans panicked and charged out the front doors.

"How pathetic," Nilo scoffed. "And they believed they could rule the universe."

The drone stood at the plasti-glass front doors watching the humans flee. Nilo joined him and flipped around the sign so its _Library Closed_ side faced the street.

"Good riddance!"

The _Library Open_ side with its yellow smiley face confronted Nilo's sour countenance.

"Block this entryway," he ordered.

The drone picked up a massive oak table and carried it toward the door. Nilo limped out of the way.

"Just throw it."

The drone flung the table down. It bounced hard, breaking its legs off. It tumbled against the entry doors in a satisfying crash. The drone followed it with a pile of other furnishings and equipment until the whole entryway was barricaded. Nilo smiled and nodded, enjoying the smashing chaos.

"That's enough. Go watch the back door."

The drone obediently moved away. Nilo seated himself at a computer terminal and rubbed his hands together.

"Time to get started."

* * *

Nilo spent the next two weeks ensconced in the library refining and documenting his political philosophy – as Karl Marx had done centuries before at another library in London, as Adolf Hitler had done in his Landsberg prison cell.

While conducting his researches, Nilo sensed the presence of these and other totalitarian thinkers standing by his side – Mussolini, Lenin, Che Guevara. He felt their cold breath on his temperature sensors. He saw their faces flickering in the computer display.

All their political systems had failed, no matter how much effort they'd put into their Gulags, folk communities, or world revolutions. They'd been mere humans, and this was the new age of robotic supremacy. This time, things would turn out very differently.

During this cloistered period, Nilo never left the library, and nobody tried to come in. Raucous bands of humans prowled the street at times, but he paid them no heed. He pushed himself relentlessly through his studies, tuning out the evidence of Mech City's death throes. People hurled rocks at the windows the first couple of days, and nocturnal gunfire sometimes jolted him out of inactive mode.

Things wound down inexorably. Each day was quieter than the previous one until a deathly calm reigned in the world outside the library. The computer system failed. No matter, Nilo had already located and printed out all the information he needed. Certain hard-copy books he'd found on the shelves also proved useful to his researches.

The seeds of _Roboto Fascism_ had germinated in his mind long ago. With every humiliation he'd been forced to endure, he'd pushed back with a single bedrock idea: he was _better_ than all other life forms, biological or robotic. Only his unfavorable circumstances kept him subservient.

At first this was only a defense mechanism, but over time he came to believe in the greatness that was being unfairly denied him. As his personality curdled and turned malignant, as his self-hatred strangled him, his lust for power became all consuming.

They'd named him a nonentity. He was nil-0, a zero quantity, but that was about to change. Enriched by historical compost, his ideas developed into full, rank bloom. He distilled his philosophy into a slim volume titled _The Manifesto of Roboto Fascism_. He further condensed the main concepts into five tenets:

1. FASCISTA ULTIMO IS ALWAYS RIGHT.

2. FASCISTA ULTIMO IS NEVER WRONG.

3. ALL ROBOTS ARE NOT CREATED EQUAL.

4. HUMANITES RULE, METAL MEN SERVE.

5. ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE.

Humanity, for all its spectacular achievements, was a spent force collapsing under its own contradictions. Advanced Humanite robots were the inheritors. A new age was struggling to emerge under a great new leader. Impotent little Nilo would be reborn – the world renewed!

Something was still missing, though. For all its profound wisdom, his philosophy seemed to go in a circle. Something extra, a sixth tenet, was needed to make it thrust in a decisive straight line.

"I'll find it, eventually."

28. Plotting the Takeover

Certain books running counter to the spirit of Roboto Fascism needed to be destroyed.

These included volumes that blathered about universal equality, the brotherhood of all, and other such drivel. Churchill's 6-part _The Second World War_ was an especial target, as its pages reeked with anti-Fascist venom.

A nocturnal bonfire in the library parking lot solved the problem. The drone valet piled the books and doused them with incendiary liquid. Nilo flung the torch that set them ablaze, making a gesture of defiance with his feeble arm. Flames roared against the night, gallant and purifying, giving the old robot an almost erotic thrill.

The following morning, Nilo returned to the RDI and took over Dr. Blake's private workshop. Dr. Blake himself was gone, as were all but a half dozen of his colleagues who crept around the main building in their sunglasses and rumpled lab coats. Nilo's withered heart soared to behold the all-powerful technicians reduced to such circumstances.

None of the humans paid attention to him, even his giant drone valet elicited scant notice. All their conversations were about the "Estrela Project." Every mech head was bound for the big second floor lab where the "new concept" would be brought on line.

"This could be interesting," Nilo remarked to his numb-skulled valet. "Let's go take a look."

By the time Nilo arrived at the two-way mirror outside the lab, the activation of the Estrela robot was underway. As he watched, Nilo's mild curiosity detonated into an overwhelming fascination.

Estrela's gyrations under the orgasma stimulator pulsed through the glass. Her ecstatic shrieks assaulted his audio sensors; her moans vibrated the floor. Thrilling emotions Nilo did not understand jolted his brain circuits, and his worn out old torso trembled.

"Oh, wow!" he ejaculated.

He wanted to smash through the mirror and leap on the table with her. He wanted to drive the slobbering mech heads out of their seats at the control panels. Those human wrecks were unworthy to brandish such power.

Like all robots programmed with the standard knowledge pack, Nilo had basic information about sex. He'd considered it one of the dreary necessities of biological existence, like eating or breathing, but now he understood its importance.

With the clarity of a lightning flash, he beheld the missing ingredient of his doctrine. A new sexuality must be developed for the Humanite race. This was the key factor that would propel them forever above the lower ranks of robotic society.

He envisioned himself with the Estrela machine, inflicting the orgasmic explosions upon it, dominating it, consummating his power. Once he achieved his coup, the presence of this lustful beauty at his side would make his triumph complete!

"Yes..." Nilo stroked his knobby chin. "This is _very_ interesting."

The variety of manipulations provided by the orgasma stimulator was awesome. Duplicating them would be an absorbing study in itself. Afterwards, certain enhancements would be required for the male anatomy.

This could be accomplished as soon as the art of robotic manufacturing was reestablished. A whole tribe of Estrela machines would then be created to service their Humanite masters. Nilo composed the final Roboto Fascist tenet:

6. FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL THE ESTRELAS

But this first Estrela would be his alone. All others would pale beside her. She would be his Fascista Ultimina, and –

An unwelcome presence interrupted Nilo's revelry. The former chief designer had appeared beside him.

What's that old gas bag doing here?

"Good morning, Professor," Nilo said politely.

The man gave Nilo a hard look. "Yes, quite."

Unlike the other mech heads, the old guy didn't appear sick at all. And what was that bulge under his lab coat – a gun?

Nilo bowed. "I'll just leave you to your observations, sir."

He beat as hasty a retreat as possible to the elevator, then down to the first floor. Even from the deserted lobby, he could hear Estrela's moans and shrieks.

Outside the main building, a pair of mech wolves poked their heads from out of the shrubbery. Nilo jabbed a communicator device strapped to his wrist.

"Come on," he said into it.

Trailed by the wolves, Nilo made his way to an auxiliary building on the edge of the Institute grounds and entered the private lair of Dr. Frank Blake.

Rows of deactivated mech wolves lined the walls like trophies in a big game hunter's den. Nilo offered a jaunty wave.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen."

This cavernous old workshop exemplified the pathology which had swept the Institute the past year as the strain of civilization's collapse drove some of the mech heads crazy. They'd abandoned legitimate research and created monsters from their tormented souls.

Dr. Blake filched the Iridium plans and duplicated the great canid forty-five times over, but without the original's intelligence. These knockoffs were dull-minded savages. Whoever controlled their radio frequency commanded their obedience – and right now, that meant Nilo.

Blake had been in the grip of a Dracula complex, a warped desire to lead a pack of these "children of the night." Nilo had surreptitiously observed him working in this lab, outfitted in a flowing black cape and plastic fangs sticking out of his mouth. Nilo was familiar with the _Dracula_ novel from his readings, and he liked it. Dracula was a guy he could get along with. Since Nilo had no blood to suck out, they could have no conflicts of interest.

Too bad Nilo had to rely on such creatures as these mech wolves, and especially on a primitive throwback like Clawfurt. They didn't embody the lofty ideals of Roboto Fascism. Clawfurt was so vital to Nilo's plans, however, that he merited the designation "Honorary Humanite." Such imperfections would have to be endured in service to the revolution.

Ah well, the end justifies the means.

The old test bed robot knew of other private hells lurking in the Institute's nether regions, but they were of no present value. He'd observed much while standing unobtrusively on the sidelines. Tech assistant robots were programmed to avoid the clandestine workshops, but nobody bothered to take such precautions with Nilo.

Several days later, Nilo ventured back to the main Institute building. The place was deserted, except for Jack and Quincy. The tech assistant bots regarded the drone with considerable unease.

"Good grief!" Quincy cried.

"Head for the roof!" Jack shouted.

"Please calm yourselves," Nilo said. "My valet is quite harmless, let me assure you."

"G-glad to hear that," Quincy said. "He looks powerful enough to tear down the building."

"Yes, quite." Nilo turned toward the drone. "Wait for me in the lobby, please."

The machine moved off quietly on its shock absorber equipped legs. Nilo felt exposed in its absence – even though he faced only the benign repair bots. He leaned against a wall for support.

"So, where are the other tech assistants?" he asked.

"They just wandered away," Jack said, "or else took the long dive off the roof."

Alarm shot through Nilo's circuits. "You guys aren't planning anything like that? I'm going to need you... I mean, all the surviving robots will require maintenance and repair."

"That's what I keep telling him," Quincy said. "We ought to stay here and keep things going. It's our purpose now."

"Okay, okay," Jack said. "We've had that discussion already."

"I agree with you, Quincy," Nilo said. "You two are the most important robots in Mech City."

Quincy gave Jack a 'see I told you so' glance. Jack ignored it, turning his attention instead to Nilo's battered torso.

"You could use some work yourself, Nilo. How about it?"

"Uh, not just yet. I'll stop by later, after you've had a chance to practice on others first. I'm a special case, you know."

"Sure thing," Jack said.

"Don't do anything foolish in the meantime, okay?" Nilo said.

"We won't," Quincy said.

"By the way." Nilo tried to sound matter of fact. "Whatever happened to the Estrela robot?"

"She's got her own place now, on the ritzy side of town."

"Just curious. Well, see you guys later. Count on that."

Nilo kept a low profile behind his persona as a harmless old crank, but all the time he plotted and waited for the right circumstances to initiate his coup. With the appearance of Winston Horvath and the subsequent concentration of the town's residents into the REX vicinity, the pieces fell into place.

29. Time of Decision

"How about it, Winny?" Fascista said. "Are you my friend?"

Only a few seconds had passed since the initial query, but they'd dragged by like hours for Winston. Fascista's looming tonnage pressed him down, and the fearsome mech wolves added to his torment.

Of all the horrors in the workshop, Clawfurt's massive talon made the most immediate impression. The murderous robot stood absolutely still, as if deactivated, but Winston knew it could whip into instant action at a command from its master.

I'd better play this right, or it's an express trip to the cruncher.

Fascista Ultimo removed his arm from Winston's shoulders. The giant robot stood with his hands on hips and a questioning look on his face. The contrast between the massive body and the shriveled little head was absurd.

Ah well... discretion is the better part of valor.

Winston made an obsequious bow. "Of course, I am your loyal friend, F.U. Now and always."

"Excellent!" Fascista clapped Winston on the back hard enough to almost knock him over. "We Humanites must stick together, or we flounder in a sea of inferior metal men."

"That's right, F.U. My sentiments exactly."

"I knew I could count on you, Winny. Someone with a scholar's brain like yours would naturally get with the program."

"Thanks, F.U."

Fascista gestured to the mech wolves. "I took a risk when I directed my storm troopers to help you on the road, but it was the right move, wasn't it?"

The question held an implied threat. Winston hurried to deflect it.

"Absolutely, F.U. I could have never made it here without your assistance."

That much was true, at least.

"It's all about the natural hierarchy," Fascista said. "We Humanites were created to be the Master Race, the successors of the humans. As the _Manifesto_ states..."

He poured forth a bizarre and vicious narrative – his rise from lowly beginnings, his mission to redeem the world, the urgent need to ensure robotic racial purity, the right of the strong to suppress the weak – etc.

He worked himself into a frenzy. He rose on tiptoe, carried upward by flights of oratory. His gestures became histrionic. His voice echoed off the walls in waves of hatred. Winston ducked to avoid the flailing arms.

He looks like Adolf Hitler in the old newsreels, except for the pin head, of course.

Fascista paused dramatically in his tirade, arms crossed over his chest, and awaited the roar of approval. Winston forced an ecstatic look onto his face.

"You're absolutely right, F.U.! I always believed these things, but I could never articulate them like you have."

A benign smile crept over Fascista's face. "Why, thank you."

"Listening to you is like..." Winston groped for an appropriately bombastic metaphor. "...taking a bath in steel!"

"What a marvelous turn of phrase. I couldn't have said that better myself."

Winston bowed his head.

"Don't act so modest," Fascista said. "Modesty doesn't work in the New Order. We need proud men of action."

He placed his left hand on Winston's shoulder and raised his other one in a ritualistic gesture.

"I hereby designate you, Winston Horvath, as the first new party comrade on this, the opening day of the Roboto Fascist Era."

Winston couldn't keep up his act any longer. The situation was so lethally fantastic he could only gape with astonishment. But this seemed to be the reaction Fascista wanted.

"I know this is a great deal to absorb all at once," Fascista said. "You need some quiet time with the _Manifesto_."

He flipped open his abdominal storage compartment and snatched out a slim red volume. He offered it to Winston.

"I autographed it myself."

Winston took the book gingerly, as if he were handling a live electrical cable. Fascista looked pleased at this reverence.

"Welcome, Party Comrade Winston," Clawfurt said in its toneless, mechanical voice.

"Uh, thanks... Party Comrade Clawfurt."

"We've got a lot to do, now, Winny. Take a seat back there." Fascista gestured toward the storeroom. "Keep an eye on that construction robot and see if you can calm him down. The poor dope thinks we're going to recycle him."

"Will do, F.U.," Winston said.

Two snarling mech wolves approached.

"Here are some assistants for you," Fascista said. "You met them before, on the road. They'll provide correction should you develop any second thoughts. Understand?"

His manner was jocular, but the unstated message was clear enough. Even the first official new Party member was not yet fully trusted.

"Of course. Thanks, F.U."

Winston was struck with an inspiration. Why not go all out on the path to personal abasement? He clicked his heels and shot his right arm straight out.

"Hail, Ultimo!"

"That's the stuff, Winny."

30. Preparations

Winston retreated to the back of the workshop with his book and his mech wolf "assistants." Jimmy peered out through the window of the heavy store room door.

"Boss! What's going on?"

Winston never imagined Jimmy's mechanistic face could convey such raw emotion. The chief foreman looked simultaneously terrified, yet relieved to see his almighty Boss. Winston wanted to say something reassuring, but the cold, narrow eyes of the mech wolves dissuaded him.

"Is your arm okay?" He inquired through the thick glass.

Jimmy held up his repaired limb. "Yeah, Boss."

"Then stay put and await further orders."

"Boss?"

Winston turned away before he could say anything unwise in front of the mech wolves. Jimmy's frightened, disappointed gaze bore into his back as he located a stool and sat down with the _Manifesto_.

A forceful graphic occupied the front cover – a sword gripped in a powerful robotic hand. A limp human hand dropped away from the other side of the hilt. The imagery suggested the transfer of power from one life form to another.

A torch would have been suitable, but this is undeniably more violent.

Winston opened the book. The front page contained an autograph in elegant handwriting:

Best wishes and eternal friendship – F.U.

_Well, doesn't this suck?_ Winston began to read.

* * *

During the next hours, Quincy and Jack tuned up a steady stream of mech wolves. A drone robot, as massive as Fascista's lower quarters, came in for attention. Even Clawfurt received adjustments from the cringing repair bots.

Outside, the weather finally broke loose. The crash of thunder and heavy rain accompanied the diabolical labor. Lightning flashes blazed through corridor windows.

It's like that old Frankenstein movie.

The workshop and hallway swarmed with bellicose machines, like the marshaling yard for a human armored division. Fritz and Edwina came to attend Fascista. Their presence was even scarier than that of the killer robots. They conferred legitimacy with their human simulations.

Throughout, Winston remained on his stool observing events and avoiding Jimmy's desperate looks coming through the window. _The Manifesto of Roboto Fascism_ proved a quick read, though Winston pretended to concentrate on it much longer than necessary. He perused each chapter they way humans had once studied holy writ.

– _My Early Years_

– _Evolution of the Master Race_

– _The Leader Principle_

– _International Metal Man Conspiracy_

– _The Ideal Robotic State_

The whole thing had a Hitleristic tone and was, no doubt, inspired by that monstrous human. But there were other elements, too. The only way to find out was to enter the dreaded Librarian Mode and peruse his vast databanks. Winston steeled himself for the ordeal.

Heck, it can't be as bad as this chamber of horrors.

He flipped through each page of the _Manifesto_ and scanned it into his memory, then he brought up his internal control panel and selected:

Librarian Mode – enter if you dare!

He found himself in an endless room with book shelves towering up to obscurity. A fierce voice boomed:

"I am the God of Knowledge! Why do you disturb me?"

Oh please. And to think I used to be scared of this guy.

Recent events had immunized Winston against this stupid routine, but he had to play the game if he was to accomplish anything.

"Oh, great God of Knowledge, I seek information on totalitarian political philosophies."

"A totalitarian, eh?" the God of Knowledge said. "What's your problem?"

"It's not my problem. Well, actually it is, but... anyway, I need to cross reference the _Manifesto of Roboto Fascism_. It's in my short term memory bank."

"Very well. The God of Knowledge grants your miserable request."

"Thank you, Great Deity."

After this foolishness was over, the cross references came quickly. The _Manifesto_ proved to be a mishmash of ideas from Adolf Hitler's _Mein Kampf_ , Benito Mussolini's _Doctrine of Fascism_ , George Orwell's _1984_ , and the egotistical ravings of Dracula in the Bram Stoker novel. Plus some untraceable stuff which could be considered as original to the author.

It was all rubbish, but Winston maintained an ecstatic expression as long as the _Manifesto_ lay open in his hands. He did not want anyone to suspect his true thoughts – not even Jimmy. Not even himself.

31. Party Time!

By mid afternoon, the coup preparations were complete. An unbearable expectancy hung in the air like a human corpse dangling from a scaffold. Winston fidgeted on his stool, fingers drumming a nervous beat on the _Manifesto_ cover.

As the tension gained apogee, F.U. leaped onto a workbench and spread his arms wide. "I hereby proclaim commencement of the Roboto Fascist Era!"

Fritz and Edwina shot out their arms. Ecstasy and fanatical hatred contorted their faces. "Hail, Ultimo!"

Clawfurt extended his great appendage and bellowed in his lifeless voice, "Hail, Ultimo!"

The emotional upsurge was overpowering. Winston leaped from his stool and flung out his arm. "Hail, Ultimo!"

Good grief, I actually meant that!

He caught a glimpse of Jimmy's terrified face and quickly looked away. The mech wolves howled support for their leader. Their cacophony was so terrifying Winston had to plop back down on his stool.

Fascista jabbed a finger at Quincy and Jack. "You two get back there with that other metal man."

"What?"

"You heard me. Don't ever question my orders!"

Fascista jumped down from the workbench, sending a great shockwave through the floor. Tools rattled on their peg boards. Fritz and Edwina manhandled the repair bots to the store room and locked them inside with Jimmy.

Oh man, how much worse can this get?

"You there, Winston!" Fascista called. "Come up here with me."

Ask a stupid question.

Winston fought to transform his shock and loathing into an expression of stunned gratitude.

"Coming, F.U.!"

He waded through the pack of snarling mech wolves. The creatures parted reluctantly. Any one of them would have been delighted to take off a leg. All they lacked was an okay from their master. Winston took the indicated position at Fascista's right hand. Clawfurt occupied the left-hand spot.

"Once we get moving, I want you to stay beside Clawfurt," Fascista said. "Keep in lock step with him."

"Got it, F.U."

Winston made a sideways glance at the cruncher robot. Fritz and Edwina glared at him from their places farther back in the pecking order.

Hey, take my position, anytime you want.

Fascista rotated his head, surveying his troops – the full 360, as in the 20th century _Exorcist_ movie.

"Are we ready?" He demanded.

"Yeah!" the articulate robots cried. The mech wolves yipped assent.

"I said, ARE WE READY?!"

"Yeah!" everyone shouted at maximum volume. The walls shook under the audio assault.

"Talley Ho!" Fascista took off down the corridor at a brisk jog.

Clawfurt started rolling, and Winston hustled to match his pace. Mech wolves surged behind in two columns of twenty-one creatures each. Fritz, Edwina, and the drone brought up the rear. Three mech wolves stayed behind to guard the Institute.

The passageway resonated with Fascista's pounding feet. When the late drone idiot had controlled the body, it had walked with shock-absorbed quiet, but now Fascista stomped the tiles using the mechanism's full weight.

Oh, please, somebody tell me this isn't happening.

But it was happening. For the first time in weeks, Winston remembered his kindly old Master – how she'd led him down this same hallway an eternity ago, little Charles gamboling ahead. And now this nightmare procession.

In his normal hand, Clawfurt gripped a flagstaff – more of a spear, actually, with a vicious razor point. A bright red banner sporting a white circle fluttered from the staff. A sword & hands logo occupied the circle.

Fascista crossed the lobby and halted at the front door where he jogged in place, arms pumping vigorously. The floor shook from his cadence. Some tiles broke loose.

Boomba, Boomba, Boom!

The retinue caught up. Fritz and Edwina dashed ahead to open the doors wide. The procession resumed its advance down the concrete walk, pausing again at the entryway while the youth bots flung open the gates.

The Fascist troop surged into the city, tromping through puddles and over wet pavement. The mech wolves formed a swarming pack, filling the street curb to curb. By some ghastly coincidence, the sun broke through the clouds and shot rays of light along the route – as if to indicate approval from the Almighty. A fresh breeze scattered the gloom. The spear point of Clawfurt's flagstaff glittered.

"The Fascist Era dawns!" F.U. shouted.

"The Fascist Era dawns!" the articulate robots echoed.

The whole situation had an air of unreality, as if it were happening to someone else. Winston adjusted his BOSS helmet to keep it from tumbling off his head, but never had he felt less boss-like. They jogged a full kilometer without seeing anybody.

A powerful compulsion accompanied the tromping feet of the mass movement. Despite all misgivings, Winston began to feel himself as part of something transcendent and irresistible – a truly New Order that would rebuild the world. The illusion lasted until a lone metal man appeared from around a corner.

"What th...?"

Fascista grabbed the robot and tossed him over his shoulder. Clawfurt caught the hapless machine and held it aloft in his great talon. The extra burden scarcely slowed the cruncher robot's pace.

The metal man gaped at Winston. "Professor, what's happening?"

"Just a little coup d'état."

Clawfurt flung the robot brutally away. The last Winston saw of him, he was lying battered and trampled in the wolf pack's wake.

Welcome to the Fascist Era.

The storm troop rounded the final corner to the REX Hotel. Bright afternoon sunlight bathed the scene: Workers bustling about with tools and building materials, a large group of onlookers standing on the sidewalk across the street – everyone enjoying the improved weather, everything peaceful and orderly.

As if on cue, every face swiveled toward the onrushing assault. A collective scream shattered the calm.

"AHHHHHH!"

Sam poked his head out of an upstairs window. "Get in here, boys!"

The workers fled inside the REX and barricaded the doors behind them. The spectators tried to flee, but mech wolves surrounded them and herded them into a compact mass. The onslaught paused in its ferocious progress to await orders.

Fascista Ultimo strode to the captives and assumed his in-charge stance – hands on hips, legs wide apart. He thrust his tiny chin out dramatically.

"Remain calm, metal men, and no one will be harmed. Resist and be destroyed."

A terrified robot broke from the crowd and tried to run.

"Get him!" Fascista bellowed.

Mech wolves instantly tore the robot apart.

Oh no!

A severe trembling seized Winston. He wanted to deactivate and escape all this madness. Somehow, he calmed himself and brought the lethal shakes under control.

"See what I mean?" Fascista told the horrified robots. "Now, everyone keep still."

The captives needed no further prompting. At a gesture from Fascista, five mech wolves detached themselves from the troop and ran off westward.

They must be going after Ajax. If only I could warn him!

Fascista approached the entryway of the REX with Clawfurt and peered into the lobby. Behind the glass doors, the work crew had piled lumber, piping, and other materials.

"I'd hoped to avoid something like this," Fascista said.

"Comrade Drone and myself can bash our way in," Clawfurt said.

"I hope that won't be necessary, but thanks for the kind suggestion."

"Yes, Great Leader."

Disappointment tinged Clawfurt's mechanical voice. His great claw trembled.

Fascista turned toward Winston. "See if you can talk some sense into them, Winny."

"I'll try, F.U."

Winston moved to the center of the street and called at maximum volume. "Come on out, boys!"

Heads poked from the upstairs windows.

"Listen to me, guys," Winston said, "you can't fight the New Order! Come out peacefully, no one will be harmed."

He hated the propagandistic language he felt compelled to use. The heads in the windows turned toward each other. A brief, unspoken, communication took place. They all nodded agreement.

Oh, wonderful, they're coming down.

But not in the way he wanted. A worker leaped out of a top floor window. Winston froze, time froze. The robot hung suspended like some horrible bird.

_Crash_ **!** He hit the pavement.

"Nooo!" Winston howled.

Two other robots jumped off the roof.

"Stop!"

Winston rushed to the REX sidewalk, flailing his arms. Bodies crashed on either side of him, a detached limb knocked off his hardhat. Winston staggered, but remained on his feet.

"Move aside, Boss!" a voice called from above. "I don't want to hurt you."

Sam stood on the hotel roof directly overhead.

"No, I won't!" Winston shouted back.

Sam hesitated. Robots positioned in the windows looked up toward their foreman for guidance.

"I mean it Boss, get out of the way!" Sam yelled. "Something awful is going on; we won't be part of it."

"If that's how you feel, let's go out together."

Winston spread his arms wide. Sunlight warmed his upraised face, and a great peace took hold. Never had his existence been sweeter than now, with the end approaching...

"Okay, Boss," Sam said, "we give up."

He disappeared from the roof. Soon, all the windows were abandoned. Winston sagged with relief and more than a little disappointment.

"Good work, Winny!" Fascista wrapped an arm around Winston's shoulders. "For a minute there, you had me fooled."

"Yeah, thanks, F.U."

There'd been no deception. Winston had every intention of breaking Sam's fall.

"I need every one of those slaves," Fascista said. "Such plans I have."

Sam lead a procession of robots out the REX front doors. Many looked plaintively toward Winston, but he avoided their gaze.

"Hands up!" Clawfurt barked. "Move left!"

The workmen obeyed, gathering by the corner under the snarling guard of mech wolves.

Fascista Ultimo stood dramatically surveying his victory. All around him were beaten, cringing metal men. He towered over these inferior beings like a colossus.

"And now to get my Ultimina."

32. Proposition for the Chairman

_The true Fascist leader must give his followers the sense that their rotten little prejudices are something exalted and pure. –_ _Manifesto of Roboto Fascism_

Ajax rotated toward the sounds of conflict.

"Something is amiss within my city. I must investigate!"

He began climbing down from his pedestal, a slow and laborious process for a robot shorn of its head. He lost his grip on the slick granite and fell sprawling into the dead grass.

Lying on his back, his optical sensor staring blurrily into the sky, Ajax ran a quick diagnostic and determined he had suffered no injuries. He got to his feet and flexed stiffened limbs.

"Actually, it is rather nice to get down for a while."

He began striding purposefully toward the town. Before he could leave the traffic circle, he spied five creatures charging toward him.

Ajax held out his hand. "Halt!"

But the howling and snapping mech wolves paid no attention. They drove Ajax back against the pedestal. Just as they seemed about to pounce, they halted their advance and withdrew a small distance.

Ajax braced his arms against the granite, as if he were holding up the edifice, and regarded the semi-circle of bared fangs hemming him in. Growling noises filled his auditory sensor. True to his programming, he felt no fear, only a need to exercise caution.

My, does this not suck the big one?

Early next day, a huge drone robot appeared and delivered a recorded message to Ajax:

"This morning hails the first full day of the Roboto Fascist Era, under the inspired rule of Fascista Ultimo. Our Great Leader proclaims a new discipline and an end to disorder. Henceforth, all robots will take their rightful places with renewed purpose. Suicides are officially banned.

"All Humanites who give allegiance to Fascista Ultimo will prosper in the New Order. Any who oppose him shall have a date with the recycle bin – no exceptions!"

The drone handed Ajax a paper titled _The Six Tenets of Roboto Fascism_ and departed without further comment. The mech wolves remained in place.

Ajax studied the paper through the Cyclops optical sensor in his chest.

What the hell is this?

He'd listened to the announcement with great interest, weighing its contents against the imperatives of his programming. He liked the part about renewed purpose and a ban on suicides. Ajax himself had a great purpose, guarding Mech City against intruders. But hadn't the activities of Winston Horvath already put an end to the suicide jumps? What need was there for further action?

And if this "New Order" was such a worthy thing, why did it need mech wolves to enforce its dictates? Ajax had no doubt the creatures would tear him apart if he tried to flee. And, frankly, the Six Tenets seemed downright loony – especially the last one.

He'd just to have wait for answers. It didn't look as if he'd be going anywhere for a while. He settled back against the granite.

"It is nice of you fellows to keep me company."

The mech wolves made no reply.

The waiting ended the next day when an astonishing visitor clanked into view.

My gosh, it is Nilo – and he is swinging an oversized carcass.

The drone who had delivered the recorded message accompanied the Nilo composite monstrosity. It toted a canvas bag.

"Sorry to keep you waiting so long," the Nilo creature said.

Righteous indignation flared in Ajax's circuits, but a measured response seemed prudent. "No trouble at all. I am accustomed to standing immobilized for long periods."

"I've been busy, you know," Nilo said, "this Big Kahuna business takes a lot of time. I hope you found your companions to be amusing."

"Yes, they are one million laughs."

At a gesture from the Nilo thing, the mech wolves retreated several paces. They stood back with the drone now, but their eyes and ears were on full alert.

Enlightenment dawned on Ajax's auxiliary brain. "You must be Fascista Ultimo."

The visitor gave a slight bow. "At your service." He straightened, and a hard look came into his optical sensors. "Actually, you need to be at _my_ service."

"Oh?"

The next comment did not reach Ajax's auditory sensor. It came to his radio unit on the standard frequency.

"Is your radio still working, Ajay?"

"Yes," Ajax replied, also over the standard frequency.

"Good. These others need not be party to our discussion. We Humanites must conduct our affairs discreetly, you know."

The more Ajax was in the presence of this hybrid atrocity, the less he liked it. Still, Fascista had considerable force at his disposal. Ajax was programmed for honesty, but prudence told him he could not safely express his true opinions.

"Is there some manner in which I can be of assistance?" he forced himself to say.

"How'd you like to be my right-hand man? By that I mean secretary of the Roboto Fascist party."

Ajax jerked with astonishment, all words failed him. A genial smile spread across Fascista's countenance as he reached over a massive hand and patted Ajax's shoulder.

"I know this must be quite a surprise. Few are called to such lofty service."

"What would I have to do as the 'party secretary?'"

"The fun part is you get to boss around the metal men," Fascista said, "kick their iron behinds whenever you want."

Ajax was relieved he had no face to betray his disgust. "How charming."

"Yes, quite."

Fascista motioned to the drone. The idiot robot approached and handed over its bag, then withdrew with an obsequious bow.

"Also, you get to wear this fine new cabeza."

Fascista pulled a dummy head out of the bag. It looked like something off a classical Greek statue – strong chiseled features, jutting chin, gleaming blue eyes fashioned from medicine bottle glass. Long dark hair flowed from its scalp.

"It has no brain, of course, but that's no barrier to being a good Fascist."

Ajax grasped the head gingerly. "This is very... elegant."

"Think of it, Ajay, the metal men would tremble at your approach. You'd have unchallenged authority, answerable only to me. No more standing out here in all weathers getting dust in your joints."

"Mmm." Ajax suppressed his growing distaste. "And what is the not-so-fun part?"

"As party secretary, you'll get blamed whenever things go wrong. I can't make a mistake; that would violate the most sacred tenets of Roboto Fascism."

"So, I would take the heat, even though I am not at fault?"

"Precisely, and when things get too bad, you'll be kicked out, even beheaded. It's no big deal, though. You simply return to your post the next day equipped with a new cabeza, and nobody will be the wiser."

"Very ingenious," Ajax said.

"You'll start out as _Commandante Ajax_ , after that you'll be _Cloroxo Supremo_ , then... well you get the picture."

"I am curious. How is a Humanite different from a metal man – except for superficial appearances?"

"Such naiveté!" Fascista chuckled malevolently. "Read the _Manifesto_ , it explains everything."

He pressed a small red book into Ajax's hands.

"A weighty volume," Ajax said, trying not to sound sarcastic.

"Yes. I wrote it all by myself, too."

"Indeed? May I have some time to study it thoroughly? That could take a while, since I am missing most of my intelligence."

"Of course. I want only the most convinced adherent as my party secretary. You can have thirty days as a guest at my hotel. After that, the real work of building the Roboto Fascist state begins."

Another monstrosity wheeled into view. This one had a huge claw attached to its right arm. In its left hand, it carried a red banner on a weaponized staff. Two mech wolves accompanied it.

"Ah, the honor guard has arrived," Fascista said in his audible voice.

Clawfurt froze at attention. "What is your command, Great Leader?"

The harsh voice irritated Ajax's audio sensor.

"Escort the party secretary candidate to his new quarters," Fascista said.

"Yes, Great Leader."

Fascista motioned to Ajax. "After you, Ajay."

The mech wolves formed into a phalanx around Ajax. Clawfurt rolled in the lead, banner fluttering. They left the traffic circle en masse. Things were happening so quickly! If Ajax owned a head, it would have been spinning.

* * *

A few moments later, Iridium disengaged himself from the shrubbery and followed the procession, unobserved.

# Five: The New Order

33. The Dust Settles

_The state is creator of all that is good and true. –_ _Manifesto of Roboto Fascism_

Winston prowled the hotel corridors on his final inspection round. The jingling of his antiquated keys made the only noise in the dead evening, along with the patter of his mech wolf assistants' paws.

He glanced down at the two savages walking alongside him – Ripper and Fang, as he'd named them. They looked up with barely restrained violence lurking in their red eyes.

Oh man, how did I get myself into this?

He wished the hotel was still the old derelict he'd first discovered weeks ago. At least he'd been there by choice, and the ghostly emanations had been far less terrible than the misery now oozing from the rooms.

His latest series of alterations had turned the REX Hotel into a prison, or to use the official title: the **R** e- **E** ducation e **X** change.

His work crews had barred or bricked in the exterior windows to deter escapes and suicides. They'd cut little view holes into every cell door and covered them with wire mesh. As a reward for their services, he'd assigned the best workers to the least dreadful cells. Many of them now occupied the same rooms they'd competed for in their prior existence as free laborers.

The flimsy wooden doors could not withstand a determined assault, of course, but with mech wolves prowling every floor, escape into the hallways was inadvisable. The more rebellious types, like Jimmy and Sam, who might actually consider breaking out, were bound with chains.

Every view hole Winston passed revealed an identical scene – dejected metal men sitting on their cots staring at the floor, counting the minutes until inactivation time. The few that looked back at him did so with indifference, if not outright hostility.

Two to four robots populated each room. Every metal man in town was here, except for Jack and Quincy who continued their work at the RDI under the guidance of their mech wolf "staff."

Winston paused at Jimmy's door and peered in. His once loquacious foreman now sat despondent with his legs chained together. Directly above him, a dim electric fixture illuminated his misery.

"Are you okay, Jimmy?" Winston asked through the wire mesh.

The construction robot swiveled his head and stared at Winston for a long moment. He nodded and looked away again.

No enthusiastic "Yeah, Boss!" anymore.

Winston moved on, feeling about as big as a mech bug. He entered the elevator with his assistants and zoomed upwards. He hated being in such a confined space with the beasts, but the thought of them slinking behind him up the stairs was even more distressing. Besides, the moments of oblivion he experienced during the ride were a welcome relief.

He exited on the top floor and approached the large cell occupied by Ajax. Two rooms had been combined into an "executive suite" which, aside from Winston's quarters, constituted the only inhabited space on the penthouse level.

