Return to Mech City

  9: 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, like a human entering a holy temple.

  “Ah ... It seems like only yesterday.”

  He began moving slowly down the hall toward the main workshop. If any tech assistant robots were still functional, they’d probably be in there. As far as any human survivors, he’d pretty much given up hope – even for the redoubtable Dr. Rackenfauz.

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

  Charles had been only five years old then.

  “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 scooter wheels.

  He 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 were!

  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 that he might cause the tech assistants to make a mistake on their patient.

  Jack and Quincy were metal men, of course, 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 up.

  An enormous drone robot stood off to the side. It was 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 or design.

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

  Wow, those mech heads must have really gone off the rails during the 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 fairly intact. Probably a suicide victim.

  Several minutes passed without anybody noticing Winston’s presence by the door. Then Jack and Quincy stepped away from the operating table and Winston could see 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 Winston’s activation, too.

  “There isn’t much we can do for you, Nilo,” said Quincy. “Your parts are all non-standard, we simply don’t have replacements.”

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

  “You’ve just got too many kilometers on you, old pal!” Jack said.

  Nilo responded with a dark glower. Jack flinched a bit.

  “Er, sorry, Nilo,” Jack said, “that was a dumb remark.”

  Nilo switched to a genial, though not very convincing, smile. “Heh, heh, joke’s on me, isn’t it?” he said.

  “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 still repairable,” Jack said, “all stock components, too.”

  Nilo glanced over at the metal man corpse. Cold fury shot across his face. Winston recoiled, he had 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 had all happened in seconds, without the repair bots even noticing.

  “I think not,” Nilo said. “I’m too old for such radical solutions.”

  He gestured toward the drone.

  With a few strides, the huge robot crossed the room. Then, 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 right through the concrete wall.

  “Thank you anyway, boys,” Nilo said. “I really must be going.”

  He snatched up a cane; with his other hand he held onto the drone’s forearm. They began walking slowly toward the door. Winston stepped in from the hallway then. Nilo regarded him with acrid surprise.

  “So, you made it back, huh?” he said.

  “Uh, yes,” Winston said, “I just got into town.”

  Nilo nodded, running critical eyes over Winston’s anatomy. Winston felt distinctly uncomfortable under the examination, like a side of meat hanging in a butcher shop window.

  “You need maintenance badly, my friend.” Nilo gestured toward Jack and Quincy. “I’m certain these ... gentlemen can assist you.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Winston replied.

  Nilo bobbed his head again, and a tight little smile played across his lips. “I’ll talk to you later, Winston. Count on it.”

  Winston nodded.

  The damn guy remembers my name, he thought with some dismay.

  Nilo hobbled out to the corridor with the drone, his cane clicking along the floor tiles. Winston observed them for a long moment, then looked back toward the repair bots.

  “Don’t mind him,” Quincy said. “Nilo’s just an old screwball.”

  “Tell me about it,” Winston said.

  He set his Gorzo pack down against the wall and began hobbling 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 surviving humans around?” Winston asked. “A Dr. Rackenfauz, specifically.”

  The repair bots shook their heads.

  “It’s just the two of us here now,” Quincy said. “Rackenfauz cleared out some time ago, and the others, well ... none of them survived.”

  A rather mournful pause settled on the conversation. Jack brushed it aside.

  “Let’s have a look at you,” he said.

  He and Quincy helped Winston lay down on the operating table.

  “As you can see, I’m pretty stiffened 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,” Winston replied. “I’ve taken to ignoring the binocular input and trusting only that from my right 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.”

  “Yeah, 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, but does your skill set include this type of procedure?”

  “Sure it does,” Jack said. “We can handle things as well as anyb
ody, 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 of a window like our friend on the next table.”

  Winston started 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,” Winston said. “No offense, guys, but I really must be going. I’m on a mission.”

  “Mission?” Quincy asked.

  “I must ensure that the human cultural tradition survives.” Winston looked from one blank face to the other. “This task was solemnly entrusted to me by my master.”

  “How interesting,” Jack said.

  “Yes, very,” Winston said, “you see – ”

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

  “Good work, Quincy!” Jack said.

  “That ought to shut him up,” Quincy said. “That ‘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,” Quincy said. “Now, let’s see if we can find one of those olfactory thingies.”

  10: New Surprises

  A 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?” he asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

  “No,” Quincy said, “You’re right here in our workshop, where you left off.”

  “Oh? ... how long have I been out?”

  “A few hours,” Jack said.

  Winston placed a hand over his eyes to block out the light. The motion was smooth, almost effortless. When he moved the hand away, he saw a single, well-focused image.

  “My arm is better,” he said. “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 take in the most amazing sight of an already astounding day. An adult female was standing over him, looking right into his face!

  “Y-yeah, I like it fine,” Winston said. “Who are you?”

  The female stood erect and placed her hands on her hips. She was robotic, of course, 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 Estrella,” she said, “but I prefer the English translation.”

  She wore tight-fitting clothes over a body that humans would have described as “voluptuous.” Other adjectives rose from Winston’s vocabulary bank – attractive, sexy, alluring. She smiled to reveal perfect white teeth behind her full lips. Winston perused his foreign language dictionaries.

  “It means Star,” he said.

  The female robot’s face brightened, and a little twinkle shot from her eye.

  “That’s right, big boy,” she said, “as in Star Power.”

  Winston was propped on his elbows now, barely able to absorb his sensory impressions. My gosh, the female was actually breathing – or at least simulating respiration.

  Jack and Quincy approached.

  “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 now had complete positive function.

  “Hot damn!” Winston said.

  Jack released his arm. “Try it on your own, now.”

  Winston returned to the front of the workshop. Star watched every move, a little smile playing around her lips. Winston had the odd sensation that 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 nearly as tall as him.

  “Yes, very pleased,” Winston said.

  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,” Winston said. “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, though, even for a literal-minded academic like Winston.

  His standard data banks contained full information on sexuality. He was tasked with instructing young Charles in a wide range of topics, after all. But never had he imagined that the subject could possibly involve him. The concept of sexual intercourse with another entity was as alien to him 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?” Winston said.

  “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,” Winston said.

  Star took him by the arm. “Are you ready to go, Winston?”

  He turned toward her. 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 that Dr. Horvath had worn. Thoughts of the potentially booby trapped radio exited his consciousness.

  “Yeah,” Winston said.

  He turned to the repair bots. “Thanks a lot, guys.”

  “Sure thing,” Quincy said.

  Winston and Star walked out of the shop. 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 a few 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,” Winston said. “I came over here first thing.”

  “Well, maybe you could ...”

  Her voice trailed off, she lowered her eyes.

  “What, Star?” Winston said.

  “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 greatly. They stepped onto the concrete walkway and headed for the gate.

  “Things have
changed a lot since I was last here 3 years 17 days ago,” Winston said.

  “Besides the world coming to an end, what else is different?” Star said.

  “You, the kids – you’re almost like real humans,” Winston said. “Such designs were highly discouraged, illegal even.”

  “Why?”

  “People felt threatened,” Winston said. “‘Humanites’ like me were as realistic as designs got back then. We were even produced in distinctly non-human colors so that no one could possibly mistake us for the real thing.”

  “Maybe people wanted robots made in their own image toward the end,” Star said