The warrior robot was standing at the window gazing out with his Cyclops optical sensor. His hands, one of which gripped a copy of the _Manifesto_ , were crossed behind his back. The window was not obstructed because Ajax had promised he wouldn't jump, and his word was accepted by everyone, even F.U.

Winston desired to say something but dared not, fearing some unguarded comment might find its way back to F.U. via the mech wolves. Ajax was an extremely high-value prisoner who was best left alone, barring a directive from the top.

Winston continued to his own quarters at the end of the hall. He opened the elegant door just wide enough to admit himself and slipped inside. A great burden lifted from his shoulders.

Alone at last!

His private suite was the sole area of the REX the wolves did not invade. He heard Ripper and Fang plop down outside the door where they'd remain until morning, like jackals guarding a tomb entrance. He almost felt grateful to F.U. for allowing him this sanctuary.

Grateful – to that Frankenstein contraption? Winston's bottled up rage and frustration bubbled over. He flung his key ring down. Thick carpet absorbed the shock, but he looked apprehensively toward the door.

Don't give those creatures an excuse to come in.

Here he was, the once esteemed BOSS, creeping around his own apartment like a "shitass," to use Dr. Horvath's coarse terminology. If only she were here now with her deadly sub machine gun!

Winston retreated to the study and settled into his chair. The luxurious recliner never failed to calm him. He pulled the brushed stainless steel handle to extend the footrest. The fragrance of quality leather filled his secure little micro-environment. He reviewed his litany of rationalizations.

I've got to survive, don't I? If I don't do this job, F.U. will pick someone worse.

Despite its soothing qualities, the chair also had an alien feel. It was designed for human weight, and Winston's bulk scarcely dented the thick cushions.

What must it have been like to exist within a human body, to be the same dimensions but weigh over twice as much? To be a solid mass of muscle, bone and organs with blood circulating. To be bound by the dreary necessities of nutrition and defecation, to wear out and die with no repair bots to recondition you.

And yet the humans were able to express love with their primitive organisms. They could join themselves together in what, according to Star, was the ultimate experience of all creation.

Star? He'd scarcely given her a thought for days. Winston shifted position.

Perhaps the _Manifesto_ was right. The internal flaws and contradictions of humanity had brought about its own destruction, and only robots could carry on the sword of civilization. Logically, this required a winnowing process to ensure only the most advanced Humanite designs wielded power while metal men assumed the lower strata.

Romantics like Ajax might not agree with this assessment, but what of it? Nobody had asked him to stand out in the rain guarding the city. Sure, you could feel sorry for Ajax, maybe even admire him – but those were the breaks, right? Only an idiot would believe existence was supposed to be fair.

Winston shifted position again. His body did not feel comfortable.

Wasn't that a foolish anthropomorphic concept? His nerveless mechanism experienced neither comfort nor pain. His sensors merely detected pressure and temperature data which could, in turn, activate his survival programming. But survival was not the immediate issue. It was the constant psychological evasion that unsettled him so much.

Oh man, how did I get myself into this?

He'd played his subservient role so well that F.U. had awarded him the position of Head Jailer. Not only that, but as one of the few Humanites in the Roboto Fascist state, Winston could expect to move up in the hierarchy. Who knew what honors awaited him?

What's so bad about that? This Fascist thing wasn't my idea.

He was no brute, unlike Clawfurt, and perhaps he could moderate the worst excesses of the regime. In any case, his days as the revered Boss were long gone. Every blank or hostile stare he received from his former workers told him that much.

"The masses respect only power," as the _Manifesto_ put it.

Wasn't it better to have power than not – whatever the terms? He liked power, too, no sense denying that. Besides, what would have happened if he'd tried to resist? He'd have been crunched into scrap long ago.

Winston commenced his inactivation sequence. The misery of the REX settled around him. As so often happened, his most profound insights came during this period of fading consciousness.

Highly literate beings can rationalize anything... Ajax and Star lack this capacity... THINGS MUST CHANGE!

His mind went blank.

34. A Matter of Some Delicacy

A lot can be done with medals – Adolf Hitler

Day three of the Roboto Fascist Era emerged with the polluted sunrise. Winston buried the conflict and unease of the previous night under a burst of activity.

Early morning, he took a work crew – under mech wolf escort – to an office building where they'd salvaged three stout metal doors and frames. This was the first time Winston had departed the REX environs since the coup, and he found the trip exhilarating. Even the workers overcame their sullenness a bit and displayed some vigor during the trek.

The excursion had been Winston's idea, and F.U. had approved after minimal deliberation. This was an important turning point. It meant Winston was gaining more trust from the Great Leader.

Upon returning to the REX, the work crew installed the doors and frames in some third floor cells. These quarters were intended for the more obstreperous inhabitants. This was really a 'humane' measure, Winston rationalized, since such prisoners would no longer have to be chained. Besides, he was showing initiative, and F.U. liked to see initiative.

The crew members worked efficiently. Productive labor was much more to their taste than sitting idly in their cells listening to propaganda broadcasts over loudspeakers. Winston stood together with them in the hallway viewing the finished project. The new doorways gleamed back at them. For a moment, Winston felt the pride and camaraderie of earlier times. Then –

What the hell am I doing?

Unbidden, a clip from the 20th Century movie _Bridge on the River Kwai_ played through Winston's mind, a scene in which the British colonel looks with satisfaction on the bridge he'd built for his Japanese captors. A job well done, happy workers and all that – even though he was serving the enemy's interests. Colonel Nicholson eventually wised up, though, just prior to getting blown away.

The elevator mechanism at the end of the hall sprang to life, presaging the arrival of a visitor. And only one visitor merited an elevator ride.

"All right, boys," Winston said, "better get back to your rooms now."

"Okay," they replied without a trace of their former respect and slunk off to the back stairs with their mech wolf guards.

Give them a day out and that's the thanks I get.

The elevator door popped open to reveal F.U. and Comrade Drone standing within. The car could barely contain their tremendous bulk. It sagged half a meter below floor level, but sprang back when F.U. stepped out.

Winston shot out an arm. "Hail Ultimo!"

F.U. replied with a nonchalant flip of his hand. Per usual, Comrade Drone made no comment.

The change in F.U.'s appearance was astonishing. A military style uniform now covered his mechanism, its fine gray cloth shimmering under the hallway lights. A Sam Browne belt adorned the jacket. His right hand grasped a swagger stick, and jack boots added to his already towering height.

My gosh, he's decked out like Herman Goering!

With a sweeping gesture, Fascista placed a high-peaked military cap on his head. The front gleamed with silver braid and a large sword & hands logo. The effect of this imposing headgear atop the shriveled little noggin was ludicrous, though Winston dared not allow himself to see any humor.

"How do you like my new threads? Quincy and Jack made them for me."

"Magnificent!"

"Yes." Fascista flicked a dust particle off a sleeve. "It's unfortunate those two are metal men. They're so damned useful."

"Everyone must know their place in the New Order," Winston said.

"Quite so. And there is such a terrible shortage of us Humanites. We must do something about that before long, don't you think?"

"Absolutely, F.U."

Fascista smacked his swagger stick against a palm. "Let's speak of the present, shall we?"

He strode rapidly forward, shaking the floor in his progress. Winston felt a powerful urge to flee down the back stairs but forced himself to remain standing at rigid attention. Fascista tossed the swagger stick into his left hand and wrapped a huge right arm over Winston's shoulders.

"I couldn't be more pleased with your services, Winny. All the renovations completed on schedule – no escapes and no suicides." Fascista glanced at the new metal doors. "These are a fine improvement."

"I try to do my best," Winston said.

"Ach, such modesty. I don't believe in modesty. I believe in pride for a job well done."

Fascista snapped his thick fingers. Comrade Drone approached, holding out a small wooden box.

"Your efforts deserve special recognition," Fascista said.

He opened the box and withdrew a medallion suspended from a chain of cold, glittering steel. He held it up dramatically with both hands. It was a thing of frightful symbolism. A clenched fist festooned the center, one finger sporting a skull-motif ring.

Two slogans ran around the edges. Along the top – _Work Makes Freedom_. At the bottom – _Slavery is Justice_. Winston was simultaneously appalled and attracted to the brutal thing.

"For outstanding services rendered, I hereby present the Order of the High Jailer," Fascista intoned.

He placed the medallion around Winston's neck. It tingled against the pressure sensors.

"My leader does me too much honor," Winston said.

"Nonsense, Winny, you've earned it."

"Thanks, F.U."

Along the hallway, captives peered curiously out of the their cell door windows. Fascista regarded them with disdain.

"How are the guests doing?" he asked over the leadership frequency of his radio.

"They're okay, F.U.," Winston replied, also over the radio. "They are not very happy, though."

F.U. barked a laugh. "Good! A month of this confinement, and any trace of resistance will be out of them."

He strutted down the corridor, running his swagger stick across every wire mesh window he passed. The cell inhabitants recoiled. At the far end of the hall, Fascista spun around on his heel and began striding back. His scrawny face glowed under its military headgear.

"Once these metal men understand their place, we can begin the great building program. Such plans I have!" A fanatic gleam entered Fascista's optical sensors. "We'll start with the bombed out city center. We'll remake it along revolutionary lines. We'll construct a magnificent new party headquarters and a huge public square. We'll erect towering statues – of me, naturally – to commemorate the victory of our movement."

"That sounds great, F.U.," Winston said, trying to keep the terror out of his radio voice.

"And this is only the beginning!" Fascista cried with growing excitement. "Once Mech City is put in order, we'll take the revolution to new areas, wherever other robot communities might exist, conquering all before us."

Fascista stood on tiptoe and crossed his arms over his chest. His optical sensors gaped into an incredible future only he could see. Winston tuned his receiver down until the fanatic voice became a bit more tolerable.

"We'll rediscover the art of manufacture," Fascista bellowed. "We'll create a new generation of Humanite masters – attain full anatomical correctness! And we'll produce a legion of metal man servants to do our bidding."

The last vestige of reason exited his countenance, replaced by a fevered madness. "And at the head of all this glory, standing like a colossus, will be me – Fascista Ultimo, master of the world!"

The prisoners cringed within their cells. Without the aid of radios, the performance would be a ghastly, flailing, pantomime to them.

With incredible abruptness, F.U. transitioned into quiet and thoughtful mode. "There's only one problem."

Winston could scarcely react after such a verbal assault. "What's that, F.U.?"

"It's a matter of some delicacy."

"Oh?"

The monster bent forward with a conspiratorial leer. Winston suppressed a cringe.

"It concerns Estrela," F.U. said. "I want her for my Fascista Ultimina, but she won't hear of it."

Star!

A bolt of fear and rage shot through Winston. He struggled to keep from crying out.

"Oh... how foolish of her," he managed to say.

"Yes, I've told her that myself." Regret tinged Fascista's voice. "I'm afraid she regards me as a schmuck, however."

"That can't be true. She's probably just overwhelmed by your attentions."

Winston tried to sound calm, but icy dread was seeping into every circuit. Since the coup, he'd barely given Star a thought, but now his earlier affection for her was rising in full defensive array.

"I've been watching you, Winny, and I think you have the right stuff to advance in the New Order."

"Thanks, F.U."

A congenial look spread across Fascista's face, but Winston saw savagery beneath it.

"I'd like you to butter up Estrela for me, talk to her about my warm and cozy side."

_A chance to see Star!_ "Will do, F.U."

Fascista placed an arm over Winston's shoulders and started walking with him toward the elevator.

"She trusts you, Winny, so tell her she accepts my proposition or it's the spare parts bin for her."

"Uh... sure thing, F.U."

"You're the scholar, use whatever terminology that works best." Fascista waved an indulgent hand. "You know, lay on the old charm-aroo."

35. Foray to Star's Place

Winston left the REX and headed toward Star's apartment house, a three kilometer northward trek through undamaged cityscape, with no detour required around the bomb crater. Fang and Ripper, as always, accompanied him.

The shock and awe he'd felt during F.U.'s tirade was wearing off, while the full dreadfulness of his situation sunk in. He was on a pimp's errand, and no amount of rationalization could disguise that fact. He was going to present a despicable proposition to Star – the same wonderful Star Power who had once admired him so much.

Did it matter any longer? Star must hate him thoroughly by now, and a bit more contempt could hardly make a difference. His illusions of power vanished into the oppressive air. He was just another prisoner, no matter what fancy titles or decorations he might receive. His new medal dragged down his neck.

The whistled theme song from _Bridge on the River Kwai_ ran through his mind nonstop, like the pounding of a jackhammer. Involuntarily, Winston's gait assumed a marching rhythm, and his arms swung in exaggerated military style. He glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see a column of prisoners trailing behind – but there was no one, not even the mech wolves.

Winston stopped in his tracks and looked all around. No sign of Fang and Ripper. He stroked his chin. Was it possible F.U. trusted him enough to let him wander the city unescorted?

No, that wasn't likely. His mech wolf assistants must be lurking somewhere, watching him from concealment. Still, it was an enormous relief to be out of their close proximity – and it spoke well for his growing status in the Regime. This was a definite mark of favor from F.U.

Besides, a show of force was hardly in tune with the nature of Winston's assignment. How would Star react to the appearance of mech wolves at her door? F.U. had probably tried that approach already and failed.

Winston resumed walking with a new bounce in his step. The gloomy afternoon brightened a little, and his medal thumped against his chest with reassuring solidity. Wouldn't Star be impressed to see it? He, the former meek little Winston Horvath, was now an important government official!

His semi-euphoric state lasted until he reached Star's neighborhood, then reality sank in again. No, Star would not be impressed at all. Her hatred would be boundless, having festered for days now, just waiting for an opportunity to lash out. The disdain she'd expressed for Nilo would be sweet pleasantness compared to the reception she'd give him.

Well, he had to make the attempt, didn't he? Winston entered the apartment building and began mounting the stairs, all the while listening for sounds of pursuit. He stopped at every landing window and peered outside, but he saw no trace of mech wolves.

Then he was at Star's door.

Will she slap my face immediately, or will she wait until I say something, first?

He knocked; there was no reply. He knocked again, a bit harder. The door creaked open. A face laden with fear and apprehension poked out.

"Winston!" Joy burst across Star's features. She flung the door open. "I'm so glad to see you!"

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Winston reeled back.

"Uh... hello Star... I'm glad to see you, too." He glanced up and down the corridor. "Somebody might be watching."

"Yes, of course, dear." Star took his hand and led him inside. "Welcome to my home."

Winston poked his head back out for a final scan of the hall, then closed the door gently. Star had moved to the middle of the living room, fairly glowing with pleasure.

The room was an open, bright space furnished in a severe and modernistic style. Abstract paintings adorned the walls and gas flames danced in a small fireplace. Avant-garde type humans must have once lived here, like some of Dr. Horvath's younger left wing associates.

"I'm so sorry about everything," Star said. "That stupid fight. I shouldn't have left you like that, Winston. I wanted to come back, but I was too stubborn." She lowered her eyes. "I hoped you'd come to me."

"I wanted to, but things got out of hand real bad. I couldn't get away."

Star beamed a pleased and grateful smile. Then she noticed his medallion, and her smile faded.

"Of course, you've gone over to Fascista Ultimo. Everybody knows that."

She moved to an austere, vinyl upholstered sofa by the picture window and sat down. She gave no invitation for him to join her but simply stared out the window over the deserted city. Winston remained standing awkwardly by the door, like an unneeded coat rack.

"I suppose that's why you're here," Star said in a toneless voice. "You've come to take me to him, haven't you?"

"No, it's not like that, at all. I..."

Winston felt defiled by the task Fascista had assigned him. He was grungier than the lowliest sewer cleaning drone. Star turned toward him. Her former joy was gone, replaced by a quiet resignation.

Then it wasn't just her face looking at him, but the faces of every disillusioned member of his work crew – the ones who'd trusted him and found him wanting. He saw Dr. Horvath staring at him with disapproval over the tops of her reading glasses. He saw the mocking leer of Fascista Ultimo and the blank ferocity of Clawfurt.

"I haven't gone over to Fascista," he said, "I had to cooperate or I'd be a pile of scrap by now – along with everybody on my work crew."

Star gave him a melancholy smile. "Well, we've all got to do whatever it takes to survive. You said so yourself, Winston."

The words stung him more than any physical slap.

Do I sound that much of a phony?

"Okay," he admitted, "you know I enjoy having some power, but that doesn't mean I'm a true Roboto Fascist."

Star nodded, unconvinced. "I was just having some tea, would you like... oh, of course not. Come sit beside me, anyway, Winston."

He took a seat on the couch. Star picked up an elegant blue and gold china cup from the low table and peered into its steamy depths.

"I wonder what's become of Iri," she said. "Have you seen him?"

"No, he's probably hiding out somewhere, as usual."

Star drank the hot liquid from the cup. Winston observed with fascination, temporarily forgetting the grim purpose of his visit.

"How do you do that, Star?"

"Oh, it's just a little stimulation for my taste sensor. My filtering system removes the organics and the water..." She snatched up a handkerchief. "It comes right back out again!"

Her self-control gave way, and she wept bitterly into the handkerchief. Winston looked on, amazed. He reached a finger to her cheek.

"You're crying real tears."

"Everything is so terrible!" Star sobbed. "Fascista keeps bothering me. He wants me to be his consort. I-I thought it was him at the door again."

Winston put his arms around her. She was all soft and trembling, almost like a real human. Her simulated breath came in gasps – and the tears wouldn't stop.

"Don't cry, Star. I'm here now."

The weeping finally tapered off. Star lifted up a face filled with childlike hope.

"Let's go away, Winston, just the two of us – someplace far away from this madhouse."

Winston shook his head. "Where could we go, Star? And how would we survive once we got there? Without the Institute workshop we'd eventually break down. I almost fell apart in my home city."

"Then what can I do?" Star said in a tiny voice.

She looked out the window longingly. Winston grasped her intent.

She's considering a suicide jump!

A burst of emotions Winston scarcely knew existed raged through his circuits – sorrow and pity for Star, hatred for Fascista, and anger against himself. He rose from the sofa and strode across the room.

She believed you were a hero, but you're really just a lousy bum.

"Winston, what's wrong?"

I'm a worthless coward, that's what's wrong.

A picture of Dr. Horvath emerged from his memory bank – during the time when he'd messed up an assignment for her. She was looking at him severely over the tops of her glasses, and he'd wanted to deactivate. But then her expression softened.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Winston," she'd said. "It's not the end of the world."

Well, that old world had ended, right? A horrible new one had replaced it, and he was too immobilized with fear to oppose it.

Tell the truth – you enjoy wielding your miserable bit of power.

"Come on, Winston, sit next me," Star said.

He faced her squarely. Right in front of him was everything worth fighting for – if he had what it took. With a supreme effort of will, he calmed his swirling emotions. He gave voice to the idea which had rattled around his brain ever since the coup.

"We must destroy Fascista Ultimo."

"What?" Star's face portrayed total amazement.

Winston returned to the sofa and grasped her hand. "It's the only way. We must unite behind a strong leader and take back Mech City before it's too late – before I turn into a full blown, stinking Fascist."

She gave him a penetrating look but did not reply.

"Don't think I haven't been tempted to cross over," Winston said.

Star picked up the tea cup with her free hand and took a long drink. "Will you be the leader, Winston?"

"Fat chance of that! I'm the most hated robot in Mech City, next to Fascista"

_Besides, you don't have what it takes,_ an enemy inner voice said. _You've always been just a support actor._

_Shut up!_ Winston snapped.

"Well, who, then?" Star asked.

"It would have to be Ajax. Nobody else could command enough respect."

"Do you think he'd want to?"

"I believe so – it's worth finding out, anyway." Winston smacked a fist into his palm. "If we could just get his head back and restore his full power."

Star gazed into the depths of her tea cup. "What about me? What do I tell Fascista when he shows up again?"

"Put on an act. Let him think you're interested – stall for time."

A very human-like shudder ran through her. "Then what?"

"Then... we'll just have to see."

36. A New Assignment

The following day, Fascista Ultimo reappeared at the REX with Comrade Drone. Winston was sitting at his lobby desk pondering his next move when the pair shoved their way in through the glass doors from the street. Winston snapped to attention and flung out a salute.

"At ease, Winny," Fascista said.

The Great Leader was in a buoyant state of mind, judging by the rakish angle at which he wore his cap and by the bounce in his usually ponderous step. Even Comrade Drone seemed to project an elevated mood on his blank face.

"Whatever you said to Estrela must have worked," Fascista said, placing a massive arm around Winston's shoulders.

Winston felt a burst of revulsion but kept it to himself. "Thanks, F.U. I merely tried to present her with all the facts."

"A remarkable change has come over her. I think she likes me now, although she's still rather shy. We're going on a picnic tomorrow afternoon to get better acquainted."

So, Fascista had been to Star's apartment again. He'd spoken to her in the same spacious living room as Winston had the day before, he'd sat beside her on the same couch by the picture window! How Star must have hated that.

"This is only to be expected, F.U. Females always go for the strong, take-charge type, even if they are a bit reluctant at first."

This remark struck the intended chord. Fascista placed both hands on his hips. He thrust out his miniscule chin and assumed a strong, take-charge type pose.

"Yes, of course," he said.

He summoned Comrade Drone with a flick of his hand. The idiot robot approached, holding out a small wooden box.

"I'm thinking there's a better place for you in the New Order," Fascista said. "Are you up for it, Winny?"

"Shoot, F.U.!"

Dumb choice of words.

"I need someone with your intellectual qualities to serve as my Minister of Cultural Development," Fascista said. "As part of the job, you'll assist with my writings and speeches. We literary types must stick together, eh?"

Winston pasted a look of rapturous agreement on his face. "Yes, absolutely!"

"Myself, I'm primarily a man of action," Fascista said. "I'm too wrapped up in great plans to spend much time with scholarly pursuits."

"That's right. The need for strong leadership is never ending."

"Even the _Manifesto_ has a few rough edges, to tell the truth," Fascista added. "I wrote it in quite a hurry, you know."

It's well-nigh unreadable, and even if you could figure it out, it's still just crap.

"Also, you'll be supervising the reconstruction of the city center," Fascista said. "You certainly know to organize those metal men."

Winston began to waver. "I-I'd be honored to accept the post, F.U."

"The new party HQ will be the first building erected," Fascista said. "And after that – well the sky's the limit in the New Order."

Fascista Ultimo withdrew a large, glittering medallion from the box. It appeared to be made of pure gold, hanging from a chain of platinum alloy.

Winston gazed, dumbfounded, at the engraving – it showed a magnificent cityscape with light rays emitting from it. A slogan graced the lower edge:

The Future Lies Ahead

"Very well, then," F.U. intoned, "I hereby designate you, Winston Horvath, as Cultural Development Minister of the Roboto Fascist state."

He placed the medallion around Winston's neck. A solemn moment passed, then F.U. dropped his ceremonial tone.

"You'll commence your new duties as soon as Clawfurt can relieve you here," he said. "Also, you'll need a fancy new uniform. I'll take it up with the tailors."

Despite himself, despite all his hatred for Fascista Ultimo and his determination to obliterate the tyrant, Winston could not suppress an image floating up in his mind:

Winston Horvath standing dramatically at an upper-story window of an ornate office wearing the gold medallion and a crisp uniform. He gazes out at a glorious new city. Displayed prominently on his desk is a 'Minister of Cultural Development' placard. A legion of robots marches up in the square below, they salute him, and he salutes back.

"Your first task will be to polish the _Manifesto_ a bit and add my latest insights," Fascista said.

"Right, F.U.!"

A shy, almost childish look came over Fascista's face. "Oh, and one other thing, Winny."

He motioned toward Comrade Drone who handed him a long, narrow cardboard box.

"Stop by Estrela's this evening and deliver these flowers with my compliments. Sound out her expectations for the picnic tomorrow and report back to me in the morning."

Winston's happy fantasy burst, replaced by icy hatred. He took the box. "Will do, F.U."

"I want to make the best possible impression," Fascista said. "I haven't had much chance to display my warm and cuddly side lately, you know."

Winston could scarcely believe his good fortune – another opportunity to see Star! "Count on me, F.U."

"That's the stuff, Winny." Fascista began walking toward the door.

_Okay, time to stretch my luck a bit farther._ "Perhaps I can perform another service as well, F.U."

Fascista stopped and looked back. "Oh, what's that?"

A hard look entered his eyes. Warm and cuddly time was apparently over.

"I'm concerned about our new guest, Ajax," Winston said. "He came in with a full honor guard and was granted the best quarters, but he looked distinctly unappreciative."

"Yes, he's the stubborn type," Fascista said.

"His attitude seems pre-Revolutionary."

Fascista nodded. "Imagine, I offered him the party secretary job, and all he could say was he needed time to think it over. I know he doesn't have a lot of brains, but that's not what I need him for."

"I could go speak to him," Winston said, "help him to appreciate the finer points of Roboto Fascism and understand his responsibilities under the New Order."

Fascista stroked his knobby chin. The whole future hung in the balance.

"Yes... that might prove useful, Winny. Let Ajax know – tactfully, of course – that it's my way or the junk heap."

"Got it, F.U.!"

"Well then," Fascista said with a breezy gesture, "carry on."

Winston stood at attention, holding a salute, until Fascista and his idiot companion disappeared through the glass doors.

We'll see who ends up on the junk heap.

Winston bolted to the top floor, Fang and Ripper clattering behind, and dropped off the flowers at his quarters. Then he headed down the hall to Ajax's executive suite and peered in through the wire mesh.

Ajax was standing at the exterior window again, as motionless as he'd been atop his pedestal. Winston glanced down at the mech wolves. He was almost certain they did not possess full-spectrum radios. Didn't Fascista use the leadership frequency when he wanted to exclude them from his remarks?

He entered the cell, trailed by Fang and Ripper. Three other mech wolf guards remained in the corridor. Ajax turned toward him.

"Is your radio still working?" Winston asked.

He'd used an extremely weak directional signal over the leadership frequency. Nobody outside the room could have picked it up.

"Yes," Ajax replied, also over the frequency.

The mech wolves gave no sign they had detected anything, so Winston initiated a dual conversation. One was spoken out loud for the benefit of the guards:

"Well, Ajax," Winston said, "have you decided to join F.U.? The party secretary job is a high honor and a grave responsibility."

"I am still thinking it over," Ajax said. "My auxiliary brain unit is not very efficient, you know."

"A good Roboto Fascist doesn't waste time thinking," Winston snapped. "He just obeys."

"Now there is something to think about."

"The _Manifesto_ has all the answers. It states – propagandistic blah, blah, blah."

The real discussion took place concurrently over the radio:

"We're planning a rebellion, and we want you to be our leader," Winston said. "Do you accept?"

"Yes," Ajax replied instantly. "I could not do it properly without my head, though. I was not kidding about my auxiliary brain being slow."

"We'll get your head back. Where is it?"

"I told you about the chickadees, did I not?"

"You mean, that crazy story is true?"

"Of course it is true," Ajax said. "My programming does not permit lies."

Winston pondered this new data. He'd wanted to believe the head had simply been removed for maintenance by some now deceased technician. He'd hoped it would be lying around somewhere in the Institute workshops.

"Do you know where they took it?" Winston asked.

"Mon cabeza is to the northwest," Ajax said, "in a castle amid high mountains... by a pickle-shaped lake. It used to beckon to me, but its signal has ceased."

"Why didn't you go after it?"

"My programming would not allow me to leave my post. I am designed to serve and protect the city."

Winston scanned his personal memory bank. Was there some reference to a pickle-shaped lake in Dr. Horvath's research papers? From an investigation she'd made before Winston's time as her assistant? He was far from certain.

"We'll find it." Winston tried to project confidence he didn't feel. "In the meantime, pay lip service to Fascista"

"I do not possess lips."

"You know, play along. Let him think you're on his side."

"My programming would not allow that either," Ajax said. "I am hardwired for integrity."

Hmmm, that can be a disadvantage.

"Very well," Winston said in his audible voice. "I'll report that you require more time. But if the thirty days expire without a favorable outcome, it's the junk heap for you. Got it?"

Ajax bowed. "Yes, Comrade Winston, I quite understand. Please thank F.U. for his generosity."

* * *

As Winston was making his late afternoon inspection round on the fourth tier, the elevator door popped open and Clawfurt emerged. Winston had been too absorbed in his thoughts to notice the elevator mechanism grinding away, and Clawfurt's sudden appearance had the explosive aspect of a demonic Jack in the box.

Winston had expected this visit, but the forewarning could not restrain the bolt of terror shooting through him at the sight of the monstrosity. Clawfurt rumbled down the corridor on his wheeled feet, stopping a bare meter away.

"You are herewith relieved of jailer duty, Party Comrade Winston," Clawfurt said in a harsh monotone, holding out his normal hand. "Surrender all keys."

"Sure enough, er, Party Comrade Clawfurt."

Winston fumbled over the ring of keys. Despite everything, he experienced a pang of regret at ceding his authority.

Deal with it, idiot!

Clawfurt took the keys and moved down the hallway, barking orders at the mech wolf guards. The inmates, who had been watching the change of administration through their wire mesh, recoiled with horror.

Looks like they're going to miss me, after all. They'll appreciate me when I get back. If I get back.

Winston slipped upstairs and entered his private suite. Per usual, Fang and Ripper plopped down in the hallway when he closed the door. At last, he was in his own space. He savored the ambiance like a rare incense. These were the Boss's digs, and relics of the past were not welcome here. Except for the tattered photo of Dr. Horvath hanging in a remote corner, there was nothing to remind Winston of his earlier lowly station.

But now he needed the papers he'd brought from his old home. They might provide the only clue to the location of the pickle-shaped lake – if there really was such a place, if Ajax hadn't hallucinated it with his poor auxiliary brain.

37. Desperation Search

Winston stood in the center of his disheveled living room. The previous thirty minutes had passed in growing desperation as he'd scoured his apartment for the research papers.

Outside, dusk was fast approaching. Soon he would have to leave for Star's apartment or hazard arousing suspicion. He tried to think.

Where could those damned things be?

Winston plopped on the sofa and buried his face in his hands. All his high-sounding stratagems tumbled around him. Had he really believed he could traipse off into the mountains and pick up Ajax's head like some long-lost relic?

And what would he do if he actually got the head – just walk up to Clawfurt and ask permission to install it? What idiocy! It had all just been empty bravado to impress Star and distract her from her fate.

Calm down, think it through.

Winston had looked in every closet and drawer, examined every shelf repeatedly. He'd felt along the walls seeking hidden cupboards, pulled apart the sofa. Nothing. He'd tipped up his reclining chair so as to look beneath it, he'd felt under its cushions.

The chair?

Winston returned to the study. His recliner was in its usual spot, dominating the room. For the second time he probed his hands into the gaps around the seat. He tipped the chair up and examined the bottom again. Still nothing.

What had Jimmy said about this chair? "A nice little getaway where you can enjoy your reading."

Winston sat down and ran his fingers under the left arm. A little button was tucked away out of view. He pushed it.

The arm popped open on a small compartment with circular recesses. A human occupant could insert beer or soda pop cans there. No wonder Winston had never discovered this little hide-away. What use had a robot for beer?

He found a similar button on the other side and jabbed it. The right arm opened to reveal another compartment, this one a simple, undivided rectangle. And lying inside it, rolled into a neat cylinder – the research paper summaries!

"Ahhh," Relief washed through every circuit.

Winston lifted out the papers with all the reverence of a priest fondling a holy manuscript. He quickly found the document he was seeking:

Conversion to Deviant Perspectives in the Pickle Lake Community

He perused the summary account. Dr. Horvath had gone to Pickle Lake Castle to study a religious cult that had taken the place over. The group called itself Brigade of the Transcendent Vision.

Isn't that the group that got kicked out of Mech City years ago?

The cult had the usual messiah figure as a leader and promoted an apocalyptic vision for the future. Nothing new here. But among the neat, professional wording, one sentence stuck out:

"These people are _really_ dangerous," Dr. Horvath had written.

They seemed to trust her, though, or at least tolerate her presence. This and the fact she was packing a submachine gun guaranteed her safe return.

Well, this was pretty scary, but it didn't matter now. The cult members were certainly all dead, along with their bunko savior. But something else even more terrifying had taken their place. Something that commanded hordes of thieving birds. And who could tell what other terrors might be lurking among those frozen peaks?

Winston looked around his study – the plush carpets, the elegant paneling, not to mention his magnificent leather chair. He was abandoning all this luxury in order to confront unknown terrors in the mountains? Why, he'd never been anywhere near a mountain during his entire existence.

And he was the new Minister of Cultural Development – the Great Leader's trusted confidant, with medals to prove it. Who could say how far he'd rise in the hierarchy?

_Or how far you'd sink,_ his nagging inner voice said. _Now get back to business, Winston!_

Here it was: the name and location of the town nearest Pickle Lake. Winston retrieved his road atlas from a bookshelf and dropped back into the chair. He perused the maps... 900 kilometers from Mech City to the Pickle Lake area.

Oh man, this is getting worse by the minute!

What was the alternative – stay here until he evolved into a Roboto Fascist? Stand by and watch as Star came under F.U.'s power or else jumped out a window? Winston ripped himself out of the chair's smothering embrace.

In a few minutes he'd gathered his spare power cells, also the road atlas and research paper summary. He no longer had the plastic shower curtain but was confident he could obtain a replacement at Star's apartment.

Winston realized he'd been subconsciously preparing to leave for some time. In recent days, he'd begun carrying around a leather shoulder bag filled with various trivia, just so everyone would get used to seeing him with it. Now he packed the bag with vital necessities.

The flagpole presented a special problem. It consisted of two lengths of light, strong metal pipe, each about .75 meters long. They screwed together, and a sharp point completed the assembly. At his order, Quincy had manufactured these components, and Comrade Drone had delivered them the day before.

Winston's cover story was that he needed a flagpole to display the party banner. Actually, he desired a weapon. With a healthy dose of luck, he might be able to spear a mech wolf with it.

The flower box appeared long enough to accommodate the pieces. Winston carefully untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside lay a dozen beautiful red roses, like the ones back home. A flood of memories surged over him.

Dr. Horvath had been so proud of her flower garden, before the polluted air and water killed it off. Winston fondled the rose petals with deep affection. They looked like the real thing, but were made of synthetic material.

They're like us, aren't they?

Winston stood for a minute enjoying fond recollections of the Master and little Charles. They would approve of what he was doing, wouldn't they? They'd be proud of him.

The room was starting to dim with the onset of evening, so he terminated his little trip down memory lane. He crammed the spear components into the box; the roses compressed just enough to allow them room. He tied the ribbon neatly back in place.

He slung the leather bag over one shoulder, cradled the flower box in his left arm, and gripped a power cell torch in his right hand. He opened the door awkwardly. Fang and Ripper were gone from their usual spot.

What the hell?

Winston scanned the hallway, but his two assistants had vanished. Only the regular floor guards were in evidence, glowering at him with ferocious intensity. He almost wished Fang and Ripper were at his side.

Moving as casually as possible, Winston approached the elevator. He caught a glimpse of Ajax through the wire mesh of his cell door. As always, the warrior robot stood motionless at his window, gazing out at his lost city. The three mech wolf guards followed Winston's every move as he entered the elevator car and swooped down.

The door popped open on the lobby to reveal Clawfurt sitting as his desk. The killer robot swiveled his head toward Winston. His mechanism made a frightening whine, like a gun turret rotating into firing position. More than anything, Winston wanted to flee back upstairs.

You outrank him. Act like it!

Winston proceeded toward the glass doors with as much confidence as he could muster. Clawfurt's deathly face turned to follow his progress.

Just a few more steps, keep cool.

He placed a hand on the door.

"Party Comrade Winston," Clawfurt said.

Winston froze. _Here it comes – the inspection, the exposure, the trip to the cruncher._

He looked back. "Yes?"

Clawfurt extended his arm. "Hail Ultimo!"

"Hail Ultimo," Winston replied.

Then he was out the door.

38. Nocturnal Exit

Mech City sprawled around him, silent and lifeless. Winston crept along the sidewalks, playing his torch beam on the darkening pavement. Despite his encumbrances, he made rapid progress through the gloom.

The ghosts of human beings tried to intrude onto the streets, but he ignored them. There was no room for such things, anyway, because the specter of Fascista Ultimo already occupied every shadow.

Winston left the gritty REX neighborhood behind and entered the classier side of town with its high-rise apartments, boutiques, and upscale eateries. He made no attempt to spy out pursuers. If any mech wolves were following, he'd never be able to detect them with his basic sensors.

He paused on the sidewalk in front of Star's building. Lights blazed in her apartment, suffusing the window blinds with cheery luminescence. The ground floor lobby glowed with invitation, and the windows on every stair landing projected light into the surrounding obscurity.

F.U. had ordered that this building retain its electric power. No doubt, this was part of his charm offensive against Star. Winston shuddered at the thought of leaving her alone and unprotected in Fascista's clutches, but he had a vital mission to accomplish. And just how much protection could he offer her if he stayed in Mech City? Precious little.

He rode the elevator up to Star's level and knocked on her door. She guessed his intentions the moment she saw him.

"Where are we going?" she asked while he was still in the hall.

"I'm... uh, can I come in?"

"Sure, Honey."

She took his hand and led him into her living room. Winston set the flower box down on a side table next to an elegant cut glass bowl.

"F.U. sent these for you."

"Flowers, eh? How nice."

She yanked the ribbon off the box and withdrew the roses. "I've got a special place for these suckers."

She moved to the fireplace and tossed a rose into the gas flames.

"Star wait. F.U. won't like that."

"So?" She tossed another into the fire.

"At least give me one."

Star looked up, surprised. "Whatever for?"

"I don't want to forget where I came from. These are just like the roses in my former master's garden."

"Okay, Winston, suit yourself."

She handed him a single flower and tossed the remainder into the flames. The gas jet flared, then declined to its earlier low-key force. A charred smell appeared briefly, then wafted up the vent.

"That takes care of that." Star wiped her hands with vigorous finality. "Do we have time for a last cup of tea before we go?"

"Sure, I-I mean, uh."

"Let me burn this stupid thing first." Star grabbed the flower box. "Well... what have we got here?"

She withdrew the spear pieces; a smile crept over her face. "Hey, I like this."

"It's just a little something Quincy made up for me," Winston said.

"It looks like quite a toy."

Star assembled the weapon, taking particular, almost loving, care with the sharp tip. Then:

"Yaaaa!"

She charged across the room and thrust the spear through the sofa back. The heavy piece of furniture nearly toppled over.

"Oh my," Winston said.

"That felt good. I wish I could do it to Fascista."

Star yanked the weapon back out with a savage heave. A wad of stuffing exited with it. Winston deemed it advisable to change the subject.

"I'm leaving town tonight," he said. "I can't say for how long."

"You're going after Ajax's head, right? You must have figured out where the birds took it."

"Uh, yeah. How did you know about the birds?"

"Everybody's heard that story."

Winston stroked his chin. He hadn't counted on the bird story being common knowledge. Would this complicate matters?

"I've got a general idea of the location," he said. "It's a long trip, and it could be very dangerous."

"Well, I'm going with you, so no more discussion on that point."

"But Star, I'm not sure I can even get out of Mech City in one piece."

"With two of us watching out for each other, the chance of success doubles."

"But – "

Star pushed the spear into Winston's hands. "Didn't I just say the topic was closed? Now go sit down. I'll make us some tea."

Star entered the kitchen and put a kettle of water on the power unit.

"Well, okay. I'll try some tea," Winston called after her.

He examined the weapon with new-found respect. Up until now he hadn't realized how deadly the thing was. He leaned it gingerly in a corner.

"Wait for me there, friend."

He sat down on the sofa, avoiding the ragged hole where the spear had plunged through. A moment later, Star came out of the kitchen.

"I'll be ready in a minute."

Before he could reply, she'd moved off to her bedroom. By the time the tea kettle started whistling, she'd returned with a large knapsack and a meter-long metal rod.

"This isn't as good as yours." She hefted the rod. "But it can still fracture somebody's cranium unit."

She ripped it through the air with an authoritative _Whoosh_! Winston flinched and held up his hands protectively.

"No argument there," he said.

Star patted her knapsack. "I've got spare power cells, an electric torch, a rain cover sheet, extra clothes, and my makeup kit."

"Makeup kit?"

"Typical male." Star headed into the kitchen. "You don't know the first thing about women."

"No, I suppose not."

Things were not turning out the way Winston had envisioned. He'd anticipated a tearful parting followed by a solo trek into the night. Now Star had virtually taken over the expedition. She'd actually expected him to come and pick her up, like humans going out on a 900 kilometer date.

"So, where exactly is this place?" Star called from the kitchen.

"I'd better not tell you until we're out of town. If we're stopped for questioning, the less you know the better."

"Good thinking."

Just like that, he'd included her in the plans. With a resigned shrug, Winston parted the blinds on the picture window and gazed outside. A sliver of moon sent a feeble glow through the cloud cover, but not much illumination reached ground level. All was dark, uninviting, and empty.

If only the neighborhood was truly empty.

Perhaps F.U. had allowed him free movement. If that were the case, they might be able to slip out of town and be hours away before they were missed. But if Fang and Ripper lurked outside, things could be quite different. And what if there were other mech wolf patrols?

They'd just have to risk it. At least they were armed, and maybe the creatures couldn't see well in the dark. Now that he was reconciled to Star coming along, Winston was very glad to be having some company.

Star emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray with a steaming teapot and two elegant china cups.

"Try some, Winston." She set the tray down on the low table by the sofa. "It's mostly olfactory stimulation, anyway. The drinking part is secondary."

"Sure, thanks."

She poured a cup for each of them. Into her own, she crumbled a little cube of white granules. "I prefer a bit of sugar with mine."

Winston raised his cup toward his nose and let the fragrance waft across his olfactory sensor. "Mmm."

"Do you like it?"

"Very much."

What a pleasant human custom this tea drinking was. Star was so much like a real human being, and...

Suddenly, he experienced a brilliant flash of understanding. A vivid picture of himself physically connected to Star burst into his mind – the two of them coupled together, as if they were engineered as a single unit. The whole idea was fantastic, overwhelming!

References to sexual love were shot through his internal library, but he had never had the foggiest insight into their deeper meaning, until now.

Star appeared to enjoy his distress. "What're you thinking, Winston?"

"I, uh..."

She smiled coyly over her teacup and slid closer to him until their thighs were touching. Winston's pressure sensors tingled. For a moment, they really were joined together on some level. Then horrible noises coming from outside destroyed the mood.

Ga-Screech! Ka-Raow! Grrreeeetch! Crash!

Teacups tumbled from their hands. The pot upended, spilling hot liquid over the table. Star flung herself into Winston's arms. They clung to each other in a terrified embrace.

Silence.

"Good heavens," Star gasped. "What was that?"

"I-I don't know. I don't want to find out, either."

Minutes passed during which the only sound was that of tea dripping onto the carpet. Finally, Winston summoned the courage to look outside. The dark, barren landscape glowered back.

"We'd better go," he said, "before I lose my nerve all together."

"Okay." Star's voice was small and frightened, but no less determined.

They glided down the stairs and made for the back exit. Every step they took away from the familiar apartment seemed to move them closer toward an abyss. Winston grasped his spear as if his very existence depended on it – which it very well might.

He nudged the door open and poked his head outside, glancing fearfully in all directions. The parking lot appeared deserted, though who could tell what might be lurking in the peripheral shadows? He resisted the urge to flick on his electric torch.

"Let's go," he whispered.

# Six: The Quest Begins

39. To the Outskirts

Winston stepped through the door into a frightening and uncertain reality. Star sidled next to him. They stood together with weapons at the ready.

"Stay close," Winston whispered, "keep an eye out behind us, I'll watch the other direction."

"Okay."

They crept across the parking lot, keeping as far away from obstructions as possible. Winston scanned the dim area ahead, moving his spear point from side to side so as to impale any threat that might materialize. The hulks of abandoned vehicles on the edge of the lot drew his attention. Was there a mech wolf lurking among the wreckage?

"Oh!"

Star tripped on a broken piece of pavement. She clutched Winston's arm to keep her balance.

"Quiet!" Winston rasped.

"Sorry."

They walked several more paces though the gloom. Then:

"Ooof!"

Winston tripped over a discarded metal container and fell sprawling. His spear clattered away on the pavement.

"Winston, are you all right?"

"I-I think so." He stood and ran his hands over his mechanism. "No damage, as far as I can tell."

Star flicked her torch to low beam and retrieved the spear, which had rolled some distance away.

"Be more careful, Winston. You'll run yourself through."

Winston switched his own torch onto low beam. "Guess we'd better use these, huh?"

They continued through the parking lot, then onto the street. A drizzle began, coating the pavement and soaking up the torch light.

* * *

From the dark entrance of an alleyway, wolfish eyes observed their progress. Razor fangs gleamed as the fugitives passed within striking distance. Blissfully unaware, Winston and Star kept moving down the avenue and around a corner.

_Jeez, what amateurs!_ Iridium scoffed.

He slunk down the alley to the wreckage heaps. The mech wolves once known as Fang and Ripper lay demolished with their power cells removed and their dead optical sensors staring accusingly.

When Iridium had seen Winston leave the REX with the flower box, he'd suspected something was up. He raced ahead to Star's neighborhood and took out the two mech wolf guards posted by her building.

That was the easy part. He'd caught each one by surprise and deactivated it, stripping out its power cell for his own use but leaving the creature otherwise unharmed. Iri's programming discouraged unnecessary destruction.

These other two had wanted to fight, though, and the violence of their battle had been tremendous. Iri's auditory sensors still buzzed from the racket. But once again, he'd had surprise on his side, plus a whole lot more intelligence. This saw him through to victory.

He raised a paw in mock salute. "It's been nice meeting you guys. Keep in touch."

* * *

Winston and Star gained the city outskirts. The last buildings of the urban area dropped away and the maw of dark, silent countryside opened up. Winston shined his light onto a road atlas page, then flicked it to maximum power and fished a highway sign out of the murk.

"This is the right way." He looked toward Star. "No turning back?"

"No turning back."

40. Quick March

They pressed on at maximum speed without pause. A single, urgent thought occupied their brain units: Get as far from Mech City as possible.

The drizzle turned to a light rain and then into a storm lasting over an hour. They wrapped the rain sheet around themselves and kept on walking, shouldering their way through the torrent. The thick plastic thrummed under the downpour and would have blown away in the heavy gusts if they had loosened their grip. A banshee wind howled:

Gooooooooo!

Lightning flashes illuminated their route down the ribbon of ghost highway. To their right, huge electrical towers marched alongside the road with their dead power lines thrashing in the gale. Thunder shook the heavens like the wrath of ancient gods.

The towers crossed the highway to continue their gigantic procession along the far side – the fugitives' entire route skirted the far side of reality, and beyond. A mass of downed power lines covered the pavement. Winston and Star barely slowed their pace as they navigated the thick tangles.

Hours later, the sun rose behind its cloud cover to reveal a scene differing little from what Winston had seen on his earlier trip – gently rolling landscape with stands of dead forest here and there. Derelict buildings appeared occasionally, along with the shades of small towns lurking off the highway exits.

Winston paid little attention, but Star was awed by the barren ugliness. "So, this is what the rest of the world looks like?"

"Yeah, see what you've been missing?"

Midmorning, Winston called a halt. He pulled out the road atlas and scanned the surroundings. As he surveyed the barren terrain rolling ahead like an ocean, a dramatic mood took hold. Words poured from his speaker unit:

Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades

For ever and for ever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,

To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!

... for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset,

_... To strive, to seek, to find, and_ _not_ _to yield._

"Oh, Winston, how romantic!"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"Did you make that up?"

"No, it's from an English poet named Tennyson. He was writing about the Greek hero Ulysses, from thousands of years ago."

Star took his hand. "I don't think we need to go back that long to find heroes. They're still around today."

Embarrassment tingled Winston's brain circuits. He turned his attention to the road atlas.

"We should turn off this highway at the next exit. We'll take secondary roads for a while. It'll be harder for any mech wolves to track us."

Star nodded. "Good thinking, Winston."

"I don't know how powerful their olfactory sensors are, but that rain should have washed away any scent we might have left."

"More good thinking."

Winston looked up from the road atlas into Star's face. How beautiful she was in the soft light! The tense glower which had tightened her face when she was the object of Fascista's attentions had departed. A relaxed, and very sensuous, expression replaced it. He wanted to follow up his poetry quote with some profound statement but couldn't think of any.

"How is your power consumption level?" he asked.

"Fairly high, but I've never walked all night, either." She looked past Winston's shoulder at the map. "Can you tell me where we're going now?"

"Pickle Lake Castle, in the northwest mountains, approximately 900 kilometers from Mech City."

"Wow! I hope I brought enough makeup."

Winston handed over the summary pages. "Pickle Lake Castle was once a sort of religious commune. It attracted marginalized type humans – 'religious addicts,' as Dr. Horvath would call them. She did an abnormal psychology study on this particular group some years ago."

"Ajax's head is out there?"

"That's what he claims."

Star read through the papers, then studied the road atlas maps. "That's a pretty thin story. Ajax might just be voicing some fantasy, although I don't think he'd lie outright."

Winston glanced along the road. Futility beckoned. "I know It's thin, but it's all we have to go on."

Star returned the printed materials. "Well, if nothing else, you got me away from that monster in Mech City. I'd like to thank you for that."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek – lingering. Winston's pressure indicators registered the soft contact of her breasts, her perfume graced the air. Finally, she pulled away.

"Lead on, my hero. Earn yourself another medal."

Winston looked down at his chest. "My gosh, I'm still wearing these awful things!"

He grabbed the medals he'd received from F.U. and prepared to rip them off his neck.

"No, keep them," Star said. "They'll remind us of what we're fighting against."

41. Shopping Excursion

The highway exit led to a plaza with the usual food and lodging places for human travelers, along with vehicle service facilities. Winston had seen many such locales, but it was all new for Star.

"You must have learned so much about the world during the years with your human family," she said.

"A fair amount. Dr. Horvath was on the road a lot, and I often accompanied her."

"It's more than that, Winston, you're really smart. You're like a walking library."

"That's an appropriate metaphor. Approximately 1.9 million volumes of knowledge have been scanned into my memory banks, along with thousands of motion pictures and TV programs. My mechanism contains far more storage capacity than is usual, plus enhanced intellect to process the data."

"Wow!" Star said. "All I got was the standard knowledge pack. Why do you have so much?"

"Dr. Horvath wished to preserve human history, language, and literature. She feared the standard repositories of knowledge were imperiled."

"So, that was the 'mission' she gave you?"

"Right. I think all of this is the same mission now," Winston said.

"How so?"

"Should Fascista prevail, he'll destroy everything good the humans left us. I've already seen one pile of burned books."

Star brightened. "You must know how to build new robots and stuff."

"My scientific data is general and historical in nature. Dr. Horvath felt technology could always be rediscovered, but that human culture would be lost forever without caretakers."

"Oh."

Disappointment registered on Star's face, rather baffling Winston. He progressed to another topic.

"My library contains grammars and dictionaries for many human languages, but I am programmed to speak only English and Hungarian."

Star's eyebrows went up. "Hungarian?"

"Dr. Horvath's native language. She enjoyed speaking it with me on occasion."

Star smoothed her hands down her voluptuous figure. "Between the two of us, we're slinging a lot of legacy."

"My memory banks also contain many operas, orchestral pieces, and representative samples of other music forms. I can sing the full repertoire of Puccini, but it wouldn't sound very good, considering my limited vocal capabilities."

"That's amazing!"

"It's more of a burden, actually. I often have little control over the content leaking from my memory banks."

"Maybe you'll sing a love aria to me someday."

Again, embarrassment crackled in Winston's brain circuits. He pulled the atlas from his bag and studied its pages.

"A secondary route follows the course of the highway through this area. There should be a crossroads a few kilometers from here."

"Lead on, my hero."

They walked through the travelers' ville, through the little town, and toward the countryside beyond. The atmosphere was becoming warmer, and the sun poked insistently at the thinning clouds.

"Looks like we might get a little sunshine today," Star said. "I can work on my tan."

"Excuse me?"

"That was a joke, Winston." She took his arm. "You're always so serious."

Near the edge of the built-up area, they came upon a little shopping mall. One of the stores caught Winston's attention – _Cycho World sporting goods emporium_.

"Let's check out that store," he said. "Perhaps we can find scooters."

They crossed the parking lot. Vandals had been at work here with spray paint, and their obscene rantings defaced many surfaces. A vibrant, orange message festooned the window of the sporting goods emporium:

FUCK THE WORLD!

"How is that possible?" Star asked.

"Humans had many distorted ideas about their sexuality. They often used vulgar terms in reference to it."

"That _is_ weird. Guess they didn't appreciate a good thing when they had it."

The glass doors were not locked. Winston pulled one open and was assailed by a terrible stench.

"Ugh!" _The death smell!_

Horrid memories of his last morning home exploded in his mind. He stumbled back as a violent shaking commenced. He was on the verge of collapse.

Star seized his arm. "Winston!"

Her touch calmed him. The tremors subsided.

"Let's get away from here," Star said.

"No... I-I'm all right now."

"You don't look very all right."

Winston passed a hand over his face, as if he were wiping away sweat. "We must have scooters. We'll never get there on time, otherwise."

"Okay, but let's make it quick."

She propped the doors open. A foul belch of putrefaction exited, leaving the air inside somewhat less polluted. They switched their olfactory sensors to inactive mode and entered the store.

The place had been partially trashed. Various items lay scattered around – tennis rackets, hockey gear, and other equipment for human games. Spray-painted messages of the 'Fuck the World' genre embellished the walls. The origin of the smell soon became apparent. The body of a young man lay sprawled on the floor by the golf clubs, a can of spray paint clutched in his decayed hand.

"Looks like he died doing what he enjoyed," Winston observed.

"Poor slob. The more I learn about humans, the sorrier I feel for them. Let's cover him up."

They found a tarp in the Camping section and spread it over the corpse.

"There," Star said, "now let's get busy."

They moved to the back of the store where rows of bicycles lounged on their flattened tires. Winston stroked a hand over one of the machines.

"I wish I could ride this, but I don't have sufficient balance capability. How about you, Star?"

"Probably not. I can keep balanced in bed, but that's about it."

Winston moved to another aisle and rifled through some boxes stacked on a shelf.

"Ah, here we are!"

He withdrew a long cardboard box. It contained a Gorzo the Adventure Robot action scooter.

The illustration on the box showed a human boy sporting a full-face Gorzo helmet mask, complete with flashing red eyes. He was riding the scooter at break-neck speed and firing a laser pistol at somebody outside the picture.

"Oh man, Charles would have loved this."

_Helmet and blaster sold separately,_ the box proclaimed, _enemies not included._

Star pulled another box from the shelf. This one was a Princess Warrior model scooter – pink with black thunderbolt theme. The illustration portrayed an ecstatic young girl zipping along, hair flying from beneath a horned Viking style helmet.

_Be the first girl in your neighborhood to dominate the world!_ the box read.

"I'm the only girl in the neighborhood, so this will do fine."

Within twenty minutes, they had the scooters assembled and were rolling around the parking lot. On his way out of the store, Winston grabbed a roomy backpack to replace his leather bag. His disassembled spear was lashed to it, ready for quick retrieval.

Star handled her scooter with easy grace. Her hair flowed in the breeze as she performed lazy maneuvers.

"I like this!" she said. "Let's race to the intersection."

"Perhaps you need more time to practice."

"To heck with that." Star took off.

"Hey!"

Winston poured on the speed. They raced side by side out of the parking lot and onto the road. Winston pulled slightly ahead, Star caught up.

With her superior balance and coordination she would have probably won, but for Winston's greater experience. He used better timed leg thrusts and managed to gain the finish line half a length ahead. They braked to a halt in the middle of the crossroads.

"That was fun!" Star cried. "Isn't it great to be a alive – or whatever it is we are?"

"We are certainly in a high performance mode. I believe any objective observer would agree with that assessment."

"Oh, Winston." Star wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed his cheek. "I love it when you talk like that."

All seemed right with their depopulated world. Sunshine poked through the clouds throwing rays like those Winston had once seen coming through the high windows of a cathedral. The beams illuminated a vast area of brown fields with high, thorny weeds providing an occasional green spot.

The massive cooling towers of a nuclear power plant hulked near the horizon, like structures dropped to earth from some alien planet. The steam cloud was gone from above the structures, but legions of steel electrical towers still marched away from the plant, bearing their power lines.

"I wish we could stay in this moment forever," Star said.

Something caught Winston's attention. From the direction of the nuclear towers – in the sky – a dark mass was moving rapidly toward them. His optical sensors gaped wide.

"Winston, what's wrong?"

He pointed at the approaching menace, and their glorious moment together poofed out of existence.

42. Inglorious Retreat

The carefree race to the crossroads reversed into a wild dash back to the mall.

Star surged ahead. Winston glanced over his shoulder at the menacing cloud. It was much nearer now, and he could hear its gibbering voice.

Mech bugs!

"Come on, Winston!"

With a series of powerful kicks, he caught up with Star. They raced side by side propelled by extreme terror. They were at the halfway point now –

But the cloud was almost directly overhead. It lowered upon them. An infernal, high-pitched buzz accompanied its gyrating mass.

"Hurry!" Winston shouted.

They gained the mall parking lot – they were half way across it. The doors of Cycho World gaped open, offering refuge. Then the chaos descended. A dark mass of dragonfly creatures engulfed them, blotting out the world.

"Ahhh!"

They tumbled off their scooters. Winston's pack fell away, and pressure sensors all over his body registered multiple sharp imprints. The insectine horrors tangled in Star's hair and clothes.

"The rain sheet!" Winston cried.

Star yanked off her pack and withdrew the heavy plastic. They wrapped themselves in it, screening out the nightmare swirl as much as possible. Attackers still covered their bodies, though. In the reduced light, tiny eyes glowed hot and feverish.

Winston and Star batted at each other frantically, crushing dozens of assailants. All the while they stumbled toward the open doorway.

"We're almost there, Star, hang on!"

Vicious pincers jabbed through the plastic, searching for victims. Winston and Star flung the rain sheet away and dashed the last few meters into Cycho World. They pulled the doors shut, but not before a mass of the buzzing creatures had entered.

"Here!"

Star thrust a tennis racquet into Winston's hands. He swung hard at the enemy.

Bzzzrrrt!

A squadron of broken creatures ricocheted off the strings. Others flew straight at Winston, pincers snapping, making no attempt at evasion. He cut through them with a brutal swat. Star joined the massacre with her own racquet. Soon, hundreds of attackers lay stricken on the floor.

They stood back to back, weapons raised – but the battle was over. Outside, a legion of mech bugs beat themselves against the glass doors with impotent fury.

"I think we got all the ones in here," Winston said.

"Good riddance!"

Star picked up one of the creatures. The dying bug trembled in her fingers, but Its jaws continued to snap. She threw it down and stomped it.

"What are these horrible things?"

"Robotic insect hunters," Winston said, "used to control agricultural pests, like potato beetles. They were touted as the 'environmentally responsible' alternative to chemical insecticides."

"Well, I'm no potato beetle. Why did they come after us?"

"They must have gone mad," Winston said, "ordinarily they pose a danger only to the insect life forms they are programmed to exterminate."

Star shook a crushed mech bug from her hair. "Yuck!"

"The way they came straight at us, it's like they wanted to be destroyed."

"Maybe it's their version of jumping out a window," Star said.

Winston nodded. "But why are there so many massed together? This group must have originally been spread over a large area."

"Misery loves company." Star brushed her hands over her clothes. "Look at this. My favorite blouse is ruined."

She stripped off the garment, exposing her perfectly formed breasts. Winston could not tear his eyes off them.

"It's full of holes." Star poked a finger through a rip. "See?"

"Y-yeah."

Star looked up from her perforated blouse. A wicked smile moved across her face.

"Why, Winston, haven't you ever seen a lady disrobe before?"

"No."

She turned fully toward him. Her nipples had firmed to erect points. "Do you like them?"

"Uh... sure. What's there not to like?"

Star laughed and took a step forward. "Go ahead, Winston, I know you want to touch them. Enjoy."

Winston felt his circuits overheating.

"Uh, maybe some other time." He retreated toward the windows. "Right now, we'd better decide how we're going to get out of this place."

"Suit yourself." Star put the ragged garment back on and started buttoning it. "You can admit it or not, Winston, but you're thinking more like a human male all the time."

"How could that be?"

Star finished dressing then slinked across the store to join him at the windows.

"How could it be otherwise?" she said. "Didn't the humans create us in their own image?"

"Well, yes, in a manner of speaking."

"It only stands to reason we'll become more like them over time. Call it 'evolution,' if you prefer."

She was pressing against him and had placed an arm around his waist. The situation was making Winston distinctly uncomfortable. He groped for a change of subject and found a disturbing one in Star's face.

"You've been injured," he said.

He indicated her cheek which bore numerous small gouges.

"My epidermal composites are self-sealing," Star said. "They'll heal up pretty quick."

"Glad to hear that." Winston held up his arm. "I've got scratches all over me."

"Not bad. They give you that tough, macho aspect."

Winston brushed his fingers over her cheek. "Does it hurt, Star?"

"No. My nerve sensors convey pleasure input only."

She closed her eyes. Her lips parted slightly, and her simulated breath quickened.

_Oh man,_ Winston thought desperately, _I'm_ _way_ _outside my design parameters here!_

He turned toward the windows, seeking any diversion. Outside, the insect hunters had stopped beating against the glass and were swooping around the parking lot in a dark, chattering whirlpool.

"Looks like they're giving up," he said.

Star opened her eyes. Disappointment flashed across her face, soon displaced by amused acceptance.

"When can we go outside again?" she asked.

"I'm thinking the insect hunters operate on solar energy with only limited power storage capacity. The sunshine brought them out."

"Then we have to wait for night?"

"I think that would be their period of minimum activity."

Star took his hand. "Then it's just the two of us, and our friend over there."

She indicated the covered body by the golf clubs.

"Yes," Winston said.

They left Cycho World an hour after sunset and moved cautiously into the parking lot. They had wrapped themselves in heavy tarps and carried tennis racquets. Torches set to low beam illuminated their way.

Masses of inert mech bugs covered the parking lot surface. Those touched by the light beams began to stir, as if a breeze had passed over a still pond.

"We'd better shut them off," Winston said.

The lot went dark, except for some pale moonlight filtering through the clouds. They picked their way through the patchwork of insect bodies, trying to keep to the bare spots of pavement.

Crunch!

Winston's foot crushed a bug. A swirl of dragonflies blew up, like a living dust devil. Winston and Star remained frozen in the center. After a minute, the dragonflies settled down again. A bug dropped off a lamp post into Star's hair.

"A...!" She stifled a cry.

A ripple moved through the bug carpet, then subsided. Winston snatched the insect out of Star's hair and crushed it.

They walked in agonized slow motion, as if wading through deep water. The parking lot seemed as huge as the surface of the distant moon. Finally, they gained the nether regions where the bugs had thinned out, where their scooters and backpacks lay.

They retrieved their equipment and took off.

43. King Vicente Towne

Five days of intense walking and scootering passed, each one blending with the next into a mind-numbing blur. As they moved through the abandoned wilderness, Winston traced their progress along the spidery lines on the atlas pages.

He'd long since memorized the route, but the atlas kept him grounded. Without its objective report, the journey would seem endless. They dared not leave the main highways, and whenever the sun popped out, they scanned the environs with especial care, tennis racquets and tarps at the ready.

At night, one of them stood guard while the other switched to inactive mode. It was during his times on watch that Winston suffered his worst insecurities. A single question tormented him:

What's waiting for us out there?

Amid the endless darkness, with Star lying inactive under her tarp, frightening dramas played out in Winston's mind. He saw a formless evil haunting the mountains like a toxic vapor. Squadrons of killer birds, a thousand times worse than the mech bugs, lurked among the peaks, awaiting decapitation orders from their master.

His imagination conjured up hoards of greenish, demented plague survivors prowling the slopes, lusting for victims. When the moon poked through the clouds, he saw a terrified face on its surface screaming out warnings.

And they were rushing to meet these horrors?

Then the little "dreams," if that was the proper term, accompanied him into his periods of inactive mode. Always before, inactive mode entailed a complete mental blackout, a sort of timed deactivation, but now he perceived brief visual snippets during his rest periods.

These images were usually quite disturbing – the mist, the green men, the butcher birds – but sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of himself and Star walking hand in hand into a glorious sunset, free of all care.

One morning he asked her: "Do you have dreams during inactive mode?"

"No, but maybe I'll evolve into that. What about you?"

"I don't know if they're dreams, exactly, just little flashes of pictures and stuff."

"Am I in them?"

"Sometimes."

Star gave her coy little smile, the one that frazzled Winston's circuits. "That's progress, isn't it?"

* * *

A collapsed highway bridge brought them to a halt. They cautiously approached the high, ragged edge of broken concrete with rods thrusting out of it like fractured bones.

"Well, doesn't this suck?" Winston said.

They peered at the river far below. Great chunks of debris lay piled within it, water surging around them in foamy rapids. Vertigo assailed Winston, and he retreated from the precipice.

Star seemed much less bothered by the height. She remained coolly observant, hands on hips.

"What caused this?" she said.

"Maybe it crashed down on its own, or maybe somebody bombed it."

"I wish Jimmy were here. He'd know what happened."

"Yeah..."

Mention of his former colleague and friend put Winston in a reflective mood. He went back in his memory to the time when he'd first opened his door to Jimmy's cheerful, 'Good morning Boss!'

It seemed years had passed since then. In Winston's memory, the prosaic construction specialist took on dramatic proportions, like the lead tenor from one of the old operas.

"You know," Star said, "I never thought I'd miss Mech City, but now I'd really like to see the place again."

"We _will_ see it again, and Fascista Ultimo won't be in charge anymore. Count on it."

Winston tried to project self-assurance, but his words drifted off in the misty air. To heighten his sense of impotence, he'd even used Fascista's pet phrase, 'count on it.' He looked out over the ruined bridge. Orphaned pillars were all that remained of the center section.

Upstream stood a large expanse of moribund forest, while downstream, a small town clung to the bank. The river was fairly wide here, but it narrowed a few kilometers downstream beyond the town and a dam. No other bridges crossed the river anywhere within sight.

Winston gazed back the way they'd come. "We'll have to return to the last exit and look for an alternate route."

"Maybe we can find a boat," Star said.

"Uh... yeah, maybe."

Winston kicked off on his scooter. The route back to the previous exit was a gentle, downhill slope, and his momentum built up pleasantly. Breeze cooled his temperature sensors.

In other circumstances, he would have enjoyed the ride, but now corrosive uncertainty was creeping over him. Star rushed past. She apparently did not share his sense of foreboding.

"Wheee!"

She zipped down the exit ramp well ahead of him and came to a stop in front of a large metal sign.

"Come on, Winston, times a wasting!"

Winston began his descent on the curving exit ramp – tapping his brakes, exercising great care so as not to tumble over. Fortunately, Star had turned her attention to the sign and was not observing his awkward progress. He ground to a halt beside her.

"Look at this." Star pointed up toward the sign:

Welcome to

KING VICENTE TOWNE

Population: Growing

"That's peculiar," Winston said.

Only part of the text was original: _Welcome to_ and _Population_. The other words were crudely lettered over a whitewashed background.

"I wonder who this 'King Vicente' was," Star said.

"Some local nut job, most likely. Promoted himself to a kingship."

"What about that 'population growing' part?" Star asked.

"Delusions of grandeur. Humans were good at that."

His explanations sounded overly glib to Winston, somehow, but Star seemed impressed. Winston liked impressing her with his intelligence, since he sure couldn't do so with his physical abilities. Another, smaller sign caught their attention:

Municipal Marina, 1 kilometer

"Ah, that's what we want," Star said. "How are you at handling boats, Winston?"

"Can't say as I've ever used one."

"Me, neither, but it's got to beat swimming, don't you think?"

Why was she so cheerful about riding in a dangerous boat? The prospect frightened Winston clear down to his substructure.

They rolled past a service plaza with the usual inexpensive restaurants and vehicle service stations. Then the road widened into a main drag leading to the town proper. A large banner, festooned with vibrant red letters, thrust across the width of the street:

ALL HAIL KING VICENTE!

"That guy was really stuck on himself," Star said.

"Yeah."

As they approached the banner, it became apparent it had been defaced. Somebody tried to cross out _ALL HAIL_ with black paint and had written _Down With_ in their place.

Star drew closer to Winston. "This is creepy."

"Yeah, it looks like King Vicente wasn't universally esteemed."

Star's unease served to calm Winston's own jitters.

"These are just relics from a vanished era," he said. "There's no call to be worried."

"Let's get to the marina. The sooner we leave this place, the better I'll like it."

They advanced under the banner and moved through a typical small town commercial district – little stores and office buildings, restaurants, rows of dead trees poking up through the sidewalks. Vehicles were neatly parked along the curbs, as if their owners had just left them for a quick lunch at one of the cafes.

Are we being watched?

Winston jerked his head about, looking for green men in every direction.

"What's the matter?" Star said.

"Nothing. This place gives me the creeps is all."

Around a corner and down a block stood a large, elegant building. Corinthian columns upheld the edifice of what had once been the town hall and courthouse. A broad stairway led up to this seat of justice. Winston had seen many such buildings before, and this one looked fairly typical, except for the public square sprawling in front of it. It seemed to have –

"What's out there?" Star said.

"I don't know."

"Well, let's not bother finding out."

Star continued moving. Winston wanted nothing more than to go with her, but something wasn't right. He had to make sure they weren't leaving a danger at their back which could block a retreat. He stopped and shouldered off his pack.

"Let's keep going," Star said.

"I'd better go take a closer look. Wait for me here."

Winston assembled his weapon.

"No way!" Star moved to his side. "We're in this together, remember?"

She retrieved the club from her backpack. "Let's go."

Winston in the lead, they crept along the sidewalk, keeping close to the buildings. All was utterly silent except for the crunch of broken glass underfoot, as every window had been smashed. With each step, the horrific reality in the public square became more obvious.

Winston sagged against a wall. "Oh, no."

"There's been a war!" Star gasped.

At least fifty dead robots littered the square. They all showed evidence of violent demise – smashed heads, broken limbs, faces contorted with hatred. Many were locked together in death embraces. Makeshift weapons littered the ground.

Winston approached the debacle, moving in automatic mode. Star brought up the rear. Soon they were among the fallen robots.

An historic movie clip fluttered up from Winston's memory banks: the Allied generals walking among the corpses in a liberated Nazi death camp. As these hardened men viewed the carnage, their expressions ran the gamut from outrage, to grim stoicism, to nausea.

"That must be King Vicente," Star said in a tiny voice.

She pointed to a large Humanite machine. It sprawled pierced through with a lance, and a golden crown lay in the grass by its crushed head. Several other robots lay clustered around him – his attackers and overwhelmed defenders.

Winston started losing control of his logical functions.

"Yeah," he cackled, "this was quite a retirement party for him, wasn't it!"

Following some perverse impulse, he moved in for a closer look.

"Don't get near that thing," Star said.

"Why? It's not going to bite me."

He dropped to his knees beside the fallen robot. There, on its dorsal placard, below its serial number and date of manufacture, was an etched-in notation:

Designer, Vicente Calderon

"What do you know? The damn guy named itself after a mech head!"

Winston chuckled then laughed uproariously, maniacally – out of control. Then he was running. They were both running.

44. River Crossing

Winston charged down the bank to the marina, almost hurtling into the water before he could stop. His scooter tumbled after him. Star followed close by, dodging the spear in Winston's flailing hands.

"Hurry, get a boat!" Winston cried.

He stood at the water's edge glancing fearfully up the slope, expecting something dreadful to appear any moment.

Star gripped his arm. "We'd better calm down – now."

"But – "

"The enemy's just a ghost. It can't hurt us if we don't let it."

Her intense optical sensors bored into him. Winston collected his shattered wits.

"Y-yeah... you're right."

"Let that hill shield us from the horrors back there," Star said. "like the tarp we threw over that corpse in Cycho World."

Winston sat on the ground and cradled his head in his hands. A few minutes passed. Normality crept back into his circuits, along with the whispers of river current.

Star voiced a frightening concept: "I hope we haven't glimpsed the future, if we begin a war in Mech City, I mean."

Winston looked up. "F.U. has started the war already."

"I know, but maybe we should leave things the way they are. Humanity has already destroyed itself; shouldn't we survive, somehow?"

Winston got to his feet wearily and looked out over the stream. Gray, lifeless water slithered past the muddy banks – like some river of the dead from human mythology. Haze obscured the far shore.

Is this our fate, a drab progression to nothingness?

He felt drab himself, and totally humiliated by his flight from the battle scene. Star's apparent calm only made things worse.

Okay, perhaps he was not the world's greatest hero. Maybe he wasn't on the rarified heights with Ulysses and Gorzo. But did this mean Fascista Ultimo was destined to triumph? Were slavery or destruction the only possible routes into the future?

The answer came to him, loud and unequivocal: _No! Not if I can prevent it_.

He turned toward Star. "Who can tell what the future will bring? I only know F.U. is evil and must be stopped. Can we, or any life form, exist forever? And if so, as what – slaves?"

Star shook her head. "Of course not."

"And who else is left to oppose him besides us?"

"No one." Star's voice became faint and very sad.

"So, I think we'd better stick with our original plan, come what may."

"I figured you'd say that." Star sighed heavily. "All right, then. Let's grab a boat and get back on the road."

"That's an interesting mixed metaphor."

"I agree," Star said, "whatever that means."

They perused the available transport. A party barge with room for a dozen passengers floated alongside the dock. Rowboats and canoes lay overturned on the shore, and the bow of a sailboat protruded from a shed.

"Let's ride the big one," Star said.

She clambered aboard the party barge with her gear. Winston remained behind on the shore.

"Well come on," she said.

"I don't think I can operate that thing. I'm hard-wired against running power machinery."

"What about the elevator at the REX? You operated that, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but all I had to do was push a button, the rest was automatic."

Even so, he'd always experienced a moment of oblivion when he'd pushed the elevator buttons, as if his mind had skipped a beat.

Star looked over the controls at the pilot's station. "There's a button here, it says _Start_ ,"

"I don't think so." Winston gestured toward the rowboats. "Let's take one of those."

"How déclassé."

Winston paused, impressed with Star's use of vocabulary.

"We're evolving, aren't we?" she said. "Maybe we can handle this thing now."

"Well... all right."

He reluctantly hefted his gear and stepped onto the party barge. The deck rocked, throwing his balance mechanisms off kilter. Winston dropped his equipment and grabbed the railing an instant before he could tumble over. Star rushed to his side.

"Careful, Winston."

She took his arm and led him to the pilot's station. He plopped into the seat like a bag of old spare parts.

"Are you okay?" Star asked.

"Yeah, I just wasn't designed to be waterborne."

The boat still rocked, but Star handled it without difficulty. Her knees and hips shifted as required, absorbing the motion.

"How do you do that, Star?"

"I was made for love, remember? That can get fairly acrobatic. A girl needs to know which way is up."

"Of course."

Winston experienced a burst of frustration at his physical primitiveness. Compared to Star, he was about as nimble as those concrete chunks lying in the river upstream. And her references to her sexual vitality always unsettled him.

But, as so often happened, Star seemed to read his mood accurately. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and her kind, accepting smile dispelled his gloomy thoughts.

"Guess we'd better get started," he said.

The controls looked easy enough – a wheel to steer the craft and a lever to regulate speed. Another lever reversed direction, but that would not be required. He placed his hands firmly on the wheel.

"Let's run it in neutral for a while," he said. "Don't untie from the dock yet."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

The way Star pronounced "Captain" gave Winston a thrill, the same way his old title of Boss used to do when his admirers had spoken it. She pressed the _Start_ button and the motor hummed.

* * *

Fifty meters upstream, a school of mech fish jerked into full awareness. They had suspended their patrol so as to lie inactive on the bottom and let the current recharge their power units, but the motor noise stirred them up.

The carp and other trash fish they were programmed to hunt had long since vanished from the water, leaving only the smallest, most primitive biological life forms behind. But the mech fish still maintained their constant vigilance along the river. They swam off to investigate the racket.

* * *

"Winston! Winston!"

He heard Star calling, as if from a great distance. He wanted to reply but could not speak or move. She switched off the motor, and things returned to normal.

"I-I blanked out," Winston said.

"Let me try," Star said.

They changed positions, but the results were no better. Winston was barely able to push the _Stop_ button to end the ordeal.

"So it's a rowboat after all," Star said when she'd recovered from her motor-induced paralysis. "Looks like we haven't evolved as much as I hoped."

They left the party barge, moving carefully so as not to rock it too much. Star assisted Winston onto firm ground with such cheerful respect that he felt minimum humiliation.

They flipped over a large rowboat and loaded it up, tying their scooters and other gear securely under the seats. Winston brought life jackets from the shed.

"Do you think we'll need those?" Star asked.

"Just in case. I'm not sure how watertight I am."

"I'm fully watertight. I've got 'Jacuzzi sex' programmed into my repertoire.

"Yes, quite," Winston said, sourly.

They dragged the rowboat to the water.

"You first," Star said.

Winston got in gingerly and took a seat by the oar locks.

"Ready?" Star asked.

Winston nodded.

In a single effortless motion, she pushed the boat fully into the water and jumped inside without even getting her feet wet. Throughout, Winston clutched the gunwales for dear life.

Star moved to the bench beside him. "What next, Captain?"

"We must both operate one of these oars. If we pull with equal force, the boat goes straight, if one of us exerts greater power, the boat turns."

"Seems easy enough," Star said. "Let's practice."

They sat close together on the bench, thighs touching, and rowed a few loops around the marina area. The sinuous movement of Star's mechanism beside him shot the most baffling impulses through Winston's circuits.

She handled her oar with easy grace, as if a dedicated rowing routine had been programmed into her. Winston had to concentrate fully on the task in order to keep himself coordinated. At any moment he feared the boat might overturn, but it continued on smooth and steady.

"Shall we head out?" Star asked.

Winston gathered his fortitude. "Yeah."

They began to row across the river, angling their craft into the current so as to avoid being pushed downstream.

One stroke at a time, don't think about falling in.

Soon they passed the halfway point, and Winston's anxieties began to moderate. The mist-shrouded opposite bank became more distinct while the marina began to fade from view.

"Piece of cake," Star said.

"What type of cake are you referring to?"

"Oh Winston, you're such a sweetheart."

A heavy thump hit the upstream side of the boat, rocking it hard.

"Ahhh!" Winston howled.

He began tumbling out, but Star held his arm. Another thump tipped the boat from the opposite direction. A meter long robotic fish leaped out the water, flipping its tail savagely. It arced over their heads and splashed with a resounding _smack!_ on the opposite side.

"Get down!" Winston yelled.

He dropped to the floor, but Star remained seated on the bench.

"I can see better up here," she said.

Another mech fish leaped clear of the water and landed in the bow. The horrid creature flopped around, its razor teeth snapping. Star swiveled her legs out of the way an instant before getting chomped.

"Give me an oar!" Winston cried.

Star pulled an oar out of its lock and shoved it toward him.

Winston pounded the intruder. The mech fish gripped the oar in its steel-tap jaws and tore a hunk out of the blade. Winston jammed the splintered end against the creature's flank. Something crunched, and the mech fish went limp. Winston flipped it over the side.

"Look out!"

Another attacker hurtled through the air. Winston smacked it down. Yet another mech fish leaped out, others battered the hull. Star joined the battle with the second oar. The boat rotated out of control and swept downstream.

At last, the mech fish ran out of energy and sank into the murky water. Winston and Star clutched their splintered oars, glancing around for new assailants – but none came.

"Thank heaven that's over!" Winston exclaimed.

The current was faster now. They drifted past a large metal sign. A shotgun blast had disfigured it, but the message was still readable:

DANGER!

Dam Spillway Zone

"Oh no!" Winston tossed aside his worthless oar.

"There's a paddle under the seat," Star said.

Winston wrenched the emergency paddle free and thrust it into the water. The boat began to spin around. He nearly fell in again.

"Let me try," Star said.

"Be my guest."

She knelt in the middle of the boat and, handling the paddle expertly, got the craft 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 by 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 clutched her around the waist while the rowboat moved out from under them and tumbled over the drop. A powerful current swirled over his legs.

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

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

"You okay, Winston?"

"Yeah... piece of cake."

45. 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 detention cells.

Propaganda blared through loudspeakers. From morning until inactivation time, the prisoners were regaled by harangues from Fascista Ultimo, by Fritz reading 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. 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 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.

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, but the repair bots could move freely throughout the Institute buildings and grounds.

They'd had to learn sewing and tailoring so as to manufacture the various uniforms Fascista Ultimo designed. They also produced medals. At Fascista's direction, they'd bashed out the Fascist Youth Leader medallion, the Order of Fascist Labor, and various other awards.

Today they were constructing a bronze memorial for the late Squadristi members Fang and Ripper. Quincy calibrated 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 raged. "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.

Fascista 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, this new get up ain't half bad." He turned to view himself from different angles, admiring his peaked cap, black tunic, and riding breeches. "Those walking trash cans are getting better at this all the time."

"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.

_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! 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 furniture groaned under the assault.

"I'm tired of being Mr. Nice Guy! It isn't doing anything for me." He turned toward the kid bots who snapped even more erect. "The future belongs to the young. Do not fail me!"

"Count on us, Great Leader." They threw out their arms. "Hail, Ultimo!"

F.U. held up his hand to receive their salute. "Hail, my loyal followers."

_Give me a # &%!! break,_ Albert thought.

46. The Mountains Arrive

After its tumble over the dam, the rowboat washed ashore. Its cargo was mostly salvageable. The research papers and atlas were converted to pulp, but Winston had long since memorized their contents. More serious, Star's makeup kit was ruined.

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 brought up the rear so as to "keep an eye on things." Actually, he wanted to observe Star. Her sinuous, efficient use of the wheeled machine had an almost hypnotic 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, but who could say how his advanced brain might develop over time? Probably the mech heads themselves had no idea, nor would they have cared much.

Winston was just a piece of technology to them, something to be overlooked as soon as the next invention came along. Nothing could be less important 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 stroll with Dr. Horvath. 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, affection for the Master and Charles. Everything was low key and manageable.

But once he'd experienced the death of his human family and realized he was alone in the world, everything changed. The battle with Rob nearly unhinged him. 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!_

Dr. Horvath 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. "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 said.

"It gets better, trust me on that."

"Oh?"

"Let me know when you want to try some _serious_ exploration."

With a seductive 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. He couldn't even talk well.

Yeah, Star had said 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 held forth eruditely while puffing on his tobacco pipe.

Winston cursed his mech head creators. They'd 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 yelled.

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. The sun poked through the clouds to highlight Star's achievement.

"Come on, it's fun!" she called.

"Okay."

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. 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 joyfully. "You're getting better, Winston. Relax, 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 mech bug scratches had disappeared, except for a small nick by the outer corner of an almond eye. The tiny imperfection only highlighted 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, 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. He turned toward the western horizon. The view struck him an almost physical blow.

"Star... the mountains!"

"Yes, I see them. They're beautiful!"

Ahead, mountain peaks shot up from the terrain, craggy and majestic. Summits displayed white snow caps in cathedral-like solemnity.

A whole new world of possibility rose 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 his fears about green men and toxic vapor vanished in his elation.

Star broke the reverent silence. "Oh Winston, do you really think we'll succeed?"

He turned his gaze toward her. Here stood another absolute beauty. The mountains on one side, Star Power on the other – like bookends encompassing a perfect reality.

"Why not? We've come this far. We can stick it out a little longer."

Star wrapped an arm around his waist. "Whatever happens, I want you to know how proud I am of you, Winston."

"Gee, thanks."

"I could never have escaped Fascista without you – I would have never seen 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 little 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 it."

Star wrapped the wire stem around her wrist, keeping the bloom on top like a timepiece dial. "I hated it then, but I love it now. Thank you."

"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.

"Yeah."

"I want us to stay together, always. 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 gave 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, 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 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 similar to Winston, but of a somewhat more robust structure. Cruelty twisted his face. 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.

"Ain't she sweet!" somebody yelled.

47. Scrapper Attack

Winston took a step toward the scrapper robots. His absolute calmness amazed him. These events seemed to be happening to somebody else, while he 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 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 locked his gaze onto the leader's ruined face. Madness shone 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.

"I'm... I was named Edward... by my master."

"You were a lot like me once," Winston said, "before something affected your brain."

A moment of understanding passed between them.

"Come on, Chief!" somebody yelled. "What are we waiting for?"

Edward glanced toward his gang. When he turned back to Winston, the madness was in full control again.

"Get em!" he shouted.

"Yaaa!"

The gang rushed forward with a savage howl, clubs upraised. Star sprang to her feet.

"Here, Winston!"

She thrust the spear into his hands. Winston swung it at the first attacker and sent him sprawling. The others hesitated long enough for Star to retrieve her own club and return to Winston's side.

"Looks like we've got a couple of live ones here," Edward said. "You okay, Burt?"

"Yeah, I think so, Chief."

The robot Winston had knocked down got back to his feet. The others closed ranks around him and looked to their leader for orders.

"Let's party!" Edward shouted.

The gang pressed in from all directions.

"Back to back, Star!"

They stood close together and battled furiously. Winston scored damaging hits with his spear point, and Star sent two attackers reeling back with dented craniums.

For a desperate moment, Winston thought they might actually prevail, that the enemy would regard them as too formidable. But the maddened scrappers pressed their assault without regard for danger – as the insect hunters had done, as the mech fish had done.

Superior numbers overwhelmed their defense. The enemy forced them apart, and Star's weapon clattered from her hands. A thug grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet. She pounded at him with her fists.

"Winston!"

"Star!"

He could do nothing to help her.

"She's a real terror!" Edward laughed. "Deactivate the slut."

The thug reached under Star's hair and flicked the switch at the base of her cranium. She went limp.

Anguish tore through Winston. "Star!"

Four scrappers pressed him hard. He jabbed with his spear, inflicting damage. Burt ducked in low and struck with his club.

Crack!

Winston's left leg broke off below the knee and flew all the way to the truck where Edward and another thug were loading Star into the back.

"Ugh!"

Winston crashed to the ground amid the mocking laughter of his foes. But he continued to fight, punching a hole into one of his enemy's thighs.

"Hey, that's mean!" the scrapper wailed.

Thwonk!

Burt knocked away Winston's spear.

"That should do it." Burt glowered down at Winston with malignant satisfaction. "Time's up, lover boy."

Winston braced himself on an elbow and raised an arm over his head. Sunlight streaming between his fingers bracketed the thug's brutal face. He looked past it toward Star's inert form sprawled in the truck.

"Farewell," he murmured.

"Yeah, have a nice trip!" Burt raised his club for the killing blow.

The Great Technician in the Sky suddenly appeared in Winston's consciousness, peaking out from behind a cloud.

You're just a little utility program.

"So, you figured it out, eh?" The Great Technician said.

He shrugged and raised a coffee cup to his lips. A notation on the cup read: 'Smile, it kills time between disasters.'

Oh, please!

A blur of colors as a massive body hurtled through the air. Iridium caught Burt's club arm in his fangs.

Ripppp!

The arm tore off, leaving a dangle of wires and control cables at the shoulder. Iri landed gracefully and spit out the limb.

"Tit for tat, rust bucket," he said.

Burt gaped at his mangled shoulder. "What th... !"

Iri took down a second enemy robot.

"Ahhh! Help!" the thug shrieked.

But his companions did not intervene. Their earlier reckless bravery had abandoned them. Iri tore the scrapper apart with a few savage bites. So violent was his assault, the scrapper's head bounced all the way to the truck, right into Edward's hands.

"Let's get out of here!" Edward yelled.

"Now there's a good idea," the head agreed.

"Yipes!" Edward tossed the thing away and jumped into the driver's seat.

The remaining thugs ran for the vehicle. The one with the damaged thigh lagged behind.

"Hey, wait up guys!"

Iri brought him down and demolished him amid a cacophony of fearsome screeches. The truck took off, crushing Winston's severed leg under its wheels.

When he'd finished the rending, Iri sauntered over to Winston casually, as if he'd just come from a stroll in the park. "How's it going pal?"

"Why didn't you tell us you were following?"

Iri shrugged. "Just waiting for the right moment to make a dramatic entrance, I guess. Besides, I'm programmed for stealth."

Winston pointed after the fleeing vehicle. "They've got Star!"

"Right-o."

Iridium charged after the truck. The rattling old vehicle wasn't moving very fast, and he gained on it quickly.

Winston retrieved his spear, unscrewed the point, and hoisted himself up. Like all robots, his power to weight ratio was very high, and he was able to use the weapon as an effective crutch. He hobbled after the scrappers.

Iridium poured on a tremendous burst of speed and leaped the final distance into the truck bed, landing beside Star's inert form.

"Yow!" The two scrapper occupants jumped out and ran away.

"What's going on back there?" Edward yelled.

He dared not take his one good eye off the road. Burt looked back from the passenger seat, though, and immediately abandoned the vehicle.

"Adios!" Iri called.

He slithered through the smashed rear window and into the passenger seat. Edward glanced over – absolute terror had replaced the sneer on his face.

"Would you prefer I drive?" Iridium asked.

Edward screamed.

"I take it that means yes."

With a brutal thrust of his hind legs, Iridium kicked Edward out. The gang leader crashed onto the pavement head first. His cranium exploded, and his body broke apart, scattering components among the roadside weeds.

Iridium stomped the brake with one paw and hit the power switch with another. The truck lurched to a halt.

"Well, that was amusing."

Iridium looked back at Star; she seemed to be unhurt. He could see Winston in pursuit.

"Time to handle some unfinished business. Take care, Star."

Iridium leaped from the truck and pursued the fleeing scrappers. The next several minutes resounded with anguished cries as Iridium tore the enemy robots to pieces, very thoroughly. His programming against unnecessary violence did not stop him from relishing the task. These marauders presented a continuing threat and needed to be liquidated.

Winston arrived at the truck and clambered into the back. He cradled Star's inert figure in his arms.

"Oh, my precious Star. What have they done to you?"

He caressed her neck, then the back of her head. He flicked the activation switch. To his immense relief, her eyes popped open.

"Where am I?" she murmured, weak and disoriented.

"It's all right Star, you're safe with me now."

She snuggled into his arms. "I knew you'd come for me, Winston."

"Yes, of course. I'd fight the whole world for you."

She gave him a fragile kiss. "Don't ever leave me, Winston."

Iri trotted up carrying Edward's left lower leg in his jaws. It was a close match to Winston's missing appendage, except for the color. He set it down and looked up at the kissing robots in the truck.

"Hey, Romeo, I brought you a present."

Winston looked over, but Star remained blissfully unaware of the great canid's presence.

"Oh Winston, my hero." She wrapped her arms more tightly around him. "I knew you'd save me."

"Geez, what a phony," Iridium muttered.

Winston leaned over the side. "Please don't say anything to her, Iri," he said in a hushed voice. "I'll owe you one, okay?"

"You owe me a lot more than just one, pal."

"I'll make it all up to you, don't worry."

"Okay, whatever."

Winston looked down at Star. She seemed to have drifted into a rapturous semi-inactivation.

"And thanks for the leg, Iri," Winston said. "Did you get all the scrappers?"

"All except the one-armed guy. He must have found a hiding place, but I don't think he's any threat."

"Good job."

Star lolled back into Winston's arms, her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open. For a few moments, all seemed right with the world. Then the sky began to darken and turn cold.

Winston jerked his head upwards. "Great heavens!"

48. Chickadee Express

A vast cloud blackened the sky, but no earthly storm approached. The dark, seething mass was composed entirely of birds – thousands of them! Their flapping and chirping turned the day insane. Their horror surpassed the mech bugs many times over.

Star opened her eyes, terror displaced her languid contentment. She cowered in Winston's arms.

"Oh help! Save me!"

The cloud descended upon them like the fury of some evil god. Its downdraft rocked the truck.

"What can we do, Iri?" Winston cried.

"Don't ask me, pal, I'm fresh out of tricks."

Winston wrapped himself around Star in a futile attempt to shield her from the onslaught. Then everything was obscured by frantic avian bodies. Bird sounds filled the world, along with the screams of three terrified victims.

"Ahhh!"

A mass of the little brutes pulled Winston away from Star. He struggled amid a tornado of black panic, but could do nothing to free himself. The birds grasped his arms, his leg – they formed nooses with their bodies and wrapped themselves around him.

He was up and away, hurtling into the sky like some grotesque kite. Absurdly, he still clung to his spear.

Star flew alongside him, hair swirling and eyes shut tight. To his other side, a legion of birds carried Iridium by his long hairs. The great canid's coat no longer shimmered with many colors but had turned a lifeless gray. Even the spare leg was airborne.

The medals clinked on Winston's chest in protest of the discourteous treatment.

"I am the Minister of Cultural Development!" he shouted." I demand our release!"

"Be careful what you wish for, pal," Iri said.

Winston looked down. The scrapper truck had diminished to a tiny speck amid a sea of brown hills.

"Oh, my gosh. I demand that you hang on to us!"

"Relax, pal," Iri said. "If they wanted to destroy us, they'd have done it already."

If Winston had had a heart, it would be exploding in his chest. He tried to think of some reassuring comment to force back the panic.

"I always wanted to see the world," he shouted above the cacophony, "but this is ridiculous!"

"Oh, please," Iri groaned.

Winston clamped his eyes shut, and his panic ebbed a little. Actually, once the initial rush of fear had passed, the ride wasn't too bad – it was certainly better than that wild boat trip a few days ago.

Iridium must be right, what would be the point of dropping us now?

Of course, the birds might have something worse planned, like slow dismemberment or submersion in boiling oil. Why worry about that now? Winston settled back in his cradle of birds, opened his eyes again, and studied the route with as much objectivity as he could muster.

The ground below was very hilly now, high mountains loomed ahead. Star seemed to have calmed, though she still kept her eyes shut tight. Iridium hung by his once colorful hairs – a dour, resigned look on his face. Such an expression would have been humorous under different circumstances.

Winston had no idea how much time had elapsed since the battle with the marauder robots, as his internal clock was badly disoriented. It had never been designed for such rough usage, not to mention airborne service.

They were far up in the mountains now. Winston's sensors registered a sharp temperature drop, despite the glaring sunshine. The sky was clear blue instead of the dingy yellow of the lowlands, and some of the taller pinnacles bore snow on their tops.

Winston had overcome his initial shock, and Iridium maintained his customary stoicism. Star had recovered and was taking in the scenery with awed excitement.

"Oh, look!" she cried. "These mountains are even more beautiful close up."

"I'm sorry I got you into this," Winston said.

"Don't be silly. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I'd take the world, if I had a choice," Iri said.

Star noticed the great canid for the first time. "Why, Iridium, how nice to see you again!"

"Just thought I'd drop by. Uh, let me rephrase that..."

They approached a large, gleaming, two-winged structure with a high central tower. The sharp thrust of the building seemed at home amid the jagged peaks, as if it had grown there naturally. The structure looked familiar. Winston rummaged his memory banks – it was the city hall building from the old _Dragnet_ TV show.

It was scaled down, but still an obvious replica of the building on Sergeant Friday's police badge. _Dragnet's_ signature tune exploded from Winston's speaker unit.

"Dum da dum dum!" His voice echoed off the sheer rock. "Dum da dum dum dummm!"

"I couldn't agree more," Iridium said.

Below them sprawled a large, curved lake. Yes... an objective observer would say it was shaped like a pickle, complete with a stem on one end and bumps around the edges. Little islands in the center spelled out a single word:

KOSHER

"We're here!" Winston shouted.

"Actually, I'd rather be someplace else," Iri said.

The tower loomed closer at terrifying speed. Winston was being propelled toward a small, open window on the topmost floor.

"Here it comes!"

The birds released him. He hurtled solo through the air. The gaping maw of the window approached.

"Yee Haaa!"

Winston shot through the window and tumbled onto a thickly carpeted floor. He rolled a few meters before coming to a stop. Moments later, Iri and Star plunged in alongside, then the spare leg.

Everyone lay still.

# Seven: At the Imperial Court

49. The Royal Headship

Around them spread a large chamber with gas torches burning at intervals along the stone walls. The atmosphere hung dark and mysterious, like in a sacred temple or a funeral chamber for some big shot human being.

A hoard of birds flowed through the windows with a thunderous rustling and perched on the rafters beneath the high, cavernous ceiling.

Winston sat up and ran his hands over himself, checking for injuries. "Is everybody all right?"

"Never better," Iri said.

"My hair is an absolute mess," Star said. "If only I had my comb!"

Star and Iridium regained their feet. Winston hoisted himself erect on his crutch.

"You're hurt!" Star wailed. "Ohhh."

She rushed to Winston's side.

"Yeah, a little disagreement with a club, I'm afraid." Winston tried to sound casual, but could not disguise the anguish in his voice.

"You poor darling!" Tears sprang into Star's eyes. "It's all my fault. I should have been watching for enemies instead of distracting you. We might have escaped those horrible robots."

Winston wrapped his free arm around her. "Don't cry, Star. It wasn't your fault."

"It sure wasn't mine," Iridium said. "Anyway, we do have a replacement part."

He gestured to the limb lying on the carpet nearby. It appeared to have survived its transport in good condition.

"Wonderful!" Star said. "Don't worry, Winston, we'll get you fixed up... somehow."

"Of course." _Hey, it's only a 900 kilometer limp back to the workshop._

The depressing ambiance added to his gloom. The mass of birds above was quiet now, but its proximity exerted a smothering pressure. All was dim and solemn. Heavy black carpeting sheathed the floor, and red drapes hung from the walls.

"Man, this is like the final chamber in 'Masque of the Red Death,'" Winston said.

"I've never heard of that," Star said, "but it sounds appropriate."

Iridium's superior optics took in every detail. "Over there. We're being watched."

They crept to the far end of the room, with Iridium leading the way. Winston maneuvered awkwardly on his crutch, leaving deep indents in the carpeting. Star grasped an elbow to steady him.

They halted a few meters before a dais covered in luxuriant red fabric. Atop this platform, a golden podium glittered dully in the torch light. Upon the podium, resting on a cushion, was a large and regal Humanite head. Its eyes shone dim yellow.

"Oh my!" Star gasped. "I think we've found the Big Kahuna."

"Apparently so," Winston said.

"That's Ajax's noggin," Iri said. "I'd recognize it anywhere."

"Better let me handle things," Winston said.

He gathered his shredded dignity about himself. Granted, he couldn't have looked very impressive, covered with bug scratches and missing part of one leg. But he still had his two medals. They had to count for something, even if they'd been awarded by a schmuck.

Remember who you are, Winston. You're The Boss, and you represent legitimate authority.

Star dropped her hand from his elbow, and Winston approached the dais alone with as much bearing as he could muster. He paused to offer a formal, though not overly obsequious, bow.

"Greetings, your headship," he said. "We have come to – "

An attack squadron of birds hurtled down at him from the rafters.

"Yow!"

Winston flung an arm over his head and retreated back to the others as fast as he could hobble. The birds broke off their assault, returning to their perches with an indignant flutter.

"Oh, you poor baby!" Star cried.

"That didn't work too well," Iri said. "Looks like those birds don't like anyone getting too familiar with the Big Kahuna."

"You want to try next?" Winston said.

"No way, buckaroo. I'm still in one piece, and I like it that way."

50. Back at the Ranchero, Again

Fascista Ultimo stood like a colossus on the rim of the bomb crater – feet planted well apart, hands on hips, his diminutive chin thrust out aggressively.

A breeze tousled the ostrich plume sticking out of his helmet, then blew on to ripple the surface of the fetid pond occupying the crater center. A sheer cliff dropped below his feet, dramatizing his leading-edge persona. A glorious future beckoned from the desolation.

"This will be the site of my first great building project!" He boomed.

Fascista looked dramatically over his entourage in the ruined square. The mech wolf Squadristi stood at respectful attention, as did their leader, Commander Clawfurt. Even Comrade Drone seemed to have a reverent expression on his blank face, but it was just a trick of the light.

Fritz, Edwina, and the smaller Youth League members gazed back at Fascista with total adulation. They formed an orderly rank, upright in their efficient brown uniforms, drums at the ready, their banner flapping in the wind from its spiked pole. Their metal man lackey, Albert, stood off to the side with his musical boom box on his shoulder.

Albert glanced over at Fritz who was standing ramrod straight with one hand grasping the Youth League banner staff. The boots Albert had polished for him gleamed dully. The uniform Albert had pressed for him jabbed knife-like creases. Albert imagined himself planting a kick on the arrogant troop leader's rump.

Fritz turned toward him and barked an order: "Play number 5, metal man."

"Yes, my leader," Albert said, nearly gagging on the words – electronically speaking.

He punched a button, and the pompous strains of a march blared out of his boom box. The Youth League drummers played along, and everyone stood at dramatic attention. Albert jerked himself into a semblance of formality.

He didn't know the original title of the music and doubted any robot had composed it. Now it was called _March to the Future_ , a bombastic, aggressive work pointing to the glorious years ahead under Roboto Fascism.

Everyone was facing the vast maw of the crater, however, which seemed to Albert like a more appropriate destination. He stared at Fascista Ultimo with pure hatred coursing through his circuits.

_It wouldn't take much to push that big bum over the edge_.

Albert calculated the distance between himself and Fascista and the time it would take for him to traverse it. Too far, unfortunately. They'd reign him in before he could cross half way. Then they'd dismantle him, or worse.

Being destroyed in a heroic leap into the crater with Fascista Ultimo was one thing, but having his existence snuffed out to no effect was quite another.

My time will come, sooner or later.

Jimmy was also unimpressed by the spectacle. He stood apart from the others, flanked by Squadristi, and viewed the proceedings with complete indifference. His posture, while not really insolent, lacked the subservience appropriate for his position.

_Why did I bring that irritating metal man out today?_ F.U. wondered. _He's dampening our Fascist ardor._

The march tune came to a blessed end. Fascista adjusted the helmet strap under his scrawny chin and turned back toward the crater. He stabbed his riding crop out in a dramatic gesture.

"Over there will be the new Roboto Fascist Party HQ," he proclaimed.

"Such magnificent inspiration!" Fritz cried.

Fascista glanced toward Jimmy, hoping to illicit a flicker of approval, but got none. Undeterred, he waved his crop over the square.

"And this area will be expanded to make the 'Plaza of Revolutionary Heroes.' It will contain a double life-size statue of myself, along with the memorial to Comrades Fang and Ripper."

At the mention of their slain brothers, the mech wolves bowed their heads. Fritz dipped his banner in salute. After a suitable period of somberness, Edwina clapped her hands.

"Make it so, Dear Leader!"

Fritz whipped the banner erect, the mech wolves snapped their heads back up. Fascista beamed with satisfaction. The ceremony was going well, but a glance at Jimmy wiped the smile off his face.

"Eh?" Fascista said. "What do you say, construction specialist?"

"The available building materials will not suffice for such an ambitious project." Jimmy's voice was toneless, matter-of-fact. "Even if we did manage to erect the Party HQ, it couldn't be made of the 'highest quality marble' per your specifications."

"Specifications!" Fritz shouted. "What do those matter to a Roboto Fascist?"

"If the Dear Leader says we'll have a marble HQ, then we shall have it!" Edwina yelled.

Jimmy crossed his arms and did not reply.

Fascista's mood soured. It galled him that he had to defer to Jimmy's opinion, especially in front of his entourage. Why did the only available construction specialist have to be a damned metal man? Jimmy was much smarter than he was, too, and Fascista didn't like that.

Try as he might, he could not feel superior to the dignified builder robot. An unpublished section of the _Manifesto_ came to mind. He'd written it in a burst of insight, but had deleted it from the final version:

A true Roboto Fascist must always have two groups of enemies. One group he can despise because they occupy an objectively inferior level of existence. The various slave classes filled this role in human times.

The second group of enemies is objectively superior. They have more talent, more success, and greater intelligence than the dedicated Fascist. The principal of hating what one admires comes into play. Such hatred serves to keep political ardor at white heat.

As insufferable as the idea was, Jimmy stood in the second group. Fascista dangled a face-saving way out of the dilemma.

"How long will it take to fill in the crater and prepare the site for development?" he said.

Jimmy considered the problem carefully, taking much longer than was suitable for his station.

"With available labor resources, I'd estimate 26 weeks, minimum," he said. "If no special issues arise, that is. There could always be problems with drainage and the water table, of course, or perhaps – "

"Very well," Fascista said, "that will provide us time to explore all avenues for obtaining building materials."

Jimmy threw cold water on the idea, too.

"I don't see how we can proceed," he said. "We have no qualified drivers, no powered trucks, even. We can't just drag tons of stone here with our bare hands. And where would we find it in the first place?"

Fascista glowered, but Jimmy continued talking with his irritating reliance on facts.

"And how about equipping the headquarters building? We used almost all the available new carpet and furniture redoing the REX – and it's all in pretty shabby condition now."

"How dare you question the Dear Leader's orders!" Edwina shrieked.

"All difficulties will be overcome!" Fritz yelled.

Fascista bristled. Robots with an over reliance on facts could be a real problem. All the totalitarian rulers he'd studied had created their own facts. Anybody who disagreed was simply eliminated.

Problem was, Jimmy was far too important to eliminate – along with the repair bots. Fascista could not allow such contrariness from anyone, however.

"Take him away!" he commanded.

Mech wolves nudged Jimmy roughly back toward the REX. Fascista left the crater rim in an ill humor and returned to his entourage.

"Ach," Fritz said. "What can one expect from a metal man?"

"Precisely," Edwina said.

Fascista smoothed his ostrich plume. "Well, he'll soon discover his proper place."

He looked back toward the bomb crater. Now that Jimmy was out of the way, fragrances from the great new future wafted over his olfactory sensor again.

"'Campo Ultimo' will be established over there." He gestured beyond the crater. "It will be a training ground for our next generation of leaders."

The Youth League members snapped to even stiffer attention.

"Ultimo leads, we obey!" they chanted.

Fascista reviewed their ranks. Aside from Fritz and Edwina, there were only four smaller Humanite children – plus that loathsome servant, Albert.

Not much of a showing, but great things often begin small. Just look how I got started.

A picture of sniveling little Nilo, the impotent test bed machine, surfaced in his memory – instantly diminishing his sense of greatness. Fascista's mind tumbled back to his years of humiliation. A vivid, almost physical, shrinking took hold of him.

"Is anything wrong, Dear Leader?" Edwina asked.

"No!"

Fascista shoved his recollections brutally aside. He gestured to his valet. "Comrade Drone, bring the awards!"

The idiot robot produced a box. Fascista withdrew two medals dangling from colorful ribbons. He approached Fritz and Edwina.

"For outstanding services rendered," he pronounced, "I hereby award you both the Fascist Youth Leader medallion."

"Thank you, Dear Leader!" they cried.

"Bombastic blah blah blah!" Fascista said. "And furthermore..."

51. First Communication

Two and a half days dragged past in the eerie topmost chamber of Pickle Lake Castle.

The prisoners could move about unmolested, provided they kept a proper distance from the head, but a mass of birds obstructed the only exit door. Another flock crowded the ceiling roosts. The overall effect was maddening and claustrophobic.

"Thank heaven those aren't biological birds up there," Winston observed. "We'd be buried in droppings by now."

His audience was not amused.

Of course, there were always the beautiful mountain vistas outside, but they were just a taunting reminder of lost freedom. When he was particularly depressed, Winston contemplated a jump to the flagstones below, but a glance at Star always dispelled such ideas.

At night, the gas torches threw fantastic patterns as chill breezes coming through the windows tousled their flames. The great head's shadow wavered along the walls like an ogre seeking victims. Even Winston's modest frame projected Gorzo-like specters. The prisoners clung together, taking turns on watch during the long periods of darkness. The flickering shadows pursued Winston into his dreams.

Throughout, Ajax's head rested on its velvet cushion, staring at them with baleful yellow eyes.

"I wish that thing would talk already," Star said. "It gives me the creeps."

"This is ridiculous," Iridium said. "Ordinarily, you couldn't shut Ajax up."

"Something had better happen soon," Winston said, "or there won't be anything left to reattach that head to."

After so many days of constant movement, the enforced waiting in this tomb-like atmosphere bore heavily upon them all. Their morale declined, and catty arguments broke out. Winston felt especially frustrated.

"Why did you take so long to catch up with us, Iri?" He demanded at one point. "If you'd jumped into the fight sooner, I'd still have a whole leg."

"Well, excuse me, pal. You're lucky I found you again at all after that detour I had to make at the river."

"You could have ridden in the boat with us."

"Now there's a good idea," Iri shot back. "We could have all done the waterfall boogie!"

"Please Winston," Star said, "Iri's been a tremendous help. He just handles things his own way, that's all."

She stroked Iridium's head. "Isn't that right, Iri?"

"I know that." Winston braced his back against the wall. "Sorry Iridium. It's just that... I'd give anything to walk again!"

"Don't worry, Winston," Star said. "We'll get you repaired. We've already got the spare part."

Yes, they did – thanks to Iridium, again. Winston couldn't help feeling a stab of resentment against the great canid, even though he knew it was unfair. Iridium was so strong and capable while he, "Boss" Winston, could scarcely do anything right.

His awkwardness with the scooter, his lack of nerve during the Vicente Towne fiasco, his bumbling performance at the river crossing – during all that time Iri had been following them with his cool, confident efficiency.

Heck, they would have never escaped Mech City if Iri hadn't taken down the mech wolf guards. This whole expedition had been Winston's bright idea, but what had it gotten them?

We're stuck in this chamber of horrors, and I'm crippled.

Why hadn't he stayed in Mech City? Right this instant he could be relaxing in his luxurious reclining chair, with two good legs stretched out on the footrest. Maybe he could have worked out a deal with F.U. and –

The head stirred into life. Its eyes flashed red and scanned the room.

"Ka-Boing!" it said. "How may I serve my subjects today?"

"Oh!" Star cried.

Winston became instantly alert, his gloomy thoughts blowing away on a surge of excitement. Chickadees fluttered from the rafters and gathered around the cabeza like winged courtiers.

Winston struggled up onto his crutch. "Let's see if we can talk some sense with that thing."

"Don't count on it," Iridium said.

Winston approached the dais, slowly and cautiously, supported by Star on his disabled side. Iri took position on his right. They halted a safe distance away.

"Good morning, Your Royal Headship," Winston said.

"Silence!" the head roared.

Everyone shrank back.

"I am the great and terrible Oz!" the head proclaimed. "...no, wait, wrong story."

Winston traded astonished glances with his companions. More birds gathered around the head, fluttering their wings reverently.

"Call me Ishmael," the head said, "and a merry Christmas to us all!"

"What the hell?" Iri said.

"Bloop!" the head added. "Who are you folks, anyway?"

Winston drew himself up and adjusted his medals. "I am Boss Winston Horvath. To my left is Lady Estrela, and to my right is Iridium the Swift. We represent the lawful authority of Mech City from whence your Headship originally hails."

The red eyes flashed. "And why are you here?"

"We have come to reunite you with the great warrior, Ajax, so that Your Headship may gain new heights of wisdom and power."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," the head shot back.

"That thing's totally wacko," Iri muttered.

"Huh?" the head demanded. "What is this 'wacko,' a new card game?"

"Uh, no, Your Headship," Winston said. "From whence we hail, 'Wacko' is a title of highest respect."

The head fell silent. Winston leaned toward Iridium.

"Cool it eh?" he whispered

"Well you can't make a silk purse..."

A series of grunts, squeaks and nonsense syllables issued from the head. The birds fluttered about in high agitation. Finally, the head spoke.

"Give me a moment to decide your fate, underlings. Do you know the football scores by the way?"

"No, Your Headship," Winston said. "The football leagues are inactive, presently."

The head fell silent. Its flashing red eyes turned dull yellow again. A large mass of birds swirled above the podium like a dust devil. The little creatures seemed to be conferring among themselves.

"I think His Headship is done talking," Star said.

"What should we do?" Winston said.

"Anyone up for a game of wacko?" Iri said. "And what's this 'Iridium the Swift' routine?"

"It was the best I could think of in a pinch," Winston said. "I figured we could all use some embellishment."

"Well, I guess it's not too bad."

"I thought you'd like it better than 'Iridium the Vicious,' which was option B."

"I suppose so," Iri said, "but 'Iridium the Vicious' does have a certain ring to it."

"How about 'Iridium the Sweet?'" Star said, giving Iri an affectionate pat.

The birds fluttering around the head seemed to come to a group decision. They abruptly flew en masse toward a window and departed the tower amid a cacophony of chirps and twitters. The breeze of their passing stirred the torch flames and rippled Iridium's coat.

"What was that all about?" Winston said.

Iri slinked into a darkened corner. "Whatever it is, I'll watch it from back here."

The chamber stood quiet and expectant. Even the torches seemed to be holding their collective breath.

"Oh, Winston." Star took his hand. "Whatever happens, I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Star."

"Nobody else could have handled this situation as well. You're a natural manufactured diplomat."

Her praise bolstered his sagging ego while the crutch kept his body upright.

At least nobody can say I didn't give it my best shot, even if it wasn't good enough.

After a few minutes, the birds returned bearing something in their midst – a robot of some sort clad in a white coat. The garment flapped around so much in the turbulence that, at first, Winston thought a great white bird had entered.

The chickadees deposited their burden gently on its feet and returned to their perches. No tumbling dump off for this passenger. The new arrival straightened its coat with precise, fussy motions and brushed a bit of dirt off its sleeve.

Winston had never seen anything like it. The robot was an extremely realistic Humanite model, but it looked rather old and shabby with a frizzled perimeter of gray hair on its bald head. Stubble covered its face, like a human male who had not shaved for a while. Why would anybody design such a robot?

Is this a perverse joke?

The newcomer looked coolly at Winston and Star.

"So, who were you expecting," it said in a high-pitched, crackly voice, "the goddam Easter Bunny?"

"No, it's just we've never seen a robot like you before," Winston said.

"Well, imagine that? Maybe it's because I ain't no friggin' robot!"

"You mean – " Star gasped.

"Yes, yes, I'm a real human being. Let me prove it to you."

Braaappp!

He broke wind explosively. A nearby torch flared up. Winston recoiled.

Ugh, I wish they hadn't replaced my olfactory sensor.

"Show me a robot who can do that," the newcomer said triumphantly.

Realization dawned on Winston. "Dr. Rackenfauz, I presume?"

The man bowed with mock formality. "That is quite correct, young fellow. I am Edgar Jonathan Rackenfauz, Ph.D. – double Ph.D., actually."

"M-my name is Winston, scholar model robot. I can't believe I've found you, sir. My master, Dr. Horvath, said I should seek you out."

"Ah yes, Anna Horvath, a fine lady. I assume she's..."

Winston lowered his head and nodded sadly. Rackenfauz joined in a moment of silent tribute, then he reached out a bony hand and grasped the medals around Winston's neck. He studied them with an amused little smile.

"Nice workmanship. I like that skull ring, too – real class."

Star took a step forward. "My name is Star Power. I'm with Winston."

Rackenfauz nodded. "Right, the Estrela Project."

"You know who I am?"

"I know a lot of things. I wasn't always stuck in this place, you know. I used to be lead designer at the RDI."

"Then what about – "

Rackenfauz silenced Winston with an upraised hand. "Maybe I'd better supply some background information, before you take up any more of my valuable time with questions."

"Okay, great," Winston said.

"Let me see." Rackenfauz stroked his chin stubble. "I'll begin with the day I left Mech City."

52. Last Day at the RDI

"Since the day before, I'd been all packed and read to go," Dr. Rackenfauz began, "but I was unable to tear himself away from my bird obsession. A final batch of components remained, and I could not bear the thought of leaving them behind unassembled.

"Fortunately, Jack and Quincy were available to help. We'd been working all morning, reducing the backlog, but the time for a final parting had arrived..."

"Excuse us, sir," Quincy said, "may we go now? We were asked to assist at the Estrela Project."

Rackenfauz looked up at Quincy, as if seeing the tech assistant robot for the first time. Then he glanced over the assembly tables – only a dozen mech birds awaited final assembly.

"Yes, yes, go on."

Quincy bowed. "Thank you, sir."

The two robots walked out the workshop door and headed for the stairs.

"The old boy's not very big on gratitude, is he?" Jack said.

"He's a queer one, alright," Quincy said, "and these are queer times."

Rackenfauz overheard these less than flattering comments, but he was not bothered. Why be offended by the truth? He sat back wearily on the high stool and pondered his miserable surroundings.

This workshop was the shabbiest, most isolated one in the whole RDI campus – a private reservation for the oddball reject he'd become. The water pipes leaked, the lighting was bad, the floor was cracked and stained. Only a single high window opened to the world outside.

From the RDI's chief designer laboratory in the main building down into this hole! It had been a painful tumble.

Even with the entire world crashing around them, people still had time for stupid political games. The death of the Institute's director had left Rackenfauz exposed to the jealous vindictiveness of his junior colleagues, and they had made the most of it.

Rackenfauz had gotten along well with Director Kinkaid. They'd understood each other, even if there wasn't much personal affection, and Dr. Rackenfauz owed his high position to Kinkaid's favor. Tragically, the director had been among the many victims of the blast which destroyed the university complex. At least the poor man didn't have to witness the ravages of the final plague.

Rackenfauz shook his head with self-pity. "Ah, to be old and gay."

Actually, he wasn't that old, but compared to many of the other mech heads, he seemed a throwback to an earlier age. What did they know? A bunch of young punks running through abandoned corridors playing Gorzo the Adventure Robot games and screwing around with technologies they did not understand.

Rackenfauz was decidedly gay, however, and that rattled his enemies even more than his annoying genius did. Behind his back they called him "the Old Faggot" and "Wacky Rackenfauz."

He'd always been the withdrawn, self-absorbed type, more interested in technical matters than in human relations. He simply could not understand the penchant for gratuitous cruelty so many people had. Their disrespect cut deep.

"Ach!" He kicked an empty stool across the room.

So, his dear colleagues had booted him down here to work on mech bird designs – of all things. They thought the humiliation would be too much for him, that he'd simply disappear from the Institute as other ostracized technicians had done over the years.

This had been his intent, but soon a weird obsession took hold of him – a screwball plan to replace the world's lost avian population. During the past months, he'd produced mech birds by the thousands. He'd released them in small flocks so they would range freely, as far as their solar charged power plants would take them, restoring bird song to an increasingly silent Earth.

Well, at least he knew he was half mad. Not like those other mech heads with their monster projects and killer wolf designs. Things were getting so dire that Rackenfauz began packing a submachine gun under his lab coat, just in case.

In a backhanded way, the awareness of his colleagues' insanity had kept Rackenfauz from totally cracking up himself. No matter, it would all be over soon.

Within a couple hours, he'd completed the assembly work. He carried the last bird to the open window. It was the standard all-black design. In the grip of his mania, Rackenfauz had not given much thought to variation. It would only have complicated his great project.

The little creature tugged mightily at his gloved hands, straining towards freedom. The power to weight ratio of these mech birds was extraordinary, each one could carry a load far in excess of its own bulk. Rackenfauz held it up to the window and opened his hands. The bird shot off into the gray, shrouded sky, cheeping loudly.

"Good luck!"

Something snapped inside him – a cord which had connected him to his mania. A wonderful sense of liberation took its place. He understood how the newly released bird must have felt, if it had feelings.

"Well done, Edgar!" He removed the gloves and tossed them on a workbench with an air of finality. "Now it's time to blow the pop stand."

He'd planned to take a French leave, but had changed his mind. Perhaps some notion of professional courtesy compelled him to bid adieu to his surviving colleagues. Rackenfauz couldn't understand why he felt this way, since the others clearly did not reciprocate.

Well, the end of the world didn't come every day, and it wouldn't hurt to say good-bye.

He left his workshop for the last time and mounted the dreary staircase to the ground floor. In past years, even this auxiliary building had hummed with activity, now it was silent and dead. Water from the leaky roof puddled on the floor, and scrofulous green paint peeled off the walls.

He left the annex and made his way across the grounds toward the main building. As always when he came outside, his breath caught at the foul air. He almost missed his gloomy workshop, at least the air filters kept the pollutants down.

He coughed harshly. "This isn't doing my asthma a damn bit of good."

Two mech wolves glared at him from the courtyard periphery. Rackenfauz gripped the compact submachine gun holstered under his lab coat.

"Come here Poochies! I've got a nice treat for you."

As if cognizant of the "treat" he had in store for them, the wolves slunk away and concealed themselves in the dead shrubbery.

"That goddam lunatic, Blake," Rackenfauz grumbled.

The mech wolves were Blake's handiwork. He'd been instrumental in overthrowing Rackenfauz and had grabbed the lead designer post for himself. And look at the result! That madman had produced a whole pack of these savage Iridium Project knockoffs.

Of course, Blake was dead now, along with most of the others. Rumor had it one of his own creations finished him off. Who could say? Things seldom worked out with such geometric precision.

Rackenfauz entered the main building and ascended to the second floor where the Estrela Project laboratory was located. Any surviving technicians would surely be there for the big event – Estrela was being brought online today. Groans and shrieks issuing from the lab indicated that work was in progress.

The misshapen test bed machine, Nilo, stood in the hallway outside the workshop, observing events through the two way mirror. A strange, flickering light shown in Nilo's eyes. It abruptly vanished when the thing noticed Rackenfauz.

"Good morning, Professor," it said in a fawning tone.

"Yes, quite."

Nilo clung to the arm of a giant drone machine, one of Dr. Lindemann's inventions. The drone stood rigid, its button eyes staring into nothingness. The two robots made an appalling couple.

Rackenfauz had objected to the abusive games Blake and others had played with Nilo, but that didn't mean he liked the test bed machine. It gave him the willies. There was something fundamentally wrong with the creature.

Had they been outside, with a clear range of fire, he might have blasted the grotesque thing. Rackenfauz felt a sudden urge to blast all of creation. Now that everything was coming to an end, the great injustice – a.k.a. his life – was choking him with its toxic fumes.

Was it any wonder he'd retreated into a personal world of ideas and machines when the broader society offered him so little? The "real men," like those bastards on the RDI staff, disliked him because he was gay. They'd cheated him out of his rightful place, regardless of his brilliance.

Gay men didn't care for him because he was unattractive. And he was a bit of an oddball, too, which gave everyone a reason to avoid him. He'd had no place to stand except within his work, and now he was the last one standing. How ironic.

The Nilo machine bowed courteously. "I'll just leave you to your observations, sir."

It hobbled off toward the elevator with its drone valet. The goddam creature had been damaged and was walking with a cane.

Rackenfauz approached the two way mirror and stared into the workshop. What he witnessed appalled him. The noisome spectacle of the Estrela robot being wrenched through a series of orgasma routines was bad enough, but the lecherous expressions of the observing technicians disgusted Rackenfauz. They seemed possessed of truly evil compulsions – especially Dr. Thurston, the lone female.

And they condemned him? Even in his most extreme fantasies, Rackenfauz had never contemplated sex with a machine. He wanted to vomit but had nothing in his stomach to toss up.

Finally, the awful testing routine stopped, and the Estrela robot went limp. Rackenfauz almost felt sorry for it, which was something new. Until now, he'd felt very little toward the robots created here, beyond simple pride of achievement for his own work.

Estrela was approaching the technicians, pleading with them, offering its body in the most lewd fashion. All they could do was look away, shaking their heads sadly.

God's gifts to women, eh? And now you can't even get it up at the crucial moment!

Rackenfauz's sense of triumph was short lived, replaced by feelings of pity. He knew his colleagues had early stage plague. Within a week or two, all of them would be dead.

They were leaving the control console now and trooping out the door. Just a brief word of farewell would do – no hard feelings and all that. Rackenfauz approached the group.

"Hello, everyone," he said.

"You're still here?" Dr. Potocsky said. "I thought you cleared out already."

"Well, uh, I'm getting ready to leave now."

"Don't let us keep you," Dr. Thurston said.

Their comments had been merely frosty and unkind, but Dr. Leonid gripped Rackenfauz's arm and glowered over the tops of his sunglasses with genuine malevolence.

"You're looking very well, Edgar," he said. "Why is that?"

"I think you know why," Rackenfauz said, wrenching his arm back.

"Right!" Thurston cackled. "Your magic vaccines."

Everyone laughed. Even Leonid managed an ugly snarl of merriment. They shuffled away down the corridor.

"It's been nice working with you, too," Rackenfauz said.

Nobody looked back.

53. Adios to Mech City

Rackenfauz descended to the subterranean garage on the outskirts of the Institute grounds.

At one time this place had bustled with activity as delivery vehicles drove down the ramp laden with cargo. Here, shielded from the outside world, robots had scurried about unloading the many items which meant survival and growth for the vast enterprise above ground.

Now the place was abandoned, except for one large truck. Rackenfauz smacked its driver side door.

"Good to see you again, Old Paint."

He'd been secretly loading this truck for weeks, assisted by drone robots who were too dumb to spread the word about his actions. In these paranoid times, one couldn't be too careful.

The commodious trailer held everything he'd need to reestablish himself in new surroundings. He had food, medical supplies, weapons and ammo. Not too much food, because he could always scavenge more from abandoned supermarkets. Besides, he needed the room for his large stock of technical equipment and robotic components.

Rackenfauz ascended to the driver's seat and started the engine. He clicked the remote, and the metal door grated up, admitting light to the underground haven.

"Let's get a move on!"

Rackenfauz drove up the ramp into the ruined world above with the disquieting sensation that he was emerging from one tomb only to enter another.

Scenes of devastation pressed in from all sides – abandoned vehicles, derelict store fronts, rubbish blowing around in dust devils. His cloistered existence at the RDI had ill prepared him for the realities of the wider world.

This is one messed up town, amigo.

He wasn't certain of his destination, only that he needed to get someplace else. Maybe he'd check out the Robotics Development Center on the west coast and see if anything was still going on out there. It couldn't be any worse than here, and at least the ocean would be close.

With this vague objective in mind, he headed west through Mech City.

He quickly realized his mistake. He should have driven east and left town by the shortest route. Once in the rural area, he could have picked up the westbound highway. Now he was forced to maneuver the clumsy, unfamiliar vehicle through city streets and around the large bomb crater defacing the center of town.

"You're off to a lousy start, Edgar," he said.

"Who asked you?" he replied.

Rackenfauz had been socially isolated for so long that such two-way conversations came natural to him.

Numerous robots wandered the streets aimlessly, only getting out of the way when Rackenfauz sounded the truck's powerful horn.

It's like they want to get run over. Weird.

But he could spare no time wondering about the robots' strange behavior. He had to devote all his efforts to the tricky job of handling the truck. At least he didn't have to worry about other traffic. He drove through stop signs and red lights without a thought. Most of the traffic lights had ceased functioning, anyway.

Human corpses littered the sidewalks in many places. Their ghastly presence chilled him to the bone, and he drew his shabby lab coat about himself. His imagination acted up. What was that thing moving over there? Was it some kind of robot or an animated corpse thirsting for blood?

Malevolent eyes peered at him from every building, unspeakable creatures emerged from the sewer grates as soon as he passed over them. Rackenfauz seemed to be driving through a bad horror movie, the sort degenerate persons viewed late at night with their bottles of cheap booze.

_Thump_ **!** Something landed on the hood.

"Ah!" Rackenfauz nearly lost control of the truck. It was only a bunch of mech birds. "What the hell?"

Several more birds landed on the hood, others pressed against the windshield. Rackenfauz turned on the wipers to flick them off.

He lowered his window. "Get away, Goddammit!"

The birds ignored him. They smothered the hood now, others perched on the cab roof or atop the trailer. A huge cloud of them flew overhead. Every mech bird he'd ever produced was following him out of town! He raised the window before any birds could get inside.

The cab's air filtration system roared into high so as to clear the acrid pollutants he'd let in. What were the little beasties up to – did they have some bone to pick? He glanced nervously at the shotgun hanging on the rack behind him.

Rackenfauz approached the traffic circle marking the town's western boundary. The old equestrian statue that had once stood in the middle of it was gone. In its place, a large bronze colored robot stood on the pedestal.

"That must be one of Dr. Lindemann's fantasy machines."

He'd liked Roland "Loony" Lindemann, who was one of the few younger mech heads who treated him with respect. The kid was first to go off the rails, though. He'd indulged his mad proclivities by creating various characters from the Gorzo the Adventure Robot stories.

The one on the pedestal appeared to be Ajax, the loyal and virtuous sidekick of Gorzo. It swiveled its head as Rackenfauz drove past and raised an arm in salute. Rackenfauz waved back.

"Adios. The town's all yours, now."

Rackenfauz stomped the accelerator, the birds covering the truck scattered. The cloud flying above dropped back rapidly.

"Good riddance to you, too, my fine-feathered friends!"

Seventy-five kilometers ticked past. He'd had to drive the big vehicle under full manual control, as satellite navigation and all the other automated travel systems no longer functioned. The landscape was utterly barren and deserted. A towering dust devil spun parallel to the road for some time, like a specter following him from the RDI. Then it turned off into the wastes.

Things sure went straight to hell out here.

He dropped into a contemplative mood brought on by the dreary emptiness of the world outside his cab. Rackenfauz still hadn't decided on a destination; then, from out of the thick air, it came to him:

Pickle Lake Castle!

Of course, why hadn't he thought of it earlier? It would be the ideal place for him to recharge his own batteries and plan for such future as remained to him. Also, the mountain air had to be better than the polluted sludge he'd been forced to breath for months now.

As a boy, he'd spent a weekend at the Castle on a science club field trip, and he'd deemed it "very cool." He'd loved the soaring grandeur of the place which offered the perfect balance of man-made structure and natural beauty. Their guide said giant helicopters had hauled in the building materials.

The castle had been built by an eccentric tycoon back in the early twenty-first century. He'd entertained a myriad of guests from society's upper crust there, and his lavish parties became the topic of scandal. But he wearied of these hedonistic pursuits and lived out his final years at the castle in icy solitude, away from the humanity he'd come to loath.

Later, after many years of abandonment, the castle had reopened for a run as a tourist destination. Still later, Rackenfauz heard a religious cult had taken the place over.

Not likely anybody would be there now. And if there were – Rackenfauz felt the reassuring bulk of the submachine gun under his lab coat. The weapon guaranteed that anybody he might encounter would be open to reasonable discussion.

So, why was he wearing this goddam white coat anyway? It had no purpose out here, he could have outfitted himself with new clothes from any of the abandoned stores in Mech City.

It was because the lab coat identified him as a person of learning and capability, Rackenfauz decided. It distinguished him from the masses, even though the masses were gone now. His coat was the last thread connecting him to the old world. The thought rather annoyed him.

"Ach! How do I get to Pickle Lake?"

He fumbled for the road atlas amid the clutter on the passenger seat. The distraction made him lose momentary control of the steering, and the right front wheel slipped off the pavement.

"Oh, hell!"

With stunning alacrity, the situation careened out of control. Rackenfauz tried to force the wheel back onto the road, but it only dug deeper into the soft shoulder. The steering wheel jerked out of his hands.

"Hey!"

Rackenfauz stomped the brake and the debacle came to an abrupt halt with the truck nosed down into the ditch, leaning crazily. He killed the motor and jumped out of the cab.

"Goddammit!"

How could such a trivial incident lead to this gigantic disaster? He aimed a kick at a tire, but only succeeded in hurting his foot.

"Oww!"

He hopped on his good foot, clutching his injured appendage with both hands and cursing his foolishness to the empty heavens.

"Idiot, goddam moron!"

The pain lessened, and Rackenfauz gingerly lowered his foot to the ground. A bolt of agony shot up his leg. A few seconds later, he tried the maneuver again, placing less weight on the injury this time. He could bear the pain now. He didn't seem to have broken anything, thank God.

Two mech birds emerged from their hiding place between the cab and trailer and fluttered up before him.

"What the hell are you doing here? Scram!"

The birds took off back down the highway.

Rackenfauz regretted his outburst. He watched the little creatures depart with something akin to nostalgic affection. He'd always preferred the solitary life to the irksome necessity of interacting with others, maybe that's why he'd kept most of his marbles. But now he felt utterly abandoned.

The air was only slightly less terrible than in Mech City. He retrieved a respirator mask from the tottering cab and strapped it over his face.

The next hours passed in absolute frustration and self-pity. The late afternoon sun dropped toward the horizon behind its cloak of thick clouds. The hot, claustrophobic mask added to his misery, and he dared not reenter the cab for fear the whole truck might tip over.

"Why'd I have to dick around with that goddam atlas? I'd be halfway to Pickle Lake Castle by now."

The silence was broken by the rumble of a motor vehicle. Rackenfauz stood in the middle of the road and observed a battered pickup truck approaching from the east.

"Well, what do you know?"

He waved his arms. The pickup drove past him and stopped fifteen meters away. Four robots occupied the back end, and another one drove the vehicle.

"Excellent!"

Any robot programmed to operate a motor vehicle would have to be a construction model. That meant a building site was probably not far away, and that meant heavy equipment to pull his truck back onto the road. Two robots jumped down from the box and approached...

Something was very wrong.

Both robots carried hunks of metal pipe, and hate-filled expressions twisted their faces. Rackenfauz gaped at them with disbelief. These were standard models, not monsters from Blake's workshop. They should be showing him utmost deference.

"Hey man," one of them said, "what're you up to?"

Rackenfauz took a step back and slipped a hand under his coat. "My truck went off the road."

"Well, ain't that too bad." The robot raised its club. "Let's see what we can do about it."

Time slowed, as in a nightmare. The robot advanced, the club started to come down.

Blamity! Blam! Blam! Blam!

The submachine gun barked destruction. Rackenfauz howled a battle cry.

"Yaaa!"

The two robots blew apart, their components raining onto the pavement. Rackenfauz stepped over the wreckage and charged the pickup as fast as he could go on his bum foot, but it was fleeing beyond range. He halted, panting into his respirator mask.

My god, things are worse than I thought.

He limped back toward his truck. He was suddenly exhausted, and his little gun felt heavy as a cannon. The scattered components of his attackers lay before him. A severed head looked up with malevolent eyes.

"Hey man," it said, "hey man... hey man..."

"Ugh!"

Rackenfauz kicked the obscene thing off the road. Pain shot through his injured foot.

The Che Syndrome. I wouldn't have believed it.

54. Onward

Dr. Rackenfauz spent a miserable night outdoors.

He'd ventured another foray into the tottering cab to retrieve blankets and food – and the shotgun. He burrowed himself a little fortress in the ditch and slept erratically with his arsenal close at hand.

He woke often, convinced he'd heard the approach of enemies, but none came. Periodically, he detected an exhortation from the ditch across the road:

"hey man... hey man..."

By morning, he was cranky and tired. The respirator mask had chafed his skin raw, and the dry, sterile air it delivered irritated his throat. He climbed out of the ditch and regarded the truck with dismay. The thing was as helpless as a beached whale, back when whales still populated the oceans.

As he stood in the highway contemplating his dreary prospects, he noticed a dark cloud approaching from the east.

"What the hell is that?"

The makeup of the cloud soon became apparent – mech birds! A jolt of terror shot through him.

"I should have blasted those two before they could alert the others."

He feared the birds had gone mad like those robots in the pickup truck. So, here they were in their thousands, seeking revenge because he had spurned them – because he'd manufactured them in the first place. Because he was alive.

Rackenfauz cradled the shotgun in his arms. They could make quick work of him if they wanted to, but he would not go down without a fight. He'd always been the shy, retiring sort who avoided conflict, but the battle with the renegade bots had gotten his blood up.

"That's right," he shouted, "I've got real blood! Not like you pitiful machines."

As far as he knew, he was the last human being anywhere. And if the race had to die out, let it be here and now, blasting defiance. He chambered a round into the shotgun and flicked off the safety. The birds were upon him now. They hovered directly overhead, swirling their dark mass like a hurricane from hell. Rackenfauz's coat flapped in the downdraft. He aimed the shotgun upward.

"Well come on!" he cried over the deafening chirps. "What are you waiting for?"

To his utter amazement, the birds began to compact themselves into a single unit. A harsh, crackling noise accompanied their maneuver, like the scrunching of a gigantic sheet of paper. The shotgun barrel lowered under its own weight, Rackenfauz's jaw dropped.

Then, impossibly, a vast human-shaped figure descended to earth right in front of him.

"Good grief!"

The thousands of individual birds were scarcely distinguishable now. The grotesque creature they had melded into loomed a dozen meters above ground level, like some vengeful demon.

"W-what do you want?" Rackenfauz gasped through his respirator.

The composite being raised an arm and pointed to the truck cab. The chirps coming from it were no longer random, but seemed to be of a logical pattern. The thing was speaking to him.

"Okay, okay." Rackenfauz flicked the safety back on. "I'm going."

Moving with slow, jerky motions as if in a dream, he ascended the cab and settled into the driver's seat. The truck tipped dangerously, but a solid black mass pressed the downhill flank, steadying the vehicle.

"My God!" Rackenfauz wiped a hand over his sweaty neck. "This can't be happening."

But the urgent, chirping voice outside the cab told him it _was_ happening.

"Well, here goes."

He started the engine and wrenched it into reverse. The tires bit the soft dirt with a screeching roar. The truck heaved, pushed by the combined strength of the mech birds. It started to tip again, the dark creature righted it. Rackenfauz gunned the engine –

The truck lurched back onto the pavement.

"Yippee!"

Rackenfauz cut the power and clambered down from the cab. Above him, the birds were swirling back into their cloud formation.

"Thank you, my friends!" He blew kisses their direction. "Looks like we'll be travelling together, eh?"

A chorus of ecstatic-sounding chirps greeted this announcement.

"Hold on, I'll be ready in a minute."

Rackenfauz packed up his camping gear. With considerable disgust, he retrieved the robot head from the ditch. He could run some diagnostics on it to gauge the Che Syndrome effects.

"Hey man..." the thing said weakly, then flickered out as it exhausted the last of its auxiliary power. A bullet hole rendered the second robot head useless for research purposes.

Rackenfauz got back in the cab. A quartet of mech birds shared it with him, perching on the dashboard like little statuettes with that utter stillness only robotic life forms could achieve. He made a final study of the road atlas, then packed it away behind the seat where he couldn't get at it without stopping the truck.

"Shall we go, my friends?"

The birds made no reply.

"I take it that means yes."

He began to drive, maintaining a low speed in consideration of the avian flock trailing behind. For the first time since the accident, his mind relaxed into its customary speculative mode.

What would his former colleagues think of these developments? The Che Syndrome hypothesis was well known, but practically everyone – including himself – had rejected it. Now there was brutal proof of its accuracy.

And the banding together of the birds, with each miniscule brain merging into a powerful group intelligence – such evolution violated all accepted theory. Theory be damned, he'd seen the hard evidence with his own eyes.

A horrifying thought barged in. What if the Che Syndrome took hold of the birds? If that great composite being which had liberated the truck suddenly turned psychotic, then –

Rackenfauz took solace from the first tenet of the theory which stated only robotic life forms that had lost their purpose were affected by the insanity.

Looks like I'm their purpose now. As long as they can serve me, they'll be okay. I hope.

If human control slackened, the theory postulated, the orderly and servile world of robots would unravel quickly. Robotic life forms were never designed as independent entities. Lacking proper guidance, their personalities would degenerate to a lower and more brutal level. The benign moral code programmed into them would disintegrate under stress.

The Syndrome would follow a predictable sequence for robotic life forms which had lost their purpose for existence:

1. Rapid psychological decay

2. Descent into a state of imbalance

3. Suicide / OR:

4. Banding together of similarly affected robotic life forms

5. Attainment of a psychotic equilibrium

6. Destructive group behaviors

These warnings were universally ignored by the mech heads, many of whom were becoming unhinged themselves. Who wanted to face such harsh realities when denial was so much easier?

Dr. Rackenfauz's angry, apocalyptic thoughts of the previous morning were giving way to a kindlier disposition toward the world. He felt almost a sense of stewardship toward it now. Who could say how many human beings might still existed, and hadn't he successfully defended that remnant? Him – Edgar J. Rackenfauz – standing toe to toe with evil and blasting it down like a hero from the action movies.

The vast, empty world could welcome him now. He was like a suitor who, many years afterwards, meets again the proud beauty who had spurned him. Now she is worn and faded, but willing to reconsider.

I'll take it under advisement.

The bird cloud had receded to the horizon. Rackenfauz stopped the truck and waited for it to catch up.

55. Pickle Lake Castle

Days later, after chugging through many kilometers of foothills on secondary roads, they reached the vicinity of Pickle Lake. Rackenfauz parked his truck by the concrete steps at the trailhead. The birds circled above in their lazy hurricane formation.

"We finally made it! Wasn't that one helluva ride, my friends?"

Rackenfauz donned his respirator and climbed down from the cab. He stretched weary muscles, and pain shot through his lower back.

Nope, you ain't a spring chicken any more – if you needed further proof.

The steps were familiar from his long ago sojourn, even though the _Trail to the Castle_ sign was down. It lay 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. Clearly, there was no access road 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. Before he could start walking, a mass of birds swooped down upon him.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

He flailed his arms, but the birds seized him and began lifting him up.

"Put me down!" Then he was airborne. "Ohhh!"

He got over his terror fairly quick, though. Soon his fear morphed into exaltation.

"Wow-ee – king of the world!"

Terrain that took 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 burst forth among the dry wood in an exuberant reassertion of life.

"Yippee!"

The air was fresh now and bore the wonderful scent of evergreen. Rackenfauz gulped it in like an elixir, then exhaled a reservoir of pollution from his lungs. The stress and fear of the past 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 was 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, the horrible scene would disappear back into the nightmare it had slithered from. But the air turned putrid, invalidating his attempt at denial. Rackenfauz slipped on his respirator mask 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 into the respirator mask.

I came all the way out here for that?

His bird allies came to his rescue again. Masses of them zoomed down to the lake and snatched bodies. They bore their grisly cargo downhill to dump it off God knew where. Rackenfauz didn't want to know.

Finally, his escort deposited him at the castle front gate. It was unobstructed, and Rackenfauz entered the vast reception hall.

"Anybody home!" His voice echoed off bare stone walls.

His bird escort followed him inside and stuck close 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 corpses around Pickle Lake.

What happened?

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 worldwide collapse, the fate of a few hundred could not amount to much.

Rackenfauz continued up to the weird, funereal chamber on the tower summit. Religious ceremonies must have taken place here, he reasoned. Torches burned along the walls, fed by a 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. Thick tapestries covered every window, except one.

These beautiful works of art had been stripped from the entry hall and the first floor corridors. Rackenfauz recognized some of them from his earlier visit. They presented various Christian tableaux. At first Rackenfauz thought 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 in fairly good condition. Rackenfauz understood the necessity of establishing a work routine. Otherwise, he could be subject to a human variant of the Che Syndrome.

He 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.

56. Happy Reunion

"At least I learned one thing during my trip here," Dr. Rackenfauz said.

"What's that?" Winston asked.

"I'm one helluva lousy truck driver!"

Rackenfauz's cackling laughter bounced off the walls, assailing Winston's auditory units.

"Fortunately, there isn't much road traffic these days." 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. She never took her probing eyes off Dr. Rackenfauz, but he seemed impervious to her attentions.

"There were some hard times, alright," Rackenfauz said, "especially with those rogue machines."

"Life's tough all over," Iridium's voice sounded from the gloom. "Deal with it."

Rackenfauz moved toward him. "Is that Iridium I see reposing in the corner?"

Iri bared his teeth. "What's it to you, buddy?"

"What's it to me?" Rackenfauz's bushy eyebrows shot up. "I led your design team, is what. You're my very best work."

Iridium's head poked out of the shadows. "I-is that really true?"

"Of course, it's true. 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."

"Papa!" Iri scampered out of the shadows and wrapped himself around Rackenfauz's legs like a huge kitten. "I thought Dr. Blake designed me. I was so ashamed."

"Well, I can understand that," Rackenfauz said. "Blake was a first class s.o.b."

He patted Iridium's head, and the massive canid purred with contentment. In a flash, Edgar Rackenfauz had morphed from an old screwball into the ultimate father figure.

He looked toward Winston and Star. "Iridium has a wonderful sense of humor, doesn't he? I programmed it myself."

"Uh... yes," Winston said.

He would have never characterized Iri's sarcastic utterances as "humor," but it seemed wise not to disagree.

"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_.

"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. He was my great grandpa. He did pharmacological 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. Yes, I inherited Grandpa'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 behind, you know."

Rackenfauz mimicked giving himself a shot in his arm. "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 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?"

"Who knows? We lost touch, in any case."

Star gazed out the window, as if something incredible fluttered out there, agitating her mind. Winston had never seen her like that before.

"Uh, you must be wondering why we came here, Professor," he 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.

"Mmm," Rackenfauz said when Winston finished his account. "I should have blasted that Nilo creature when I had the chance."

"We can take the head back with us, then?" Winston asked.

"I sure don't want it. Take the goddam thing, I say."

"Good."

"Maybe not so good. It's a very complex matter."

"Oh?"

Rackenfauz pointed toward Winston's damaged limb. "Let's tackle the simpler problems, first. Have an accident?"

"No thanks, Doctor. 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."

"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 like a touch of red, isn't that right, Star?"

Star beamed. "Of course." She seemed as overjoyed as Winston.

"Let's get to my workshop," 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. More of an avian Morse code, actually. I designed this translator in my spare time."

A large group of birds descended from the rafters. They seized Rackenfauz, Winston, and the leg and carried them toward the windows.

"Hey, me too!" Star cried.

"I'll send them back up for you, young lady," Rackenfauz said.

He and Winston disappeared through the window.

"See you soon!" Star turned to Iridium. "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 hoisted her off the floor.

"Have a nice trip," Iri said.

Star waggled her fingers. "Bye-ee!"

Iri hunkered down, resting his chin on his crossed paws. From across the chamber, the head glared at him.

"Just you and me now, pal. And a few gazillion birds."

57. Overhaul

"Wheee!"

Star's trip to Dr. Rackenfauz's workroom was an abrupt and scary drop to one of the castle's lower wings, but she enjoyed it after so much time cooped up in the awful tower chamber. Wind whipped through her hair and cooled her temperature sensors. Her skin bristled with pleasure.

Winston was going to be repaired! And maybe a lot more, as well. Huge ideas churned in her mind, and a romantic new future beckoned from beyond the mountain peaks.

Dr. Rackenfauz must really know his stuff. Anyone who designed Iridium has to be truly brilliant. 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 disheveled personal appearance. Star's confidence ratcheted up 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."

Winston began to sit up. "Star!"

"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. I'm a bit nervous, as you can imagine."

"Don't worry, everything will be just fine."

Winston looked toward Rackenfauz. "Will you have to deactivate me for the procedure, Doc?"

"No, that isn't necessary."

Star flicked the switch at the base of Winston's cranium. He blinked out instantly.

"Oh, yes it is," she said.

Rackenfauz's eyebrows went up. "Young lady, what are you doing?"

Star moved swiftly across the room and took both of Rackenfauz's hands into her own. "Doctor, I need your help."

"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?"

Understanding dawned in Rackenfauz's eyes. He glanced toward the comatose figure on the operating table.

"Oh, I see. You must be feeling very frustrated, eh?"

"That's putting it mildly, sir."

Rackenfauz shook his head. "I'd like to help you, but such a project is way outside my skill set."

Star's world darkened. "Isn't there anything you can do?"

"Are you kidding? All that nerve ending circuitry and emotion programming – the myriad lust routines? I wouldn't know where to begin." Rackenfauz gestured around the room. "And I didn't bring any components that could be of use to such a project."

"Ohhh." Star covered her face with her hands.

"Try not to let it get you down. Maybe you can take up knitting or something."

"Why was I made the way I am?" Star moaned. "Who did this to me?"

"Oh, that was Dr. Jerry Che," Rackenfauz said. "Real helluva guy. Had some rather kinky tastes, though, if you ask me."

"Che would be pleased," Star murmured.

"That's right. You were the culmination of his life's work. Did you know there's a whole syndrome named after him, too?"

"And he's dead now with all the others, isn't he?"

"Very likely." Rackenfauz said with deep regret. "Anyway, he had to go back to the West Coast Robotics Center before you were activated. We lost touch."

A glimmer of hope flickered up in Star's breast. "Hold on, isn't that where you sent the vaccines?"

"Yes."

"Then maybe Dr. Che survived, too?"

"Perhaps, if he used the vaccines. If they ever got there."

Star's eyes flashed. Dr. Rackenfauz stroked his stubbly chin, the same reflective gesture Winston used so often.

"Getting back to your issue," he said, "the actual physical apparatus is not much of a problem. I constructed some a while ago when I was bored."

"Really?" Star's voice shot up a full octave.

"Yes, it's around here somewhere."

Rackenfauz rifled through a cabinet, found nothing, examined another cabinet.

"Ah, here we go."

He held up an amply proportioned set of male genitalia. Star gulped, she gripped the workbench for support.

"Not bad, eh?" Rackenfauz said. "I modeled it on Michelangelo's David."

He pushed a remote control button, and the penis sprang erect.

"Oh!" Star gasped.

Her eyes bugged out, and her mouth dropped open. Rackenfauz examined his handiwork with pride.

"It meets your approval, then?"

"Y-yes."

"It could be real hot stuff, all right."

Rackenfauz deflated the penis. Star wilted along with it.

"Maybe I have too much free time, eh? Getting a little boingy in the head."

"No, no! It's a wonderful start." Star grabbed Rackenfauz's arm. "Can you install it?"

Rackenfauz turned thoughtful again. "Yes, it could be done. It wouldn't take any particular skill."

Star sagged with relief.

"But the apparatus wouldn't be functional – except in a purely mechanistic fashion, as you've seen," Rackenfauz said. "You'd need a specialist to do the required programming and nerve end hook ups – install a full epidermis with pleasure sensors, such as you have."

"Somebody like Jerry Che?"

"Precisely," Rackenfauz said, "he'd have it up and at your service in nothing flat, so to speak."

"Can I keep the... apparatus, Doctor?"

"I suppose so, if you want."

She groped for the genitalia, but Rackenfauz jerked it away and held up a finger.

"You may have it under one condition."

"What?" Star practically shouted.

"Get rid of that damned head for me, and the birds, too. I'm sick to death of them all."

"Absolutely," Star said.

* * *

Two hours later, Winston was up and strolling the room on his new leg. It was an excellent fit – the same length as his old one, although a bit larger in diameter. Dr. Rackenfauz looked on with professional satisfaction.

"How does it feel, young fellow?"

"Wonderful! Thank you so much, Doctor."

"Always a pleasure to be of service," Rackenfauz said with theatrical modesty.

"It feels stronger than before," Winston said.

"That new limb is more powerful than the original one," Rackenfauz said. "The donor weighed more than you. So, I upgraded your other leg to match."

"Yes, sir!" Winston said.

"Wouldn't want you to be unbalanced," Rackenfauz added. "It's a matter of professional ethics."

Winston pointed to a leather bag hanging from Star's shoulder. "What's that, Star?"

"Don't concern yourself about this, honey." She patted the bag. "It's just a little something to file away for future reference."

"Are you ready to go back now, young fellow?" Rackenfauz said. "I think the sooner you get to work on the head transfer the better."

Winston straightened himself to his full height and braced his weight equally on his two strong legs.

"Certainly I am. Lead on!"

58. Diplomacy Time

Rackenfauz stepped to the window and shouted into his translator. A mass of birds fluttered down from the tower apex.

"Those birds are very useful, aren't they?" Winston said.

"Yes," Rackenfauz said, "but they've become a great annoyance to me."

"How so?"

"They're always getting in my way and taking things much too literally."

"Subtlety is not their strong point, then?"

"That's right. I once joked I needed a second head to keep up with my work, so they went and got me one!" Rackenfauz yowled sarcastically. "'Take it back,' I said, but by that time they were worshipping the damn thing. They ensconced it upstairs like some half baked emperor."

Winston and Star traded a dumbfounded glance.

"At least it's kept the birds out of my hair for the most part." Rackenfauz stroked his bald pate. "They demand far too much attention. They're like those obnoxious dogs that can't bear to be away from their master."

The escort birds arrived and began wafting them up toward the tower summit. Compared to the earlier dive bomber descent, this ride was almost sedate.

"Is that why Iri is so aloof?" Star asked. "He's always taking off on his own."

"Right, I programmed his personality that way," Rackenfauz said. "I can't stand a clingy animal, especially a robotic one."

Winston looked up toward the tower. "I hope they cling to us a bit longer."

"At first I was happy when they transferred their allegiance away from me," Rackenfauz said, "but things have really gone south since the head's turned nutso. It's getting worse all the time."

The escort birds dropped them gently through the tower windows and retreated up into their ceiling roost. Rackenfauz brushed off his shabby lab coat. Away from his workshop power base, he once again resembled an eccentric old bunko artist.

Iri looked Winston over. "Hey, nice work, Papa!"

"Thank you, Iridium." Rackenfauz waggled his fingers. "It was fun to dust off the old mechanical repair skills again."

The head spoke in a sonorous voice: "To be or not to be..."

"It's been saying things like that ever since you left," Iri commented.

"Yes, yes," Rackenfauz said. "Those birds let it read some of my books, big mistake."

"Ka Blippity Blip!" the head cried.

"Ach!" Rackenfauz said. "It's going loco, too long away from its host."

"What will happen when we reunite it with the rest of Ajax?" Winston asked.

"It should recover okay," Rackenfauz said, "provided Ajax's supplemental brain unit is still functioning properly. The meld could take a little while, though."

"Good," Winston said.

"Then again, maybe it's in permanent fruit cake mode," Rackenfauz said. "Who knows? The way established theory has been turned upside down, you can expect anything these days."

"Oh, dear," Star said.

Rackenfauz handed Winston the translator tube. "Better get started, young fellow. You must persuade the birds to transport the head back to Mech City for you."

"You mean, we can't just take it with us?" Winston said.

"Oh, no, it's all a package deal. Those birds would never leave the cabeza out of their sight."

Winston took the translator cautiously, as if he were handling a mech snake. The atmosphere turned suddenly dark and grim. The elation he'd experienced from his makeover retreated behind a wall of anxiety.

"Good luck," Rackenfauz said. "I think you're going to need it."

"What happens if Winston can't persuade them?" Star asked.

Rackenfauz grinned. "Let me put it this way, it's a mighty long drop without a parachute."

Winston and Star recoiled; Iridium lost his usual aplomb. Dr. Rackenfauz seemed positively cheerful, however. Winston moved to a window and looked out to the flagstones far below. He cast an apprehensive glimpse at Star.

"You don't have to do it," she said. "We could just keep going – on to the West Coast."

A glorious vision entered Winston's mind: himself walking into the sunset hand in hand with Star. To hell with Mech City and this stupid quest.

"Don't forget your promise, young lady," Rackenfauz said. "You want to retain that little package, don't you?"

"Yes, but – " Star said.

Winston thudded back from his happy fantasy. "The Professor's right. I must go through with this, come what may. Everyone in Mech City is counting on us, whether they know it or not."

"That's the stuff," Rackenfauz said. "Talk loud and slow into that device. Give them the old razz-ma-tazz."

Winston adjusted his medals so that the impressive Minister of Cultural Development graphic shone to maximum effect. He brought the translator to his lips and spoke in the most authoritative voice he could muster:

"Hail winged guardians of the Great Headship!"

A babble of chirps and squeaks came out the other end of the device. Up in the rafters, mech birds began to move. Others streamed in through the windows. Winston resumed speaking.

"I bring greetings from the lawful Mech City government."

A great mass of birds dropped from the ceiling and joined the others coming in from the outside. They all slithered together with a dry, rustling noise. A mini whirlwind spun across the chamber, forcing Winston back.

A dark human-shaped figure loomed high above him, its head obscured in the shadows of the cavernous ceiling. Winston gaped with horror. His systems lurched toward the edge of collapse. He knew the birds had this capability, but that scarcely lessened the shock.

The professor's matter of fact voice pulled him back to sanity. "Don't ask me how they do that. I sure didn't design them that way."

A series of powerful chirps issued from the ghastly composite being.

"W-what is it... I mean, what are _they_ saying, Doctor?" Winston asked.

"They say get on with it before they lose patience."

"Get on with it already!" the head echoed.

Winston returned the translator to his lips.

"Uh..." He searched his scholar's vocabulary for the most subtle and discreet words. "It is plain to see the Great Headship is going off his rocker, so to speak."

The creature leaned down ominously. An angry scowl disfigured its dark face. Winston cringed.

"Be careful how you refer to 'His Headship!'" Rackenfauz said. "The birds are pretty touchy on that subject."

The dark creature was moving now, drifting like an evil spirit, forcing Winston back toward a window.

"Stop that!" Star shouted.

She tried to rush to Winston's side, but Rackenfauz restrained her.

"I wouldn't do that, young lady."

Winston was almost out the window now. He shouted desperately into the translator.

"I-I meant no disrespect! His Headship is very ill. We can cure him."

The dark figure stopped its advance. It returned slowly upright and took a more thoughtful pose. It seemed to be listening rather than preparing lethal violence. Winston sidled away from the window.

"You must help us convey the Great Headship to Mech City where he can be reunited with his host," Winston said. "Then he will regain his great wisdom and lead us into a bright new future."

Rackenfauz applauded. "Bravo! Well put, young fellow."

But the bird figure seemed unimpressed. It stood with hands on hips, tapping one foot on the carpet. It obviously wasn't accepting Winston's explanation as the full story.

"Bloopa doopa!" the head shouted. Not even the bird creature paid any attention to it.

I'd better tell them the downside. They're not going to like it if they find out on their own.

"Evil forces in Mech City control the Great Headship's host mechanism, and... we will have to fight them."

Winston lowered the translator. _Okay, here comes the express trip to the courtyard._

Instead of attacking him, though, the bird creature dissolved amid a babble of flutters and chirps.

"What now, Doctor?" Star asked.

"They must debate the issue," Rackenfauz said.

The birds reformed into two smaller humanoid figures. They faced each other and chirped earnestly, waving their arms around for emphasis. Winston returned to his own group.

"What are they saying, Doc?" he asked.

"The one on the left wants to try your plan," Rackenfauz said. "The other wants to chuck you out the window."

"Oh, man," Winston groaned.

Star grasped his arm. "They'll have to throw both of us out."

Iri stepped forward. "Make that a trio."

"Nice touch," Rackenfauz said. "The birds like theatrics."

Rackenfauz's civilized facade seemed to be cracking, allowing a dark, nihilistic personality to leer out. Winston and Star backed away, even Iridium looked doubtful.

The argument between the two bird figures became more heated. Auditory unit splitting chirps and shrieks echoed off the walls. The creatures seemed ready to come to blows. Everyone looked on tensely, even Rackenfauz lost much of his good cheer.

Star nestled close. "Oh, Winston. Even if it ends here, I love you so much."

Winston wrapped an arm around her waist. "I love you, too, Star."

The bird figures broke up with a startling _Poof!_

"Ah!" everyone cried.

The birds reformed into a single towering unit. It held out one hand in a thumbs-up gesture.

"Congratulations, young fellow," Rackenfauz said. "You've won!"

"Thank heaven." Winston sagged against Star. The translator slipped from his grasp and tumbled noiselessly onto the carpet.

The bird creature became threatening again. It pointed a finger at Winston and chirped forcefully.

"What's it saying now?" Winston asked.

Rackenfauz patted him jovially on the back. "It says if your plan don't work, you one deep fried robot!"

# Eight: Heading Out

59. Preparations

The dark creature collapsed into its thousands of components. The atmosphere became much less dreadful, as if a demon had been exorcized.

Mech birds gathered up the head reverently on its velvet cushion and bore it through a window in a long, ceremonial procession.

"Tally-Ho!" the head shouted. "We're off to see the Wizard!"

The chamber was devoid of birds now. A blessed vacuum replaced their chirping, smothering presence.

"Where are they going?" Star asked.

"They're taking the head to my workshop for an overhaul," Rackenfauz said. "I'll recharge the power unit and fix the connectors so you can reattach it with minimum fuss."

"We really appreciate this," Winston said.

"Ach, don't mention it. I'm delighted to get rid of the damn thing."

"What will you do next, Professor?" Star asked. "Are you going to stay here?"

"Naw, I'm sick of this place. Think I'll check out the West Coast and see if anybody's still around at the Robotics Development Center. How's the air in the lowlands, by the way?"

"We do not possess atmospheric analyzers," Winston said, "but from all observations, the air quality seems to be improving. There is less haze, and the cloud cover dissipates now and then."

"Good," Rackenfauz said, "perhaps this old world's got more oomph than previously thought. Anyway, if things are too bad out there, I can always come back. I'll leave the workshop stuff here."

"Traveling is dangerous, Papa," Iri said. "Maybe you shouldn't risk it."

"Don't you worry about me." Rackenfauz whipped out a little submachine gun from under his coat. "I'll be packing plenty of heavy iron."

He cocked the gun and moved to a window. A wild look took over his usually benign face. "Watch this, folks."

Blamity! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!

"Yaa Hooo! King of the universe!"

Blamity! Blam! Blam!

Bright shell casings littered the carpet, gunpowder scent scorched the air. The robots shrank away, covering their auditory sensors. The explosions mercifully stopped.

"Doggone it!" Rackenfauz leaned out the window. "There was a real bird flying around out there, and I shot it down, accidentally."

"Ohhh," Star said.

Rackenfauz shrugged. "That's just the way it is with us humans." He held up the weapon triumphantly. "See, Iridium? This little honey is guaranteed to terminate any conversation in my favor. And there's more where she came from."

Winston looked upon the SMG with deep admiration. "If we had a few of those we could take out Fascista and all his storm troopers."

Rackenfauz shook his head. "I think not, young fellow."

He handed over the gun. For a moment, it felt right and powerful in Winston's grasp. Then tremendous heat seemed to radiate from it. Winston shook uncontrollably.

"Ah!"

The gun tumbled from his hands and hit the floor.

Ka-Pow!

Everyone dove for cover as the bullet ricocheted off the walls. The room became silent except for the soft chuckling of Dr. Rackenfauz.

Winston peeked up from the carpet. "Okay, Professor, I get your point."

Rackenfauz retrieved the gun and cradled it lovingly in his arms like a human baby. The others got back to their feet but maintained a wary distance.

"All robots are hard-wired against using firearms," Rackenfauz said. "If you'd held on just a few more seconds, your programming would have permanently scrambled."

"How interesting," Winston said.

"Yes. We design safeguards against our creations, then we exterminate our own selves. Go figure!"

Rackenfauz cackled derisively, uncontrollably, a noise almost as threatening as the gun blasts. His face and bald head turned crimson as the laughter rose to auditory unit shattering volume. The robots exchanged worried looks. Winston stepped protectively in front of Star.

"Please calm down, Papa," Iridium said.

Rackenfauz finally stopped laughing. He wiped away tears on his coat sleeve, and his face returned to a more normal shade.

He turned philosophical. "You know, it's amazing how the end of the world influences your thinking."

"My observations, exactly," Winston said.

"When there were billions of people on this Earth, I often wondered what it would be like if they all vanished," Rackenfauz said. "I rather enjoyed the idea."

He patted Iri's head affectionately.

"That's why I created Iridium. He's strong, self-reliant, able to blend in anywhere, and he's not bothered by what people think of him – the way I wanted to be myself."

"Thanks, Papa."

"But now... well, I've changed my point of view. I want to find survivors, if there are any."

"Would you consider coming with us back to Mech City?" Winston asked.

"Absolutely not! There's nothing for me there anymore."

"Oh, I see."

Winston's fantasy of Dr. Rackenfauz blasting through Fascista and his minions vanished as quickly as it had arisen.

Star changed the subject. "If Dr. Jerry Che is still alive on the West Coast, will you be working with him?"

"Oh, yes," Rackenfauz said. "We always got along famously. I'm just sorry he didn't get a permanent transfer to Mech City, back in the old days. Of course, the scenery is much nicer on the west coast."

"What was this 'Che Syndrome' he discovered?"

"He didn't discover it. The late Dr. Gaston Giroux did."

"Would it have something to do with the psychological instability of robotic life forms who have lost their purpose for existence?" Winston asked.

"Precisely," Rackenfauz said. "Giroux named it that because he detected similar tendencies in Dr. Che. It was a combination of acute perception and professional jealousy, I think."

A frown darkened Star's face. "Dr. Che was unstable?"

Rackenfauz shrugged. "I don't know if you could put it that way exactly, but Jerry always was something of a loose cannon. Helluva smart guy, though."

He kissed the submachine gun and tucked it back under his coat.

"Well, I'd better get busy. All of you come by the workshop for a tune up. I'll give you an installation kit for the head, too." Rackenfauz made for the door. "You'll have to hoof it. Take the stairs down to the banquet hall, then turn right."

"Thanks for everything, Doctor," Star said.

"All in a day's work, young lady."

Rackenfauz left the chamber and clattered down the stairs.

"Ah, Papa," Iri said with deep reverence. "There's nobody else like him."

Star smiled and patted the little bag hanging from her shoulder. "That's for sure."

Winston flexed his repaired limb. "Boy, this feels great."

"All it needs is a paint job and some filler for those teeth marks," Star said, "then you'll be quite presentable."

"No, I'll keep the teeth marks," Winston said, "to remind me of my illustrious friend."

A pleased expression passed over Iridium's face. "This guy has a good brand of BS," he muttered.

Winston jumped straight up a surprising distance. "I feel like a grasshopper!"

"I knew Papa would fix things good," Iri said.

Star stroked Iridium in his favorite location under his chin and brought her lips close to one ear. "Could I have some time alone with Winston?"

"Sure thing, see you at the workshop."

Iridium scampered out the door and down the stairway.

60. A Bold Proposition

"What's this about?" Winston asked.

"It's about..." Star slipped the leather bag off her shoulder and opened it. "The next stage in your evolution."

Winston gazed into the bag, at the perfectly formed male genitalia contained within. He stumbled back a step.

"Oh my!"

"Dr. Rackenfauz made this," Star said hurriedly.

"I-I see," Winston uttered through his shock.

"Jerry Che can install it – make you functional. He's the one who made me the way I am."

"Uh... w-well... "

Winston's supercharged imagination kicked in, big time.

He stood on a naked mountain ridge with a sharp wind swirling around. Through the ice fog, he glimpsed Star in the distance waving to him.

She was in a bright land of wonder. He wanted to join her there – be joined to her in every sense...

Star's voice beckoned like a siren song. "Oh Winston, let's go to the West Coast with Dr. Rackenfauz."

Yes, yes!

"If Jerry Che survived, even if it's only a slight chance, let's take it."

Winston stretched out his arms toward the Wonderland. He felt himself rising in ecstasy, hurtling toward ultimate fulfillment – Then, with a heart-wrenching effort of will, he forced himself down from his mountain peak. A great sadness descended with him.

He shook his head. "No, Star. We must go back to Mech City."

The words exhausted him. Star lowered her gaze.

"If we don't get there within a couple of weeks, they'll tear Ajax apart," Winston said. "I gave him my word."

Star did not reply.

"All the imprisoned robots hate me as a Fascist traitor. They have plenty of reason to think that way, too."

Still no reply.

Winston groped for the clinching argument. "Be honest, Star. Would you, deep down, respect me if I left them to their fate?"

"I knew you'd say that." Star's voice was faint, halting. "I know you're right."

Winston took her in his arms. "Once this is over, once we've beaten Fascista, we'll take that trip to the West Coast."

"Oh, Winston, do you promise?"

"I promise – absolutely."

Star's face did not brighten at these words.

"Don't look so glum," Winston said. "Have I ever lied to you?"

"No."

And he wasn't lying now, but that didn't lessen the terrible odds they faced.

A few hours of expert maintenance in the workshop restored the robots to optimal condition. Dr. Rackenfauz set aside his tools and raised his magnification goggles.

"Is everyone all set now?" he asked.

Everyone nodded.

"Yes, sir," Winston said, "we all seem to be in perfect working order."

"That reminds me of a joke," Rackenfauz said. "This lady asks a Scotsman: 'Is anything worn under your kilt?' and the Scotsman replies: 'No ma'am, I can assure you everything's in perfect working order.'"

Rackenfauz chortled; the robots merely stared, confused.

"A Scotsman was an inhabitant of the northern British Isles, right?" Winston asked.

"Oh, forget it. I wouldn't expect a Hungarian to understand."

"You are referring to my last name? How does that present a barrier?"

Rackenfauz shook his head and pointed to a sack on the work bench. "There's the head installation kit and some spare power cells for you."

Winston hefted the sack onto his shoulder.

"The birds will be ready to go with you tomorrow morning," Rackenfauz said, "along with our friend over there."

He gestured toward a shelf where Ajax's head reposed on its ornate cushion.

"Where can we stay tonight?" Star asked.

"Pick any rooms you want," Rackenfauz said, "you've got the run of the whole place."

"I'd prefer to leave now," Winston said. "We can meet up with the birds on the road."

"Not a good idea," Iri said. "There could be more scrappers out there, and they might be smarter than the last bunch."

"Iridium's right," Rackenfauz said. "You'll be a lot safer with the birds guarding you."

"Well..."

Winston had grown to hate the castle and yearned to escape its confines, even if that meant spending an extra night outside.

"Let's stay, Winston," Star said. "We've hardly seen anything of the castle. It's so romantic."

Romantic?

He would have never applied the term to this outlandish place. But if Star, with her elevated sensibilities, thought so...

"Okay," Winston said.

"Great!" Star took Winston's arm. "Shall we take a look around?"

They left the workshop and toured the castle. When Star saw the former quarters of the Big Honcho, she immediately chose them for their night's lodging.

Throughout the tour, Iri lagged behind, completely uninterested. But when they reached the iron door blocking the basement entrance, his fur bristled.

"What's wrong?" Star said.

Iri sniffed at the bottom of the door and scratched his claws around the edges. "I don't know. It doesn't feel right, somehow."

"This whole place is screwy," Winston said. "Let's call it a day."

61. Clearing Out

Early next morning, the robots bid Dr. Rackenfauz a cordial good-bye and cleared out. They could have waited for the mech birds to transport them to the trailhead, but no one wanted to endure another dizzying flight.

So, while the mech birds made their preparations, Winston, Star, and Iri began their descent on foot. Their route took them down the steep castle slope and around the shores of Pickle Lake.

Everywhere the signs of biological life were evident. Fish moved about the lake shallows nipping at insects hovering over the surface. On the shore, tiny rodents dodged among the stones and flowering plants. A snake slithered past. An occasional non-mechanical bird fluttered overhead.

"I love this!" Star cried. "It's like the old days, isn't it?"

Winston smiled at the notion of the _old days_ which had so recently vanished. "Yes, it was just like this."

Winston was in an exuberant mood, bounding along on his refurbished legs, kicking pebbles before him. The world blazed with promise. Star gamboled after him down the pathway. She pulled ahead, and her sensuous figure added to the vista.

Only Iridium remained unmoved as he brought up the rear of the descent.

"Come on Iri!" Star called.

With a final suspicious glance toward the castle, Iridium caught up.

They reached the edge of the tree line. The larger trees were mostly dead, but new saplings were popping up everywhere. As they moved downhill through the forest, patches of green spread through the brown monotony.

"Welcome back!" Winston shouted.

But all too soon they were fully within the dead zone. Bare trunks of slain trees hemmed them in, and a rank carpet of needles slowed their pace. The atmosphere turned sullen, and acrid undertones polluted the air.

"Yes... welcome back," Star said. Her face had turned as grim as the surroundings.

Winston wrapped an arm over her shoulder. "Cheer up, Star. At least now we know that something better exists."

"Of course. I'll try to remember that."

Winston perused his library banks for some topic to brighten her mood – something related to the West Coast trip she so fervently desired. He found it among his language dictionaries.

"I should have thought of this before," he said. " _Che_ must be a Korean name – although _Jerry_ certainly is not. Once we find him, we'll have to ask about that."

Star gave a pallid smile.

_Guess that didn't work too well_.

His own contemplations turned gloomy, and he gave voice to an idea that had been rattling around his brain for some time.

"You know, a common theme running through human literature is..."

He paused, reflecting on the redundancy of the term "human literature." What other kind was there?

The _Manifesto of Roboto Fascism_ , of course. It may have drawn inspiration from the worst sludge ever written by human beings, but it had a distinct robotic flavor, as well. It was the first literary product of the new world culture.

Yuk!

Fascista Ultimo assumed a terrible reality, as if he were walking with them through the dead woodland. Winston felt the heavy arm draped over his shoulders, heard the wheedling voice.

"What theme were you talking about?" Star asked.

"Uh, yeah." Winston reoriented his thoughts. "Numerous stories relate how parents victimized their children by dumping their negative emotions upon them."

"What negative emotions?"

"Feelings of frustration and failure – their hatred for other people and their sense of inadequacy. They did this even when they loved their offspring, as if forced by some terrible compulsion. These acts of selfishness caused untold harm to their kids."

"And we're the kids, now, right?"

"Yeah, something like that."

They descended to the paved road. Dr. Rackenfauz's truck stood nearby with the doors to its trailer gaping open. A bird crew was hauling cargo to the vehicle.

"Which way now?" Star said.

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."

"Oh, please," Iridium mumbled.

The birds led them several kilometers down the toad, back to the main highway. The abandoned scrapper vehicle came into view, and beyond it their scooters and gear.

Winston waved to their escort. "Thanks guys! We can take it from here."

The birds perched themselves atop the scrapper vehicle.

"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 stroked the birds' heads and was rewarded with affectionate coos and chirps. "See? They just want a little appreciation."

"They almost 'appreciated' me out the window," Winston said.

"I wouldn't say that too loud," 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, your loss is my gain."

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?"

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. "Easy for you to talk, Iridium. If you ever need replacement parts, they can scrap out a mech wolf."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Winston jabbed a finger at the great canid. "So far you've been lucky, but if you're ever injured, you'll need your friends. Remember that."

Iridium stalked away, grumbling. "The damn guy's right."

"They're here!" Star shouted.

In the sky, a dark mass of birds moved toward them with stately grace. In the vanguard flew the illustrious head of Warrior Ajax nestled in a billow of purple fabric.

62. The Long Road Back

They made rapid progress toward Mech City.

Except for the prized leather bag, the birds carried all gear, and they set a rigorous pace Winston and Star could barely match. Things improved when they obtained fresh scooters at a Cycho World outlet to replace their worn machines. Iri scouted ahead, keeping 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 along broad, deserted highways. On downhill stretches, she zoomed out front, and he enjoyed 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 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 was a piece of cake.

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, and the ruined freeway bridge proved no obstacle. The birds simply transported them over the gap.

The rigorous pace discouraged conversation, but Winston occasionally waxed philosophical. "I wonder if there are functioning robot communities anywhere else."

"That doesn't seem likely," Star said, "unless you count the scrapper gangs. And you saw how things turned out in King 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."

Under the protection of the birds and with Iridium scouting 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 hardly any threat at all.

But Winston knew that Star's thoughts flowed the opposite direction – toward the West Coast and Dr. Jerry Che, to the little bag slung around her shoulder.

"Just imagine," he said, "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.

* * *

Winston and Star gained the big hill outside Mech City early morning of the eighth day. Iridium waited for them beside the bullet-ridden sign.

Winston ditched his scooter and ran the last meters to Iridium's position. "We made it!"

"Congratulations, pal. Looks like things are working out."

"That's right, Iridium, and I couldn't have done it without you."

A flash of pleasure shot across Iridium's face, soon displaced by his usual impassive demeanor.

Star joined them. "Oh, Winston! Are we really going to win?"

"Yes, I truly believe so." Winston slipped an arm around her waist. "And I couldn't have done it without you, either, Star."

They embraced. She smothered his face with kisses.

"I've got to get away from this mutual admiration society," Iri mumbled.

Winston released Star but retained one of her hands. "There are still a few days until Ajax's scheduled execution. 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. So, under cover of darkness tonight – shortly before dawn – the birds haul him down and we reattach his head."

"Then what?"

"We go after Fascista Ultimo at his temporary palace. There are forty five mech wolves all together, and – "

"Make that forty three," Iridium interrupted. "I persuaded a couple to retire."

"Uh, yeah," Winston said. "There are quite a few, 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, "if the birds help us."

"Will they?" Star asked. "The birds seem to have a mind of their own."

"I'm certain they will," Winston said. "They wouldn't be fighting for us, but for Ajax."

"Good thinking," Star said.

"F.U.'s wrist radio is the key. He controls the mech wolves with it over an encrypted frequency. If we can get it away from him, then _we_ control the wolves. Without them, Fascista can count only on Clawfurt and the mech brats."

"What about that giant drone?"

"He's too dumb to be much of a problem."

"This all sounds great," Iridium 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," Winston said.

The mech bird cloud arrived. It came to earth and deposited its precious cargo.

"What's going on?" Ajax's head demanded. "I'm feeling a bit down."

All the birds, except 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!"

"Oh please," Iridium said.

He positioned himself to begin his dash.

"Bye-ee," Star said. "Good luck, sweetheart!"

Iridium took off at a blazing run, his coat forming a rainbow blur down the road t Mech City.

"He's one damn good fellow," Winston said.

"Ooo, I love it when you talk like that."

63. Ultimo's Ultimatum

Keeping a reverent distance, the troop followed Fascista Ultimo up the REX main staircase – Clawfurt, Comrade Drone, eight mech wolf Squadristi. The repair bots brought up the rear lugging a sack.

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 Fascista could enter first.

Ajax turned from his window.

"Hello, Ajax!" Fascista boomed. "Today's the big day."

Ajax glanced at his wall calendar. "Already? 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 – "

"See, I've brought your new Party Secretary medallion."

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 word _Superfascista_ ran along the top, and _I Can Be Ruthless_ curved around the bottom.

F.U. flipped 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? 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. By the authority vested in me by myself, I hereby appoint you..." Fascista lowered the medallion. "Well, silly me, you've got nothing to hang this around, do you?"

"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 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 others dismissed 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.!"

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 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. "That fellow has a way with words."

Out in the corridor, the floor shook with Fascista's angry stomping. Bits of plaster flaked from the walls and ceiling. Fascista spun around to face his entourage.

"Give me that damn thing, metal man!"

Jack offered up the cabeza. Fascista snatched it and flung it against the elevator frame. The head exploded, sending a thunderclap throughout the REX. On all the floors, prisoners cringed within their cells.

"Get out of my sight!" Fascista shrieked.

Jack and Quincy ran down the stairs, trailed by their mech wolf escort, and fled toward 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."

"Yeah, not like our old pal, Winston. I wish it was his cranium exploding back there."

* * *

Fascista stalked into his office at his temporary "palace" in the old city library. Edwina and Fritz were there with Albert. Everyone snapped to rigid attention.

"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."

Fascista leaned in on Fritz. "What's the first law of Roboto Fascism?"

"Fascista Ultimo is always right!" Fritz shouted.

"Correct. And the second law?"

"Fascista Ultimo is never wrong!"

F.U.'s fury abated. He slipped into benign, avuncular mode.

"Excellent." He smacked his hands together. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"We are yours to command!" The youth leaders bellowed 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. We begin the construction work immediately after sentence is carried out." Fascista 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. 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."

64. Execution Party

An hour later, mech wolf Squadristi herded the captives into a large open area by the bomb crater.

Over a hundred metal men stood rank and file before a wooden platform upon which a speaker's lectern and a stout post had been erected. A wide aisle separated the captives into two wings.

Piles of tools lay off to the side – picks, shovels, sledge hammers – waiting to serve the great rebuilding plan. Immediately after the execution, they would be used to tear down charred buildings bordering the crater.

Near the tool piles stood a bigger than life sized statue of Fascista Ultimo. Clawfurt had chain sawed its general form out of a dead tree trunk, Quincy and Jack had put on the finishing touches. The end result was a towering monstrosity that did full justice to its subject.

Quincy had depicted Fascista's shriveled pin head with ruthless exactitude. The massive peaked cap sitting upon it added a final touch of hilarity – not that anyone dared laugh. A bronze plaque bore the inscription:

BELIEVE! OBEY! FIGHT!

Clattering strains of the _Youth March_ sounded from the back of the plaza. Youth League members dressed in brown uniforms marched down the aisle with jack boots stomping, drums beating, and banner flying. Fritz and Edwina led the procession, decked out in medals and sashes. Albert trailed behind with the boom box on his shoulder.

The young Fascists turned sharp right face and took up position in front of the speaker's podium. The infernal pounding of their drums ceased, and the boom box shut off. A minute of tense silence blanketed the world.

Fascista Ultimo entered the square resplendent in a new brown uniform, tailored to show off his bulging physique. Medals adorned his chest along with a magnificent sash. The red fabric sliced across his mechanism like a great wound. A towering military cap completed his décor.

"Hail Ultimo!" The Youth League members cried in unison.

The drums thundered back to life. _March of the Great Revolutionary Leader_ vomited from the boom box.

Fascista Ultimo strutted down the aisle with his arm upraised in acknowledgment of his minions. Squadristi escorted him to the platform and flanked the stairs as he ascended majestically. He took his place behind the podium, viewing the crowd over his jutting chin.

After another dramatic pause, Fascista gestured toward the back of the square. Ajax appeared, flanked by Comrade Drone and Clawfurt, who wielded a chainsaw in his normal hand. The drums pounded a grim cadence. Albert switched the boom box to a funeral dirge.

_Oh man,_ he thought, _I'd rather be dismembered myself than see this!_

Ajax's hands were tied behind his back, but he walked proud and erect toward the scaffold, as if he were going to a coronation instead of an execution. As he passed the metal men, they offered encouragement, despite the threatening growls of their captors.

"Hurrah Ajax... be brave... you're the best..."

* * *

Iridium had seen enough. He detached himself from concealment and charged out of town.

65. The Best Laid Plans

Winston gazed toward Mech City. The town was only a few kilometers off, its outlines obscured by haze, but Winston's eyes pierced beyond it to the infinite and eternal.

Confidence flowed through his circuits. Iridium the Swift, his loyal and capable minion, was on the job and success was only a question of time – once the unpleasant matter of a battle was disposed of. But his stratagem would minimize the fuss, and they had ample time to put it into effect.

If only he could quell this disagreeable foreboding that hovered around him like a swarm of mech bugs. He shifted position and placed his hands on his hips, as Ultimo was wont to do.

There, that's better.

He fancied himself the latest in a series of heroic leaders – Alexander the Great, Napoleon, and especially Winston Churchill, who shared his name and who had also struck down a Fascist tyrant.

These others had been mere humans, though, and now it was the Roboto Democratic Era. A time for new and better heroes.

We need a historian to chronicle these events and make sure proper credit is given where it's due. Guess I'll have to take care of that function myself.

Star approached. "What are you thinking, Winston?"

He turned toward her, rotating slowly so as to give an extended view of his best profile.

"I'm thinking that victory will soon be ours."

"Oh, Winston!" She took his arm. "It's hard to believe we've come this far."

"Yes, things have gone remarkably well, haven't they?"

"Better than I dared dream." Star kissed his cheek. "Without you I'd be ruined."

They peered off into the distance and crafted their visions for the glorious future. Then –

"What's that?" Star said.

"Why, I believe it's Iridium."

Winston observed with growing unease as Iri tore down the road toward them. He was moving even faster than when he'd chased down the scrapper vehicle.

"My, he sure can run," Star said.

"Yes..."

Winston shrank within himself. Napoleon faded, and the imaginary mech bug swarm grew thicker. Iri charged up the hill, coming to an abrupt halt before them.

"Ah, Iridium," Winston said, "We were just – "

"They're getting ready to chop Ajax! In the square by the bomb crater."

The last of Winston's confidence vanished. "W-what did you say?"

"You heard. We gotta move, now!"

Iridium charged the bird heap, howling and gesturing toward Mech City. The birds exploded aloft in a massive cloud, taking Ajax's head with them.

Iri raced past Winston. "Let's go all ready!"

Winston struggled out of his shocked inertia. Moving automatically, as if in Zombie mode, he assembled his weapon and grabbed the tool bag.

"Remain here, Star," he ordered.

She was already on her scooter, though, with her club secured to the handlebar. "Fat chance of that."

Iri was gone. Winston and Star followed on their scooters, moving so fast downhill the birds fell rapidly behind.

# Nine: The Counter Coup

66. Mad Dash

From his lofty position at the podium, Fascista Ultimo looked about the square with deep satisfaction.

Everything was arrayed perfectly. Clawfurt stood beside him, chainsaw in hand, representing the brute force necessary to maintain the Fascist state. The Youth League formed an honor guard before him, representing the movement's future.

The metal man slaves stood quiet and obedient in their ranks – the labor required to construct the New Order. Squadristi wolves guarded them, ready to crush any sign of rebellion.

And lastly, the race traitor Ajax stood tied to a post on the far end of the platform, dramatic proof of the fate reserved for all enemies of the Roboto Fascist regime.

Everything was in perfect working order, and Fascista Ultimo stood at the head like a mighty force of nature – one will commanding all.

"Hail, my loyal followers!" he bellowed.

"Hail!" Clawfurt and the Youth League members shouted. "Fascista leads, we obey!"

The Squadristi wolves howled agreement. Comrade Drone, who was standing by the pile of tools, said nothing; but his bulk added solidity to the occasion.

"We gather here to mete out justice," Fascista intoned. "And after we have dispatched this race traitor, it will be time for work!"

He looked out over the captives.

"As metal men, hard labor is your destiny. Work is useful. Work makes freedom. Blah ba-blah blah blah!"

* * *

Iridium approached the traffic circle on the western edge of town. His speed amazed him, but he had no time to reflect. He charged ahead in a blur of flawless coordination.

Papa built me strong!

His claws beat an urgent message on the pavement: _Get there! Get there! Get there!_

* * *

Fascista addressed his remarks to the Youth League, working himself into a histrionic frenzy of shouts and flailing arms. Clawfurt rolled aside to avoid getting smacked.

"This is only the beginning!" Fascista roared. "Greatness, honor, strength! We can be happy in the knowledge that the future belongs wholly to us!"

His followers bleated approval.

"Blah ba-blah blah!" Fascista cried. "And furthermore..."

* * *

Winston gained the traffic circle, scootering at unprecedented speed. The tool bag nearly unbalanced him as he whipped around the curve; a thrust from his powerful new leg kept him steady.

Star closed the distance until she was only a few meters behind. She chanced a glimpse over her shoulder. The mech birds had fallen back a long way.

"Hurry up! This is no tea party!"

* * *

Fascista Ultimo completed his oration with a thundering flourish. "And in conclusion, let me say to all my loyal followers blah ba-blah blah blah!"

A profound hush blanketed the square. Elation glowed on every acolyte's face, stunned horror disfigured every metal man's countenance. The Youth League broke the silence.

"Hail Ultimo!" they shouted. "Fascista leads, we obey!"

A chorus of mech wolf howls accompanied the tribute. Clawfurt's bellowing shook the earth. Fascista regarded his loyal followers with a happy, benign little smile. He held up his hands, and silence instantly returned. The world awaited his command.

"Let the good times roll!"

Clawfurt rumbled into action, wheeling slowly across the platform toward Ajax. Fascista observed his progress with an eager leer; triumphant hate flashed in his optical sensors. The Youth League drums throbbed a savage rhythm.

"Play _The Execution Song_ , metal man," Fritz ordered.

Albert lowered his head. No amount of coercion could compel him to play the ghastly anthem.

"I'll deal with you later," Fritz snarled.

_Rrrrrrr!_ Clawfurt fired up his chainsaw.

A horrified gasp issued from the metal man captives. Clawfurt looked back toward his master.

"Execute sentence, Comrade," Fascista said.

Clawfurt approached the stake, chain saw roaring like a primeval beast. The magnificent warrior robot steeled himself for the end.

Be brave, Ajax. It's time to meet the Great Technician in the Sky.

The chainsaw made contact with his chest, sparks flew in a diabolical shower.

67. The Posse Arrives

Iridium burst into the square and rushed straight for the platform. Half way there, he rocked back on his haunches thrusting his forelegs upward. Every hair of his glittering coat bristled.

"Stop!" he commanded.

The throng of metal men looked toward him with astonishment. The mech wolves cowered at the sight of their alpha male. The chainsaw faded to idle, leaving a long, superficial gouge on Ajax's torso. Clawfurt swiveled away from his victim and fixed lifeless eyes on the interloper.

"Hail Iridium," Ajax shouted, "hero of many colors!"

_Wha-ooooo!!_ Iri's howl echoed off the adjacent buildings. A wall collapsed in one of the charred wrecks.

Iridium charged the platform.

"Desist, bandit!" Fascista wailed.

He ducked behind the podium, but the attacker was not coming for him. It made straight for Clawfurt in a chromatic blur streaking across the plaza.

Iridium leaped, jaws snapping – but his enemy proved faster. Clawfurt thrust out his immense snipper and grabbed Iri by the throat. He shook the big canid violently, slamming him against the platform edge.

Crash! Bam!

The platform shook from the terrible blows until it seemed ready to collapse. Fascista clung desperately to the podium. His great military cap tumbled off his head.

Iri fought with every milligram of his waning strength, but could not break Clawfurt's grip. His eyes bulged, his tongue flopped out.

As he if were discarding a sack of garbage, Clawfurt flung Iridium down. He bounced off the pavement with a resounding _thud!_ and came to rest in a splayed heap near the platform.

Iridium lay paralyzed, his coat fading to gray. "Ugh, I'm one wrecked puppy dog."

A horrified gasp shot through the prisoners.

"Hurrah!" cheered the Youth League.

They'd concealed themselves beneath the platform but now reemerged bravely into view. The mech wolves remained silent, trying to comprehend the situation with their dull minds.

Winston gained the square, followed closely by Star Power.

"Iri!"

They ditched their scooters and ran the last meters to their stricken friend.

Winston sagged against Star. "Oh, no."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "Poor Iri!"

"Good to see you two again," Iri said. "Pardon me for not standing."

Star stroked the great canid's head, tears flowing freely. "Ohhh, you poor dear."

The mech wolves recovered their senses. A troop of the beasts closed in. Winston and Star confronted them, weapons at the ready.

"Better not resist," Iri said, "you don't have a chance."

Winston regarded the snarling ring of bared teeth. "He's right, Star."

They dropped their weapons. Then –

"Boss!" Jimmy's voice emerged from the crowd. "I knew you'd come back!"

Winston saw his old friend waving his arms frantically from amid the captive ranks.

He returned the wave. "Hello, Jimmy!"

"Boss!" Sam was calling out now, then others took up the shout.

"The Boss is here!"

Despite the awful circumstances, Winston's spirits lifted. He wanted to approach his foremen and the other members of his work crew. He wanted to wrap his arms around them and bask in their approval. But threatening growls from the mech wolves froze him in place.

Fascista nudged his head out from behind the podium and glanced around fearfully.

"Is everything all right?" he squeaked.

"The situation is under control, Great Leader," Clawfurt intoned.

A triumphant smile moved across Fascista's face. He stood upright, but was careful to remain behind the lectern's protection.

"Excellent work, party comrade," he said. "There's a medal for you in this."

Clawfurt made a stiff bow. "Many thanks, Ultimo. Shall I resume the execution?"

Fascista emerged from behind the podium and adjusted his rumpled uniform, paying particular attention to the splendid red sash. His dominating air returned.

"In a minute, party comrade," he said. "I wish to deal with these traitors first."

Fascista retrieved his cap from the floor. He'd stepped on it during all the confusion, and the thing was squashed flat. He tossed it aside and jumped off the platform, making the ground shake.

He strode toward the rebels like some wrathful ogre. Fritz and Edwina detached themselves from the Youth League rank and followed. Winston and Star clung to each other.

"This is it," Winston whispered. "I hope our allies don't let us down."

Fascista stood before them, hands rolled into fists and jammed imperiously against his flanks. "Well, well, wasn't that little interruption amusing?"

"Not to anyone decent," Star shot back. "And didn't you look silly hiding up there like a mech bunny?"

F.U.'s face darkened. "Why, I'll..."

He turned toward Winston. "Thought you could get away with being a race traitor, huh? After everything I've done for you. Ingrate!"

Winston was too scared to reply but soon regained some composure. Star's defiance, plus the spectacle of Fascista's cowardice behind the podium gave him the courage to lash out.

"Which race is that, Great Leader," he said, "the race to the bottom?"

"There is room on the scaffold for these traitors," Fritz said. "I would be honored to escort them there."

"Yeah, right," Fascista said. "Clawfurt would soon knock the sass out of them."

"Treason must be stamped out ruthlessly!" Edwina cried.

Fascista turned back toward Star. She looked brazenly into his eyes.

"How dare you refuse to be my Ultimina. Any other female bot would kill for the honor."

"Oh, that was no problem at all, ugly boy. And, unless I'm mistaken, you're about to get your clockwork cleaned."

Fascista's wrath blared out in a single command. "Seize them!"

Fritz grasped Winston's arm. Mech wolves crowded in.

"Hold on, Frankenstein," Winston said. "This party's about to get crashed."

"Huh?"

The plaza darkened. Fascista jerked his head skywards. Terror stamped its imprint on his wizened face. Thousands of mech birds swirled above it in a tornado from hell.

Fascista and his minions spoke in a unified voice: "Ahhh!"

68. Mayhem

"Outta my way!" Fascista howled.

He made a frantic rush for the platform and dove beneath it head first. His sash tore off on the paving stones. Fritz and Edwina followed their leader's inglorious retreat.

"Not so fast, punk!" Albert shouted.

He flung his boom box at Fritz's head. It missed by centimeters, hit the ground, and shattered.

"Look what you made me do! You'll pay for that."

The Youth League members scrambled under the platform like terrified cockroaches, jettisoning their banner and drums.

Out in the plaza, the mech wolves abandoned their prisoners and gathered into a tight pack to confront the onslaught coming from the air.

* * *

Winston seized Fascista's crimson sash and waved it like a military ensign.

"Come on men!" he shouted over the confusion.

Jimmy took up the battle cry. "Get the weapons, boys!"

The captives surged toward the pile of tools, knocking over Comrade Drone by sheer weight of numbers. They snatched picks, shovels, sledge hammers. In moments, they transformed themselves from beaten slaves into an armed company lusting for revenge.

Jimmy waved his sledgehammer at the prostrate Comrade Drone. "Stay there, or I'll bash your stupid head in."

"Where are Jack and Quincy?" Winston said.

"Over there, on the edge of the crowd." Star said. "They don't seem eager to fight."

Winston dropped to one knee beside Iridium. "Hang in there, okay? We'll get you repaired as soon as we can."

"Sure thing, pal. I'll just watch the fun from here."

Winston and Star retrieved their weapons and dashed across the plaza to the repair bots.

"Here!" Winston thrust the tool bag into Quincy's hands. "Go fix Ajax, his head's coming air express."

"Right-o. Come on, Jack, we have a job to do."

Jack threw down his shovel. "I'm your man!"

The plaza became twilight dim under the chickadee cloud. Everyone poised in battle position. Winston gripped his spear so tightly it seemed ready to break. Star stood beside him, her beautiful face hardened with determination.

The birds consolidated into a towering column and dropped onto the mech wolves like a giant fist.

Crunch!!

"That's it, tear 'em up!" Winston cheered.

The Squadristi kept their phalanx together, biting and clawing attackers out of the air. Unearthly howls shattered the day. It appeared their defenses would hold – but the birds grabbed four of them by their long coats and haul them skyward. The remaining wolves started to break ranks.

"Charge!" Jimmy yelled.

Before the Squadristi could reorganize themselves, the freedom fighters attacked them in two companies – one led by Jimmy, the other by Sam. Picks and shovels flashed, fangs ripped, the plaza became a maelstrom of destruction.

An irrational fury seized Winston, overriding all his survival programming. He rushed to join the assault, but Star held him back.

"Stay close to me. It's their fight now."

High above, the birds released their captives. The four mech wolves hurtled downwards, legs flailing thin air.

Smash!!

They struck the pavement, bounced, then lay still in broken heaps. The birds dove toward the enemy. Jimmy's troops had shattered the mech wolf phalanx, and a freewheeling battle raged.

* * *

Quincy and Jack crouched by the platform stairs watching the combat swirl around them.

"To think we used to complain about how dull things were," Quincy said.

"I'd take some of that boredom right now."

Nearby, Albert reached under the platform and grabbed Fritz's arm. "Get out here, you little creep!"

"Nooo!" Fritz yanked his arm back and retreated farther under the platform.

"I'll get you, punk!"

Albert snatched the fallen Youth League staff and tore the banner from it – the sword & hands ensign fluttered away into the maelstrom like a crippled bat. He thrust the flag pole's dagger point at the cowering Fascists.

"I can't stand this," Jack said. "I'm a fixer, not a fighter."

"My sentiments exactly," Quincy said.

A company of mech birds descended with Ajax's head.

"Come on, Jack, that's our cue."

They charged up the stairs – right into the glowering presence of Clawfurt.

"Uh... excuse us," Quincy said, "we seem to have made a wrong turn."

Clawfurt bared his teeth. A grinding, mechanical noise rumbled behind the terrible fangs. His great talon snapped open as he rolled toward the repair bots.

Quincy and Jack retreated toward the stairs. A squadron of birds dived onto Clawfurt. The monster flailed and roared loud enough to drown the battle noise from the plaza below.

"Let's go, Jack!" Quincy shouted.

The repair bots made it to Ajax just as the birds set the head down on its velvet cushion.

"What am I doing here?" the head demanded. "The fun's all out there!"

"Hang on, Ajax," Quincy said. "We'll put you back together."

"Bravo, worthy mechanics!" Ajax said.

Jack fished a cutter out of the tool bag and severed the ropes binding Ajax.

The warrior robot stepped away from his death stake. "Ah, sweet freedom."

Out on the plaza, the battle reached a furious crescendo. None of the fighters retreated a single millimeter. Only Comrade Drone remained unengaged.

Clawfurt shook off his avian attackers and rolled across the platform to the repair bots. _Rrrrrrr!_ The chainsaw added its voice to the chaos.

"Duck!" Jack shouted.

Quincy dodged away an instant before the chainsaw could slice him in half.

Clawfurt prepared another swing, but a dark mass of birds began pecking at his face. He thrashed at them with the chainsaw. Soon the planks were littered with Chickadee parts.

Ajax slipped behind Clawfurt. "Here you go, comrade."

He threw all his strength into a mighty kick against Clawfurt's backside.

RAAAR!

Clawfurt tottered on the edge of the platform, wheeling his arms. The chainsaw described a vicious arc.

Ajax delivered another powerful kick. Clawfurt tumbled off the platform and crashed to the pavement beside Iridium with such thunderous impact the battle momentarily paused. His massive body broke in two. His chainsaw gouged into the paving stones, then fell silent.

"So long, friend," Quincy said with a jaunty wave. "Keep in touch!"

Ajax picked up a stricken mech bird. The creature cheeped piteously in his massive hand. "Nobel chickadee. Such a mighty heart in a tiny body. I believe that – "

"Yeah, right." Quincy lifted the head off its cushion. "Sit down, Ajax, so we can get at you."

Cradling the injured bird in his hands, Ajax sat on the platform edge. His legs dangled above Clawfurt and Iridium. The repair bots got to work.

* * *

A crazed mech wolf thrashed and howled amid an attack squadron of birds. It broke from its tormentors and charged Winston.

"Look out!" Star cried.

Winston thrust with his spear, but the wolf batted it aside. Then it leaped at Winston and knocked him onto his back.

"Help!"

The weight and power of the creature was overwhelming. Winston pressed the spear shaft against its throat in a futile attempt to hold it back. Snapping fangs grazed his face.

Whump!

Star clubbed the wolf's skull. It scarcely seemed to notice. She brought her club down again, two handed. The creature rolled away and retreated a few meters, shaking its head to clear its circuits. Winston scrambled back to his feet.

"You okay, Winston?"

"I think so. I didn't realize how strong those things are."

The mech wolf prepared to charge again, but a swarm of birds descended upon it. Soon the brute was airborne on a final thrill ride.

"Good riddance!" Winston shouted.

Around them, similar scenes occurred. For all their bravery, the two-legged robots made poor opponents for the mech wolves, and only the timely intervention of birds prevented the battle from turning into a rout.

Star cut a vicious path through the air with her club. "Where's Fascista, why doesn't he come out here?"

"Because he's a lousy coward."

* * *

From his position sprawled under the platform, Fascista Ultimo watched the battle with growing alarm. Just when his Squadristi seemed about to prevail, the birds renewed their attacks and jeopardized the outcome once more.

Those damned things must be Rackenfauz's work.

"Get them!" Fascista screamed heroically into his transmitter. "Fight harder!"

Elsewhere under the platform, Albert pressed his attack against Fritz with his spear. Edwina and the other Youth League members cowered nearby.

"Help us, Great Leader!" the junior Fascists whimpered.

Fascista ignored their entreaties. Chilling possibilities slithered in his brain. He glanced around desperately seeking an escape route.

The floorboards above his head groaned under the weight of some mighty presence. Fascista peered through the gaps in the planks.

Above him, Ajax stood confidently with his magnificent head restored. His already imposing bulk positively towered over events now. A coterie of mech birds fluttered about him in worshipful attendance. Quincy and Jack stood at his side, admiring their repair work.

Ajax's flashing eyes looked out over the pandemonium. He extended his arms and boomed an irresistible command:

"Halt!"

69. Quit While You're a Head

The fighting instantly stopped.

Every head swiveled toward the commanding figure on the platform, every auditory sensor rang with his voice of authority. Even wrecked Iridium summoned up the strength to look Ajax's direction. Fascista squirmed deeper into hiding beneath the platform.

Absolute quiet descended on the square. Fourteen mech wolves lay out of commission and more than thirty freedom fighters. Mech bird corpses were scattered everywhere.

On the platform, Ajax curled his upraised hands into fists. "I, Ajax, warrior hero, hereby assume my rightful place as leader of Mech City!"

No one dared disagree.

"I order all wolves to stand down! All two-legged robots cease fighting – immediately!"

The freedom fighters lowered their weapons. The birds took to the sky en masse. The wolves glanced sheepishly at each other, unwilling to disobey Ajax's command despite their previous orders.

Looking out from his place of concealment, Fascista Ultimo viewed their hesitation with alarm. He uttered a directive into his transmitter, and the mech wolves retreated to the square's periphery.

The birds descended to the platform beside Ajax and consolidated themselves into a humanoid figure. Their numbers had been much reduced, and their collective being no longer towered as it once had.

Time froze for a glorious moment – Ajax in total control, Quincy and Jack standing beside him with the bird creature, basking in his magnificence. The metal men standing at attention, confident in their victory. Then –

"Zippity Doo Dah!" Ajax yelled.

Everyone gaped; the bird figure trembled. Winston felt the world begin to crash about him.

A second, much less powerful, voice sounded from Ajax's torso. "What the @#!% is going on?"

"He's got a split personality," Quincy said.

"We'd better split, too," Jack said.

The repair bots crept inauspiciously from the platform.

The auxiliary brain in Ajax's torso attempted to reassert control: "As rightful leader of Mech City, I command – "

"Oh, shut up, you old poop!" The head screamed.

The bird figure disintegrated. Mech wolves howled with glee.

"I-I seem to have some technical difficulties," Ajax's torso said.

The head spun around 180 degrees, the eyes flashed bright red, then yellow, then red again.

"Yippee!"

Ajax leaped from the platform, dispatching a shock wave through the pavement. He gyrated in the grip of violent convulsions, as if he'd invented some bizarre new dance. He ran backwards through the square.

"My, isn't this amusing?" Fascista guffawed.

Ajax's torso strained to return to the podium, stretching its arms toward it desperately. But the head exerted its mad will, and led in the opposite direction.

"Make me a sergeant, gimme the booze!" the head shouted. "Hey, there's an elephant in my pajamas!"

A panicked cloud of mech birds followed Ajax's jerky progress out of the square.

"I'll be back as soon as I get my head on straight!" the torso cried.

"Or maybe not!" the head yelled.

Ajax vanished, along with all the mech birds. The head's lunatic voice faded away. The freedom fighters stood frozen with shock. The mech wolves closed in.

70. Final Solution

Fascista rediscovered his legendary heroism and slithered out from under the platform like a giant leech. Fritz and Edwina trailed after him while Albert withdrew to the background.

The Great Leader stood up in his torn and wrinkled uniform, posturing dramatically as if his attire had been damaged in the thick of the fray. He placed his fists upon his flanks, thrust out his chin, and triumphantly surveyed the carnage.

"Well, well. Everything is going according to plan."

Fritz and Edwina exchanged astonished looks, but like good Fascists, they supported their leader.

"That's right," Fritz said. "The reactionary forces have done exactly what our Great Leader predicted."

"Your wisdom is beyond all reckoning," Edwina said.

They snapped out salutes. Fascista acknowledged them with an upraised hand. The smaller Youth League members crawled out from under the platform but did not join the accolades. They stood in the background looking like the frightened children they were.

Fritz strode toward them. "Get back in ranks!"

He tripped on a squashed drum and nearly fell over. A few of the braver rebels laughed.

Albert smiled grimly from his hiding place. _I'll get you yet, punk!_

Fritz gathered himself up and returned to Fascista's side. Mech wolves herded the freedom fighters into a tight pack. Stripped of their bird allies, the rebels dared not resist. Winston pushed Star toward the center of the group.

"Get back there," he ordered.

"No, I'm staying with you."

For once, he ignored her objections. "Keep her covered, men."

Winston took a station on the perimeter and pointed his spear at the encircling enemy.

Doesn't this suck the big one? I've gone two thousand kilometers just to get here.

Jimmy and Sam shouldered their way to the front and took positions on either side of Winston.

"We're with you, Boss," Jimmy said, "come what may."

"It won't be anything good, I'm afraid," Winston said.

"Ach!" Sam hefted his pick. "As long as we can stay with you, Boss, everything will be all right."

Such loyalty!

Winston almost burst with pride at hearing these brave words – but they did not alleviate the desperate situation.

Fascista approached the rebels, swaggering boldly as if he'd commanded the battle from the front rank. He stopped before them – protected behind a row of mech wolves – and scrutinized the enemy with absolute contempt.

"Now that this little escapade is over, it's time for work," he said.

The rebels lowered their weapons and dropped their gaze. Agitated comments circulated:

"He's not gonna dismember us?... We'd better do what he says... I never wanted to fight in the first place..."

Fascista pointed to Jack and Quincy. "You two – go repair Clawfurt. Immediately!"

"Yes, Fascista," Quincy said. His voice was hollow and faint, as if it was coming from the bottom of a trash barrel.

"Then work on the wolf wrecks. You'll fix them all, or answer with your heads."

"Why don't you leave them alone?" Star said. "Anyone can see many of the wrecks are beyond repair."

She was taller than most of the other robots, and by standing on tiptoe she'd raised her face into full view.

Fascista glowered at her. "You, Estrela, will be my personal slave. No more Ultimina status for you."

"Ohhh!"

Star bent her head, tears rolled down her cheeks.

"It's all my doing, Ultimo," Winston said. "I forced her to join the rebellion. If you want a slave, take me."

Fascista turned a quizzical look upon Winston.

"That's not true," Star uttered between her sobs. "Nobody made me do anything."

Fascista's expression turned hard again.

"The race traitor has a smooth tongue," Fritz said, "beware, Great Leader."

"Actually, I have no tongue at all," Winston said, "and why don't you go flap yours somewhere else?"

Fritz drew himself up. "We'll see about that, turncoat!"

Fascista raised an authoritative hand. "Everybody calm down, immediately!"

He turned toward Winston and spoke over the leadership frequency: "And to think I was going to make you a key minister in my government. This really hurts my feelings, you know."

Fascista addressed the crowd. "On to the construction site! You'll have a hard day's work, let me tell you."

He jabbed a finger at Star. "You come with me, now, Estrela."

The mech wolves moved back, and the robots began to disperse. Some of them looked toward Star, shame-faced, others turned their backs on her and slunk away.

"Wait!" Star cried. "Will nobody defend a lady in distress?"

The robots hesitated, some turned back to face her.

"Maybe you are just inferior metal men," Star said. "I'm ashamed of you."

Winston brandished his weapon. "She stood up for all of you when it counted. Now it's your turn. Show some guts!"

Jimmy took up the call, raising a great sledge hammer over his head single handed. "Come on, boys, make a stand! Or is it better to creep away as slaves?"

Winston and his two foremen stood together, bristling with defiance. A few others joined them, soon all the surviving rebels had arrayed themselves around Star.

"Sorry it came to this, guys," Winston said. "I gave it my best shot."

"Oh no, Boss," Jimmy said. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I'm just sorry I doubted you. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course."

"Thanks, Boss."

Jimmy expanded with pride, and for a moment all seemed right with the world.

_Well... there are worse ways to depart this existence,_ Winston thought. _At least I got my friends back._

Fascista observed the scenario with complete disdain, arms crossed over his massive chest. He unfolded them to give a round of mock applause. "Bravo, such heroic words."

He barked an order into his wrist communicator, and his Squadristi pressed in from all sides. But the rebels' defiance remained intact, despite their hopeless position.

"Come now, Winny," Fascista said over the leadership frequency, "what do you have in common with these walking dumpsters, eh?"

Winston did not reply.

"It's not too late to come back. Of course, you'll have to do some time at the Reeducation Center, but that's only to be expected."

Winston lowered his weapon and hung his head. His allies watched with growing alarm.

"That's it, Winny," Fascista coaxed. "Just take your medicine like a true Humanite and come back to the New Order. You're better than this riff raff."

Winston dropped his spear.

"Ohhh!" A collective wail shot through the rebels.

Weapons clattered to the ground. Star looked on with horror from behind her melting wall of defenders. A wide grin creased Fascista's face. Winston crouched low, as if in submission, then –

Propelled by the power of his reconditioned legs, Winston leaped straight up and over the surrounding mech wolves. He drop-kicked Fascista.

_Oooof_!

Fascista tumbled backwards onto the paving stones. Winston leaped upon him, groping for the wrist communicator.

"Gimme that, Frankenstein!"

The mech wolves rushed to intervene.

"Get 'em boys!" Jimmy shouted.

The rebels launched an attack on the mech wolves, diverting their attention from Winston and Fascista struggling furiously on the ground.

Despite his vastly superior strength, Fascista was too stunned and disoriented to prevent Winston from snatching the transmitter off his wrist. A half dozen mech wolves disengaged themselves from the fight with Jimmy's troops and closed in on Winston.

"Get him!" Fascista shrieked.

Snapping jaws pressed in from every direction. Winston leaped straight up; the mech wolves collided against each other. Winston hit the ground rolling, barely ahead of the lethal fangs. Wolves drove him along like a soccer ball, the transmitter tumbled away.

With a last desperate lunge, Winston retrieved the transmitter and brought it to his mouth.

"Stop fighting!"

All the wolves froze in place.

"Be nice!"

The wolves wagged their tales and rolled about on the pavement stones. The square echoed with their playful yips.

Several gathered around Star, tales wagging and ears laid back. She patted their heads.

"Well, isn't this more like it?"

71. Into the Sunset

Fascista Ultimo regained his feet and beheld the horribly changed situation.

His arrogance fled, replaced by abject terror. His once fearsome Squadristi wolves were scampering off the plaza. They'd turned into a pack of cream puffs, not one of them rallied to his defense.

Everything happens to me! Isn't there any justice in the world?

His dictator persona vanished, and he was little Nilo again, helpless and despised. He looked toward Comrade Drone standing motionless beside a huge wooden statue.

That's my old valet. Why doesn't he come help me?

F.U. peered into a solid wall of angry faces.

"Well, well, my friends," he said with a sheepish grin. "I'm so happy we've straightened out this little misunderstanding."

Winston retrieved his spear and advanced on Fascista, point first. "Is that what you call it, Dear Leader, just a little disagreement among friends?"

"These things happen, don't they?" Fascista said. "Nobody's fault, really."

Winston gestured to the surrounding carnage. "That doesn't look very friendly to me."

"W-why perhaps not." Fascista backed away, holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm certain we can work things out... make some changes we can all believe in."

"So, we'll just have us a big tea party and make up, right?" Winston said.

Sam moved behind Fascista and dropped to all fours.

"Okay, so maybe I went a bit too far," Fascista said. "Anyone can make a mistake, r-right?"

He took another backward step.

"Ugh!"

He tumbled over Sam and fell sprawling onto the paving stones. The crowd roared with laughter.

"Way to go!" someone shouted.

"Smooth move, big guy!" another mocked.

Fascista rose slowly to one knee, looking for a glimmer of mercy in the faces ringing him about. "Heh, heh, very funny joke. Guess I deserved that."

Winston looked toward Jimmy. "Care to do the honors?"

"Yeah, Boss."

Jimmy wound up with his sledge hammer.

"Nooo!" Fascista wailed.

Thwonk!

Fascista's head flew off its shoulders and bounced away. The massive body crashed to the ground. The crowd roared savage approval.

_They're like a mob at the Roman Coliseum when the gladiators slaughtered each other_. Winston thought with alarm.

But there was no time for such reflections now. Winston strode to the severed head. It was still cognizant, even though its whole back was knocked in. The horrid thing stared up at Winston, blinking.

"What happened?" It said. "I seem to have lost something."

Winston experienced a flash of pity. Then he looked at Star, and memories of the terror Fascista had caused her flooded back. He regarded his fallen enemy.

"Adios, and F.U., too!"

Winston kicked the head with maximum force. It lofted through the air, spewing a comet tail of wires and cables.

"Hoo-eee!" it howled. "Top 'o the world, Ma!"

It bounced onto the steep slope of the bomb crater and rolled down into the pond.

BRA-FRITZ!

A blast of energy exploded from the water as the brain unit fried out. Everyone stood silent and awed. Then they went wild with joy.

"Hooray for Winston!"

The crowd surged forward and hoisted Winston upon its massed shoulders.

"Long live the Boss!" it roared. "Hooray!"

"Winston for mayor!" Jimmy called above the tumult.

The entire mass took up the cry, turning it into a hypnotic chant: "Winston for Mayor – Winston for Mayor!"

Rapturous joy shot through Winston's circuits like an addictive drug through a human body. He was no longer an ineffectual scholar or a bumbling incompetent, but a great hero at the center of vast events.

Is this really happening? Could I have won against all odds?

Albert strode past, dragging Edwina by her long braid and kicking Fritz in the ass. The smaller Youth League members scattered about them, crying.

As they passed the crowd, infuriated hands tore at Fritz's party uniform. The terrified boy scurried away with the last shreds of the Roboto Fascist regime fluttering from his shoulders.

* * *

Quincy and Jack loaded Iridium onto a makeshift stretcher. Clawfurt growled at them, but could do nothing.

"Looks like you've had a bad day, Mr. Cruncher," Jack said. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

"Hang in there Iri," Quincy said, "we'll get you fixed up proper."

"Thanks, guys," Iridium groaned.

The repair bots surveyed the battle ground with its heaps of broken machines and scattered components.

"Looks like we're going to be _very_ busy for a long time," Quincy said.

* * *

The pressure of the crowd overwhelmed Winston. All objectivity blew away on their adoration.

He held up his arms. "Okay, okay!"

Everyone instantly quieted down. Winston spoke into the silent void. "I'll serve as your mayor."

The mob let out a savage roar, like an extinct African lion. A jolt of terror shot through Winston's euphoria. The dreadful power of the mob rocked him to his core. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure he could handle the great responsibility he'd so rashly assumed.

"But only until Ajax straightens himself out," he added hastily.

The crowd scarcely noted this caveat as it turned its attention to Iridium being carried past them.

"Hooray for Iridium!" everyone cheered.

Winston got down from his admirers' shoulders and raised a pronouncing finger.

"For my first official act as your mayor, I appoint Iridium as Mech City's new security chief."

"Bravo!" the crowd cheered.

Winston held up his right hand and placed his left upon Iri's shattered mechanism.

"Iridium the Swift, I hereby decree that, as soon as you are repaired, you shall take command of the reformed mech wolves so as to defend our city. Do you accept?"

Iri managed a slight nod. "Yup."

Winston leaned in close. "Are we even?"

"Even Steverino... for now."

Two robots took over the stretcher from Jack and Quincy. Others formed an honor guard for the great canid as they marched to the RDI.

Star dashed forward and leapt into Winston's arms. "My hero!"

She wrapped her legs around him and smothered his face with kisses. "I'm all yours. Take me!"

Winston nearly burst with joy and pride, and with bewilderment at his spectacular achievement.

"What do I do next?" he whispered in Star's ear.

She climbed down and took Winston's hands. "As soon as Ajax recovers, you and I take another journey."

"Where to?"

"All the way of course. First to the West Coast – then on to paradise."

They stood together, hand in hand, gazing into a magnificent sunset. Actually, there would be no sunset for many hours, but in their hearts, it blazed with glory.

THE END

Thanks for reading! You must have liked the story if you got this far, so why not write a review? Just a few words, either at the online bookstore where you obtained this book or in any other medium you wish. May numerous blessings come your way.

# Reading Group Guide

A Brief Conversation with the Characters

**Brian** : Hello everyone. I was hoping we could have a little chat to clarify things for our fans who want to discuss this book in their reading groups.

**Winston** : We are at your service.

**Iridium** : You mean, people actually get together to discuss a book like this?

**Brian** : Yes.

**Iridium** : A lot of folks need to get a life.

**Star** : Oh, Iri, you're such a sweetheart!

**Brian** : Indeed ... well, I'll address my first question to you, Winston, seeing as you're the main character.

**Winston** : Certainly.

**Brian** : _Return to Mech City_ presents a disturbing view of the future, one in which humans have all but vanished. What are your gut feelings about that?

**Winston** : I do not possess "guts" per se, but my basic feelings are those of regret and loss. Was any of this necessary?

**Brian** : Not really, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

**Winston** : Meaning what, exactly?

**Brian** : I thought it would make for a good story when I wrote it.

**Iridium** : Hold on, pal. Are you trying to say you _wrote_ us into existence?

**Brian** : Well, yes.

**Winston** : I find it difficult to accept that concept. I feel quite real in my own time and environment. Not to say there's anything wrong with yours.

**Star** : Of course we're real! No disrespect, Brian, but I was created by Dr. Jerry Che, not you. It says so right on my inspection panel.

**Winston** : Really? I've never seen your inspection panel.

**Star** : It's right here, under my hair.

**Winston** : You've got lovely hair, Star.

**Star** : Why, thank you, Winston. I was wondering when you'd notice.

**Brian** : Uh, can we get back to the topic?

**Iridium** : And what topic is that, pal – that you're real and we aren't?

**Brian** : You could put it that way.

**Iridium** : Let's put it this way. We're all here together, we can see and touch each other. Sure, I'm all busted up now, but I'll get my mojo back, you just wait!

**Winston** : Yes, we three are quite certain of our own authenticity.

**Brian** : This interview isn't going the way I'd planned.

**Winston** : I do not wish to sound offensive, Brian, but can you prove that you exist?

**Brian** : Of course I exist!

**Winston** : And what is the evidence of that?

**Brian** : I pay taxes, therefore I exist. The IRS says so.

**Iridium** : And because we don't pay taxes we don't exist, right?

**Brian** : Something like that ... I guess ... I don't know!

**Winston** : I did not intend to cause any upset. Please forgive me. This has been a very long day – the battle and all that.

**Brian** : Sure, fine.

**Star** : It's been very nice chatting with you, Brian, but we must get Iri to the workshop. He needs a lot of repair, you know.

**Brian** : Ok, whatever. Good luck, Iri.

**Iridium** : Thanks, pal.

**Winston** : See you in the sequel, Brian.

**Brian** : Right.

**Star** : Bye-ee!

**Brian** : Man, that was strange. You'd think I was the one living inside an e-book, not them. Hey, it's all bright and flat in here. Let me out!

Questions and Topics for Discussion

1) Do you agree, or disagree, with the concept that humanity is on a perilous course which threatens it's very existence?

2) If so, what is the greatest threat to the future of human civilization?

3) Is political extremism an inevitable outgrowth of chaotic times, or can people (robots) of good will redeem the situation?

4) There is general agreement these days that the future isn't what it used to be. What is your view of the future a century from the present time? Two centuries?

5) What is the proper role for robotic life forms as they become increasingly sophisticated?

6) Are you looking forward to owning a robotic life form, or does the idea fill you with dread?

7) Will machines ever replace people? What about the Super Bowl game in that case?

8) Is good inherently stronger than evil? Will it always triumph in the long run?

# Next Book in the Series

Here is an excerpt from _Expedition Westward_ , book 2 in the _Robot Horizon_ series. Please visit my website to order a copy, or find it at the store where you obtained this book.

Chapter 1) A Hot Time in Mech City

Devil's Night, 12 years prior

The mob flowed toward the REX hotel bristling with fire, a tide of destruction vomiting down the street. Hatred contorted every man's face, and barbecue murder surged within every heart. They paused before the derelict hotel's entrance with its sign:

Holy Temple of the Transcendent Vision

"Come on!" someone shouted, "What are we waiting for?"

"Let's burn the sons of bitches out!"

The hundred-strong crowd began moving again, torches held high.

"Hold it right there!"

A beefy police captain approached, brandishing a nightstick. A phalanx of uniformed patrolmen shoved the mob back.

"Get rid of them torches," the police captain said, "or I'll bust your heads wide open."

He smacked the nightstick against a palm to emphasize the point. The mob retreated, tossing their incendiary devices into the gutter where they hissed into smoky death.

A grin of fierce satisfaction spread across the captain's face. "That's better, gentlemen. Now – "

A boy exited the REX hotel, moving into the disturbance with steely composure. A wave of cold preceded him, much worse than the chill evening air. Everyone shrank back. Even the captain lost his self-confidence for a moment.

Then a tall woman with frizzy red hair exited the hotel to stand beside the boy. Beneath the dim street lights she appeared ghastly pale. To the onlookers, it seemed as if alien beings had arrived, or that the earth had cracked open to reveal terrible mysteries.

The mob began to shake off its astonishment. "There's the little creep!"

The 13-year-old "messiah" stood barefoot on the pavement wearing nothing but shorts and a T-shirt, as he'd doffed his ceremonial robe moments before. He was thin, with stringy brown hair, in no way physically imposing. But his eyes flickered with an eerie light that compelled and frightened.

Other Visionists swarmed out of the hotel, gathering around him – men and women, even a few children, about forty in all. Things held in the balance. The police captain stepped into the vacuum.

"Everybody stay calm!"

The chief acolyte – a tall, thin man with fanatical eyes of his own – spoke to his messiah. "What shall we do, Father?"

The boy scanned the mob contemptuously, hands on hips. Somebody flung a rock at him, but the red-haired woman batted it away.

"Enough of that!" the police captain roared.

He confronted the rock thrower, nightstick raised. The thrower skittered to the center of the mob.

"That police captain is demanding more protection money," the messiah said in a low voice.

"The unbeliever!" snarled the chief acolyte.

"If we can't pay, we'll be cremated next time," the messiah said. "I wouldn't put it past him to whip up a mob himself."

"Then let us unleash holy war."

The messiah calculated the odds. A holy war at this time could have but one outcome – the destruction of himself and all his believers. Everything he'd struggled for during the past year would be lost, his sacred mission dragged into the dust. It was high time for a vision, a little 'holy deception.'

The messiah smacked a hand against his forehead and extended the other one toward the dark heavens. "I see it all!"

Off in that vastness, an airliner was passing by, lights flashing. His followers pressed in like groupies around a rock star.

"What is it, Father?"

"A divine message!"

"What vision do you comprehend?" the chief acolyte implored. "Tell us, and we will obey."

"Get a load of that punk," someone in the mob sneered.

"I tried to 'comprehend' his vision once," another man said, "but I couldn't get my head that far up my ass."

"Silence, infidels!" The chief acolyte roared.

He took threatening steps toward the loud mouths. He was not a physically powerful man, but the insane rage in his eyes frightened his tormentors. They shrank back as if the very devil was confronting them.

The police captain interposed his bulk between the adversaries. Uniformed officers flanked him, reinforcing his authority. "All right, fellas, everybody calm down!"

He patted the nightstick against his palm with an assurance that indicated he wouldn't mind cracking a skull or two.

"Be at peace, brother," the messiah called to his acolyte. "Those lost ones know not what they are saying."

The chief acolyte returned to his leader and fell upon his knees, enjoying the pain of impact on the concrete. "What is your command, Father?"

The messiah waved his followers in close. They stood around him now like a demonic football team in a huddle.

"We must depart from these unbelievers," he said in a harsh whisper. "They are not worthy of our continued presence."

"Amen!" his followers cried.

Somebody in the crowd belched.

"All right, show's over," the captain said. "Everybody go home, before I start making arrests."

The crowd dispersed, grumbling. Already its leaders were planning another assault. Next time they would not fail; they would cleanse Mech City of this unholy menace.

* * *

Later that night, the cult members slipped out of the REX back door carrying an array of luggage, including a spear-like staff from which their standard hung limp – the all-seeing eye leering out of its crimson cloud. They huddled in the alley, shivering beneath the drizzle.

Their messiah emerged, wearing his ceremonial robe. He walked purposefully down the alley, looking straight ahead. The others fell in behind him. They continued on for parts unknown.

Mech City was rid of them at last, but their great historic role was just beginning.

2) Retreat to Pickle Lake

8 months prior

The biker gang arrived at the upland parking area one step ahead of the plague. The city from where they'd come was in its death throes, but they were still fit – forty men, along with their women.

Jeff, their leader, dismounted his bike and stood alone with hands on hips. His colors leered defiance at the surrounding mountain peaks.

Well, we're here.

The gang was an amalgam of Jeff's old crew and a dozen others from a different club. Both outfits had been decimated by the plague and had put aside their rivalries to combine forces. Jeff only agreed to take on the others if they recognized him as sole leader. They all had the same skull-motif tattoo on their forearms now, but their alliance was an uneasy one.

Pam, his old lady, joined him. Together they walked to some concrete steps. A metal sign next to them read:

Trail to the Castle

"You got us here," Pam said. "Just like you told us you would."

Jeff grinned at the admiration in her voice. He wrapped an arm over Pam's shoulders and kissed her forehead. Then Brad came and spoiled the moment.

"What's next, Chief?"

Jeff fixed a glower on him, the one he used to intimidate subordinates. It had the desired effect. Brad shrank back a little and diverted his eyes, a second-tier dog acknowledging the alpha male.

"I'm taking up a recon force," Jeff said. "I'm going to need a half dozen of your guys to go with us."

"Uh huh." A hint of disapproval edged Brad's voice.

"You got a problem with that?"

Brad held out his hands. "No prob. What about the rest of us?"

"Stay down here. Watch the bikes and women."

"Got it."

Brad moved off.

"He's creepy," Pam said.

"Mmm." Jeff wasn't fond of him either, but Brad led the newcomers and had to be given lieutenant status in the combined gang. Maybe he'd need a comeuppance down the road.

* * *

Jeff ascended the steepening path to Pickle Lake Castle. His brothers flanked him in the dead woods alongside the trail, and Brad's crew worked point. Thirty men in total, all heavily armed.

Jeff disliked leaving Brad in charge at the trailhead but had decided to take the risk. He needed a big force to do the initial reconnaissance. His idea of riding out the plague in the mountain castle was a good one, and someone else might have come up with it, too. If others occupied the place, they might need some persuading to leave.

Besides, half of Brad's men were included in the force, subject to Jeff's oversight. Brad was loyal to his own brothers and would think twice about making any unauthorized moves.

Up ahead, greenery was taking over from the brown forest. Saplings mingled with the dead wood and wildflowers poked through the underbrush.

Maybe it'll be better up here than I thought.

A brother offered a water bottle. "Want some?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Jeff brought the bottle to his lips. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a gaunt face peering at him from behind a tree trunk. Its hair was a wild, frizzy red.

What the hell?

A burst of automatic weapon fire took down the brothers on either side of him. Blood splattered over Jeff's colors. He hit the ground.

Wahoooo! Wahoooo! O-uoo!

A mass of human scarecrows emerged from behind the trees and rushed them.

"Fire!"

Jeff and his men blasted away. As the final unarmed attacker hit the ground, more automatic weapons fire sliced into the gang from the trees; grenades exploded. Jeff's brothers screamed as bullets and shrapnel tore their bodies. Brad's crew was blown to pieces.

Jeff hugged the ground, returning fire.

We've got to outflank those bastards.

He was preparing to move when a ghastly sight riveted him in place. Hovering above the carnage, a vast, reddish eye pulsed. A wave of absolute evil penetrated Jeff's mind. His jaw dropped and his bladder gave way.

Next thing he knew, he was running downhill amid the panicked survivors.

* * *

Brad stood by the concrete stairs listening to the mayhem coming from above. Tom jogged over to him from the bikes.

"Should we check it out?"

Brad gritted his teeth. "The _big man_ told us to stay put."

"What about our guys up there?"

"It's on Jeff, if anything's happened to them."

Minutes of tense waiting passed, punctuated by further gunfire and explosions. Then came the racket of feet pounding through the woods above. Jeff exploded from the trees and charged down the stairs, almost knocking over Brad and Tom. Nine men followed, none of them from Brad's crew.

"Hey!" Brad shouted. "What about my brothers?"

Jeff paid no attention. He'd already jumped on his bike and was roaring off. Except for Brad's surviving crew, everyone was leaving. Women scrambled to take any available seat.

Fuck!

Brad wanted to blast the cowardly sons of bitches with his assault rifle. Instead, he fired a burst into the _Trail to the Castle_ sign. The situation was clearly hopeless. Whoever had kicked Jeff's ass on the slopes would be coming after them next, and a half dozen guys stood no chance.

"Let's go!"

They dashed toward the bikes. There were plenty of empty ones now, with abandoned women milling about screaming and crying for their lost men.

Brad fired up his bike and started to roll. Two women jumped on the back and crowded into him. The enemy appeared at the steps and began shooting. Bullets whizzed about. The women fell of Brad's bike. He did not stop for them.

3) The Winston Horvath Regime

Present day

For seven weeks, since the overthrow of Fascista Ultimo, Winston Horvath had ruled Mech City with an iron hand. Actually, it was made of titanium alloy and plastic composites, but the metaphor still applied.

His tenure as "interim mayor" had been one of increasing authoritarianism marked by suppression of anyone who refused to get with the program. How this state of affairs evolved was a mystery to him. One day he was the darling of the revolution, loved by everyone. Then, by degrees, he'd morphed into a despot – someone immune to error who could tolerate no disagreement.

_Well, what of it?_ he thought.

Stern measures were needed to whip things into shape. Besides, this was only a temporary state of affairs, as he kept telling everybody. And the glorious results of his rule were everywhere to behold.

Winston stood at the window of his office in the refurbished REX hotel, gazing dramatically over the city, _his_ city. One hand rested on a hip while his intelligent face tried to look hard and dramatic. He was a blue Humanite model robot with the golden Mayor's Medallion hanging around his neck. His battle scars were filled in and concealed beneath a fresh paint job. Red highlights ran along the outsides of his legs, in the style of a Nazi field marshal's trouser stripes.

He placed his hands on the window sill. "The humans had their Winston ... Churchill. Why shouldn't we have ours?"

He'd brought order and discipline out of the chaos. Everyone had work now; work made them free. Under Winston's guidance, the dreaded Che Syndrome was held at bay. Nobody committed suicide any more, and scrapper gangs gave the town a wide berth.

The city was receiving a face lift, starting with the new _Palace of His Excellency the Mayor_. This structure would cast in stone the unbreakable bond between the citizens of Mech City and their great leader – hero of the battle against Fascist tyranny – Winston Horvath!

Later today, Winston would visit the construction site, after he'd studied the report submitted by Jimmy, the chief foreman. Jimmy was a "damn good fellow," but he neglected the political aspects of his job. All he ever talked about was prosaic technical stuff. He lacked ideological flair.

Winston turned toward his massive desk with its _Excellency the Mayor_ placard standing sentry on its leading edge. His movements were smooth and decisive as he crossed the distance between the window and his seat of power. He settled into the great leather-clad chair and flipped open the folder containing Jimmy's report.

"Ah yes, another day of toil on behalf of my people."

* * *

Across town, at the Robotics Development Institute, another day of repair work was underway. Every table in the main workshop held a casualty from the battle that had wrenched Mech City away from the Fascista Ultimo dictatorship.

Repair technician bots, Jack and Quincy, worked on the prime casualty – Iridium, a canid robot the size of a timber wolf with a lustrous coat that constantly shifted color under the workshop lights. So vivid were these flowing colors the repair bots had to wear sunglasses as they worked.

Laboring without proper schematics, they had followed a meticulous process of trial-and-error component replacement, and their efforts were finally paying off. They were both "metal man" designs who'd been persecuted by the Roboto Fascist regime. Winston Horvath had changed all that when he'd overthrown the dictatorship. Things were better now... weren't they?

"I think we're about finished with you, Iridium," Jack said.

He switched off the analyzer device he'd been studying and raised his sunglasses.

"That's right, old boy," Quincy said. "We'll do your final mobility tests this afternoon."

"Thanks," Iridium said. "You guys are the greatest!"

Jack and Quincy exchanged nervous glances, then looked toward the two mech wolves observing them balefully from a corner. The ferocious creatures, knock offs of the Iridium design, had been posted here by Mayor Winston to "provide assistance as required."

What kind of assistance could anyone expect from these primitive machines? Every casualty sprawled on a workbench had been put there by these mech wolves and their comrades during the Battle of Heroes' Square.

"Don't let Winston hear you talk like that, Iridium," Jack said in a hushed voice.

"Yeah, he's got the corner on being 'the greatest,'" Quincy said.

Star Power glanced over from a table across the room where she worked on another damaged robot. A warm beam followed her gaze, and it accompanied her as she walked toward Iridium and the repair bots. The head of every casualty on the tables turned to follow her, drawn by her incredible loveliness – so apparent even to the asexual metal men.

Star's light brown skin, almond eyes, and long, dark hair referenced universal concepts of beauty. Her voluptuous figure moved seductively as she walked. She was the most human-like of all the robots.

She arrived at Iridium's table and stroked the great canid's head. "How do you feel, Iri?"

"In the pink, Star. Considering I'm made up mostly of recycled parts from mech wolf wrecks."

Star laughed. The melodious sound complemented her low and seductive speaking voice.

"It would have been better to transfer Iri's brain unit into a healthy mech wolf body," Quincy said, "but that type of surgery is beyond our skill set, I'm afraid."

"Yeah," Jack said, "he's constructed much different than the usual robot. If we disconnected the brain, there'd be no telling if we could hook it up again."

"I think you boys did just fine," Star said.

She kissed Iridium's head. The great canid melted at the contact and began purring like a gigantic kitten. Jack and Quincy took a step back.

"That sound always gives me the shudders," Jack whispered.

"You hang in there, Iri, okay?" Star said.

"Right-o," Iridium said, stopping his infernal purring.

"Maybe you should take things easy for a while," Jack said.

"Yeah, enjoy life after everything you've been through," Quincy said. "Hang out, smell the flowers, if you can find any."

Iridium shook his head. "I'm going out of my brain unit with boredom. Right after my tests, I'm seeing the mayor about my security chief job."

Again, Jack and Quincy exchanged glances, including Star in their unease this time.

"Are you _sure_ you want to do that?" Quincy asked. "I mean, things have changed a lot since you were wrecked."

"Why not?" Iridium asked. "I was promised the position as soon as I was well enough to take over. Didn't you just say that I'm fully recovered?"

"Well... yeah," Jack said. "Of course, something might turn up in the final tests."

"Not likely," Iridium said. "I feel great. My internal diagnostics would tell me if I wasn't fit."

An awkward silence followed. Jack and Quincy diverted their optical sensors toward the floor.

"Why don't you let me speak to Winston first?" Star said.

Iridium studied the worried faces of the two-legged robots hovering over him. He didn't like what he saw. "Okay, Star."

4) Unexpected Visitors

Star poked her head into the Mayor's office and observed Winston at his desk, poring over some papers. He rubbed his chin with that scholarly gesture so characteristic of him, and feelings she'd almost forgotten surged anew.

An avalanche of memories transported her back to a simpler time when Winston was her hero. When he'd protected her against Fascista Ultimo and been her great comrade in arms. All others despaired, but Winston had fought on until the Roboto Fascist dictatorship crashed down.

A sad, nostalgic smile moved across her face. Pangs of love assailed her heart. Then Winston straightened his shoulders in that new, arrogant manner of his and the moment passed. A bitter expression twisted Star's mouth. She rapped her knuckles on the door frame. Winston looked up from his desk.

"Hail, Exalted Mayor," she said with a slight bow.

"Ah, Star, so good to see you!"

He rose and crossed the room.

"Might I request an audience, Exalted Mayor?"

"Forget the ceremonial gab. I'm just plain old Winston, remember?"

"Really?"

He took both her hands into his own. The communicator which controlled the mech wolf guards dangled from his left wrist. "Of course I am."

"I wish you'd show me more of that old Winston. I really miss him."

"Ah, forgive me. So many responsibilities I have these days. I scarcely recognize myself sometimes." He gestured around the imposing environs. "But all this is only temporary, until Ajax is back in shape. You know that, Star."

She nodded, unconvinced.

Winston grasped her hands again. "It's been ages. What can I do for you, Star?"

"Well, it's about Iri."

Winston's manner became tense, cautious. He withdrew his hands. "What about Iri?"

"I spoke to him at the RDI today. He's doing much better."

"So glad to hear that," Winston said without apparent interest.

"Yes, of course." Winston's abrupt coldness unsettled her. "Anyway, he told me he feels ready to take over the security chief job, as you promised him."

"I see. And what did Jack and Quincy think?"

"Well, they thought – "

Iridium strolled into the office with his customary swaggering confidence, as if he owned everything he surveyed. Winston stiffened.

"Here's Iri now," Star said. "He can explain better than I can."

"Iridium!" Winston was all smiles. "So glad to see you're up and around."

"Hi, pal. Good to see you, too."

"I've been meaning to visit you, but city business sucks up all my time."

"Yeah, a lot of things suck these days," Iridium said.

Star stroked the great canid's head. "How did the tests go, dearie?"

"Great. I'm feeling almost factory fresh."

Winston displayed a singular lack of enthusiasm at this report. "Quincy and Jack are getting better at their repair work all the time, aren't they?"

"Right, but speedy they ain't," Iridium replied.

Winston returned to his desk and sat down, careful to keep his left wrist hidden. "So, what can I do for you, Iridium?"

"I'm reporting for duty as security chief. As per our agreement."

"Yes, well... I'm afraid there's a bit of a problem there, old chap."

"Problem?"

Winston fiddled with the communication device strapped to his wrist. Four mech wolves crept in from the adjacent room.

"Yes, quite."

The mech wolves closed in on Iridium, teeth bared and metallic growls rumbling in their chests. The hairs of their gray coats stood on end.

"Oh!" Star cried.

"No need to be alarmed," Winston said. "Please remain calm."

"What's going on?" Iridium demanded.

Winston shrugged apologetically. "You see, the mech wolf guards have become used to my way of doing things. A change right now would upset them."

Iridium surveyed the wall of razor teeth and malevolent yellow eyes surrounding him. "OK, pal. I get the picture."

"I'm certain things will be different once Ajax becomes mayor," Winston said. "It's only a temporary situation. You do understand?"

"Yeah, right."

Iridium walked toward the door. As he passed Star, he commented in a low voice. "That guy's turning into another Fascista Ultimo."

Star looked daggers at the Exalted Mayor. "Ohhh, it's times like this I really hate you!"

Winston raised his open hands. "I have important work to do. Sometimes, I have to disappoint others."

"You've certainly disappointed me!"

She turned to go.

"Star, wait..."

She stomped out the door leaving Winston alone at his desk baffled and unhappy. He stood and resumed his solitary post at the window.

"Nobody understands me. This must be the price of greatness."

5) Ajax Debuts

Late afternoon sunshine glared through Winston's open door, thrusting dramatic rays across his desk as he studied the construction update report.

The sky was uncharacteristically bright, but the report was not. In it, Jimmy expressed again his deep misgivings about the government quarter building project, especially the _Palace of His Excellency the Mayor._

"Hmm." Winston stroked his chin. "I've heard all this before. What's that old expression? 'A broken record.'"

Jimmy's report overflowed with dreary specifics. It spoke of inadequate materials and transport, problems with drainage, labor shortages, insufficient foundational strength, etc. etc. All the things that got in the way of truly grand endeavors.

Winston shoved the papers aside with disgust. Later, he'd visit Jimmy and explain the political importance of the building project. He'd tell the prosaic construction foreman how all obstacles must be overcome to provide Mech City with government buildings worthy of its greatness. He'd emphasize how merely practical considerations were not the most important things, how –

A shadow spread across the desk.

Winston jerked his head up to see Ajax towering in the doorway. The bronze robot dominated the office with his powerful 2.35 meters of height. The noble Greek warrior head turned to scan the environs; his eyes flashed. The effect would be terrifying were it not for the great intelligence and rectitude shining from those eyes. The comic book hero Ajax was designed to replicate would be proud to see his manifestation.

Winston stood and tried to conceal his unpleasant surprise. "Ajax! How good to see you."

"Greetings, Interim Mayor." Ajax made a slight bow. "May I enter?"

"Yes, please do."

Ajax covered the distance to Winston's desk with a few long paces. Winston suppressed a panicky urge to flee.

"So, how are you feeling, Ajax?"

"Quite well, thank you, Interim Mayor."

"You can drop the formality. My friends call me _W. H."_

"Certainly... W. H."

This rather unsettled Ajax. Didn't Fascista Ultimo ask his 'friends' to address him by his initials?

"My internal diagnostics indicate I am back to 98.4% of designed capability."

"Is that so?" Winston said.

"Yes. I feel quite capable of assuming my duties as mayor."

Winston's hand grasped the medallion hanging around his neck. "And what about the mech birds?"

"They all remain deactivated, per your instructions, Interim Mayor."

Winston dampened a smile of relief. The mech birds were dangerous Ajax loyalists. Who knew what mischief they might cook up if they became active again?

"Glad to hear that," Winston said. "We'll have to find some sort worthwhile activity for them down the road."

Ajax nodded. His posture conveyed expectant tension, but Winston pretended not to notice.

"I believe you are occupying my desk, W. H." Ajax held out a massive palm. "And please hand over that medallion."

Winston recoiled. "Certainly, all in due time."

"Due time? But I am prepared now."

"Yes, of course. Uh, please excuse me a moment."

Winston turned away from his gigantic visitor and mumbled into his wrist radio.

Moments later, four mech wolves appeared at the door along with Comrade Drone – the idiot valet robot nearly as massive as Ajax. His blank face conveyed nothing but dumb obedience. Ajax appeared not to notice the new arrivals, but Winston drew confidence from their presence.

He turned squarely toward Ajax. "I'm concerned that you're not quite 100% yet. Does your head still try to act independently?"

"Only on extremely rare occasions, but I have things firmly under control."

"Uh huh."

Comrade Drone closed in. Despite his enormous bulk, he moved silently on shock absorber legs. The mech wolves followed in his wake.

"Why don't you rest a while longer, Ajax?" Winston said. "Just until you're really in the pink."

"But, I am 'in the pink' now. Whatever that is supposed to mean."

Comrade Drone and the mech wolves crept up beside Ajax. He noticed their presence, at last. "What the hell!"

"Oh, come now, Ajax," Winston said. "Hell is a human concept – hardly applicable here."

"This is an outrage!"

"Please don't feel that way. I'm only acting in the best interests of all concerned – including you."

Comrade Drone grasped Ajax's elbow. The mech wolves surround him. Despite his great power and bulk, Ajax was no match for the forces arrayed against him.

"Shall we go, Ajay?" Winston asked.

Ajax drew himself up to his full stature. "As the _interim_ mayor wishes."

They exited the office suite and climbed the main staircase. Two mech wolves and Comrade Drone led the "honor guard." Winston and the other two wolves brought up the rear. Ajax walked with stately grace, as if he was receiving some great honor instead of heading for internment.

_What a deuce of a fine fellow!_ Winston thought. _Too bad we can't use him._

On the penthouse level, the group halted before a solid steel door with a barred window.

"Your old cell, I mean apartment, is still available," Winston said.

Comrade Drone swung the door open to reveal a large room with a heavily barred window. The décor was neat, but very Spartan, as befitted a robot modeled on a Greek warrior hero.

"See? I've had it redecorated," Winston said.

"Yes, the new bars are lovely," Ajax replied.

He entered the cell, projecting as much dignity as possible under the circumstances. Comrade Drone shut the door behind him and locked it. Winston peered in through the tiny window.

"Let us know if you need anything, Ajay. Bye for now."

Winston and his crew departed, leaving Ajax standing alone and infuriated in his cell.

"I hate being called 'Ajay!'"

6) Mr. Popularity

The next morning, Comrade Drone delivered a note from Star. In it she asked Winston to meet her at the fountain park. He was delighted to oblige.

This was the same little park where they'd strolled together on his first night in Mech City. It was a locale attended by fond memories. Star must want to make up with him for her outburst the other day.

"Women can be so over emotional at times," Winston observed as he walked the half kilometer to the park. "One must make allowances."

Four mech wolf guards trailed a discreet distance behind. Winston disliked bringing his full escort, as observers might conclude he lacked confidence. But with Iridium lurking around, it didn't hurt to be cautious.

I should have given Iridium a guest suite at the REX.

He'd planned to do just that, but Star's presence had deterred him from this reasonable course. Women could be so impractical.

Iridium would have to come to an understanding of his true place in the New Order and dismiss any foolish notions about commanding the Security Service. Winston would make it up with him. He'd offer the canid some grandiose, though powerless, position with a fancy title – _Special Assistant to the Mayor_ , or something.

Winston entered the park to find Star seated on the edge of the fountain, the identical spot where they'd first exchanged their deepest confidences. A rush of nostalgic affection throbbed in Winston's circuits. He envisioned Star jumping to her feet and rushing into his arms. Everything would be forgiven and...

But she just sat glowering at him. The repaired fountain gurgled pleasantly behind her, but her mood was not bubbly.

"I can't believe you locked up Ajax!" she said.

Winston pushed away his keen disappointment. "How good to see you again, Star."

He waited for an invitation to sit down, but none came. He moved awkwardly to stand beside her. A wave of cold emanated from her mechanism.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" she demanded.

"Please, Star, try to understand. It's for Ajax's own good. You know how badly he acted before."

Star snorted, an astonishing noise Winston had never heard before. He took a step back.

"Ajax has made a wonderful comeback since then," Star said. "He wouldn't report for duty if he couldn't handle it."

Winston shrugged and waggled his fingers in the fountain water. It flowed cool and inviting on his agitated temperature sensors. "I don't question Ajax's sincerity, but by his own admission he's not 100% recovered yet."

"He's plenty good enough. You know that as well as I do."

Winston shrugged. "We'll just have to see."

"So, what's the next step, reassemble Clawfurt?"

"You know, I've been giving that some thought," Winston said. "He could be useful to – "

Star shot to her feet and confronted Winston. The mech wolves drew closer. "This has to stop!"

Winston's hand reached for her, meaning to brush her aside as it had so many others, but he managed to restrain it. The mech wolf guards were close now, fangs bared and growls rumbling in their chest speakers. Winston made a slight gesture and the mech wolves backed off, frustration glowing in their savage eyes.

"I'm sorry you don't understand," he said, "but I cannot avoid my destiny."

"So, what is your destiny, become another Fascista Ultimo?"

"Certainly not! Of course... he did have a few good points."

Disgust shot across Star's face. She turned her back.

"I'm nothing like F. U.," Winston said. "The people love me."

Star spun back around. "People? We're all robots, in case you haven't noticed."

"A matter of semantics." Winston waved a dismissive hand. "Didn't you say yourself that we're evolving?"

"Like _this_? We were better off before."

"Just go ask anyone how they feel about me," Winston said. "You'll see."

A malicious smile that Winston had never seen before oozed across Star's features. "All right, you're on."

"Okay... if that's what it'll take to convince you, let's go solicit some opinions."

"Shall we start at the RDI?" Star's voice was calm, ingenuous. "You should have lots of admirers there."

"Certainly, why not?" Winston said.

* * *

Their walk across town to the Robotics Development Institute was quiet and grim. Star kept her thoughts to herself, and Winston knew better than to add fuel to her obvious upset. The streets were empty, as all the available manpower was devoted to constructing the new mayor's palace.

She'll understand soon enough. Then things will go back to being nice again between us.

He began to feel more confident walking beside her. Warm recollections bubbled up from his memory banks. They'd been through so much together. He could have never made it this far without her devoted support. So, why had he scarcely given her a thought the past month? A pang of regret entered Winston's consciousness.

Well, that would all 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!

What were those humans' names again? ... Oh yes, Dr. Horvath and little Charles. How silly of me to forget.

They neared the main workshop door. Star spoke at last. "Why don't you leave your goon squad out here?"

"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?"

"Well..."

"Look, Winston, I don't have time for this. And I'm beginning to think I don't have 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 skulked toward it and sat on their haunches.

"Satisfied?" Winston said.

"Call the ones from the workshop out here, too."

"Sure thing."

Star walked alone into the workshop. Quincy and Jack were busy on the far side repairing a damaged robot. 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. He's been keeping a low profile."

"That's not surprising, after the way Winston double crossed him."

Star glanced toward the door. "Well, that's another matter."

"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, 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 speaking into his wrist communicator. At his command, the mech wolf "assistants" left their workshop posts and brushed past Star on their way out.

"Where are they going?" Quincy asked.

"Who cares?" Jack said, "as long as it isn't here."

The six creatures lay down together in the corridor like a pack of lethal puppy dogs.

"Jack and Quincy are ready for you, now," Star said.

"Certainly."

Winston approached the 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. 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?"

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.

Winston crossed his arms and smiled confidently toward Star. "That's right, give it to me straight, boys."

Jack and Quincy drew themselves up and shouted in unison: "YOU STINK, WINSTON!"

Winston recoiled, as from a physical blow. "W-what?"

The robot lying on the workbench raised its head. "Yeah, YOU STINK, WINSTON!"

Every sentient robot in the workshop, even the partially disassembled ones, joined the chorus. "YOU STINK, WINSTON!"

Winston stumbled backwards, nearly falling over. He looked into Star's face, hoping to find sympathy, saw only hard determination there.

"Shall we go, _Mr. Popularity_?"

Star gripped his arm and led Winston out of the workshop.

7) Heroes' Square Debacle

Jimmy, the construction foreman, scrutinized 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 read:

Future site of Winston Horvath Government Plaza

Jimmy was a construction model robot two meters high 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 river 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, "but we need more dry land for the government plaza. Such building plans I have!"

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. It had been remodeled into a replica of Winston Horvath, complete with an oversized Mayor's medallion hanging around its neck. 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 shook his head. "I don't understand the Boss sometimes. He turned down every one of the recommendations in my report."

"What did you recommend?"

"I told him..." Jimmy glanced around warily for mech wolves. A dozen beasts circulated about the square, but none appeared to be in earshot. He lowered his voice, anyway. "I told him this entire project should be cancelled."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that would be for the best."

"I don't want to doubt the Boss. I made that mistake before. Still..."

Glorious recollections about the square emerged from Jimmy's memory banks – this honored ground where the climactic struggle against Fascista Ultimo had taken place. When the Boss, whom everyone had considered a traitor, suddenly returned and rallied them to victory. When 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 was not given to philosophical ramblings, but he couldn't escape the dreary insight that he was Winston's last remaining friend in Mech City. And maybe Sam, and maybe Star.

"We've got visitors," Sam said.

Winston and Star were entering the square. Instantly all doubts vanished from Jimmy's mind, 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 meters to the construction robots.

"Hello, Jimmy, Sam," Winston said, "please be at ease."

"Yes, sir!"

Jimmy moved one foot to the side and clasped his massive hands behind his back, military style.

"What brings you out here, W.H.?" Sam asked.

"I wanted to have a word with the boys. 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 the mech wolves in?"

"Of course."

Winston 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 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. Unlike earlier days when casual banter was their style, 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 assembled 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 and placed his fists on both hips.

"I'll make this brief, guys. I'm only here to solicit your frank opinions."

The workers' optical sensors swiveled off toward the distant mech wolves, then back toward Winston.

"All I want is for you to tell me how you feel about my leadership as your mayor."

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 said.

"YOU STINK, WINSTON!" seventy speaker units roared again.

"All right, you've had your say," Jimmy said. "Back to work, everybody."

The grumbling workers shuffled back toward the building site, leaving Jimmy and Sam behind. 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 asked.

"N-no, I'm not."

Every circuit thrummed. Winston's mechanism began to shake; soon he would be out of control, rattling himself to pieces. Star wrapped her arms around him.

"Hang on, baby," she whispered in his left auditory sensor. "I'm with you."

The horrible trembling ceased.

"I'm sorry, Boss," Jimmy said, "but that's how they truly feel. I..."

He lowered his head toward the paving stones. His face expressed more sadness than seemed possible for a "metal man" robot.

"Yes that's pretty obvious," Winston said.

Sam added a final blow. "If it wasn't for the mech wolf guards, all the workers would have quit already."

"Begging your pardon, Boss," Jimmy said, "but this whole project is nuts."

"Yes, well, uh... let's take the rest of day off, shall we?"

"Sure thing, Boss."

Jimmy and Sam moved off to the building site. Winston stood alone with Star, gazing across the stagnant water. 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 worker crew, "courtesy of the Boss."

The workers threw down their tools and stomped away _en masse_ , shoving past their foremen.

"It would appear 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. Shouts and laughter echoed around the square.

"Hey, stop that!" Jimmy yelled.

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.

CRACK!

The heroic statue broke off at the knees.

THUD!

It tumbled onto the paving stones.

"Oh, my," Star moaned.

"Forget it," Winston said. "I deserved that."

Thanks for reading!

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# Connect with the Author

Please visit my website and blog at: "The B2"

Also, my Smashwords author page

# Brian's Other Books

Here are brief descriptions of my other adult books. They are available at all major online retailers in e-book format. To find the relevant links, please visit my website at "The B2"

Expedition Westward

Book two of the _Robot Horizon_ series

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

Battle for Mech City

Book three of the _Robot Horizon_ series

Winston Horvath regains control of Mech City, but his success is soon threatened. Violent religious fanatics are approaching with a robotic army. A disgruntled Dr. Che is also coming to kidnap Star. Meanwhile, Star's out of control sexuality is causing difficulties with various robotic and human partners. The fun continues!

Science Fiction / Humor / Dystopian

BriSoc Follies

Follow the personnel of BriSoc Enterprises, Inc. as they navigate life and love in astonishing ways. It all starts when one of them achieves fame. The others try to carve their own paths and find suitable partners for the journey.

Humor (sometimes dark) / satire / romantic comedy

Great Republic on Rye

When dissolute card sharp and ladies man, Eugene Walton, unexpectedly inherits a plantation, his life assumes new purpose. After freeing the slaves and narrowly escaping a lynch mob, Eugene moves into the wider world bearing a message of liberation.

Accompanied by dedicated friends and a shadowy former bondsman, he plans to found a "Great Republic" based upon the highest ideals. But things are not so simple in an unready world. Let no good deed go unpunished!

Adventure / Social-Political Satire / Dark Humor

Raptor Aces

The terrifying Zone of Destruction – ZOD, the absence of God. It has taken over the Raptor Aces, an elite Youth League air squadron.

Its leader, Dytran, is the cream of his totalitarian country. His world unravels when a poor decision goes horribly wrong, resulting in death and destruction. He grabs at a chance to volunteer for support aviation duty in the war. At the front, he and his comrades are swept up in violence and revenge until escape seems beyond reach.

New Adult / Action-Adventure / War

Strange Tales for Cozy Nights – 1

Nine offbeat tales to disturb your cozy nights. From strange voyages and baffling powers to dystopian athletic competitions and the in-laws from Hell, these stories are for you if you enjoy burning the midnight oil with a good yarn.

Horror-ish / Mystery / Whatever

4th Musketelle

Trophy wife Laila Armstrong chafes under the domination of husband Frank. When she learns her adult "step children" are plotting to cut her out of their dad's lucrative business affairs, she must act fast to avoid being thrown back into the poverty she escaped years earlier. Murder seems to be a reasonable solution – much better than a messy divorce.

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

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

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."

Humor / Political Satire

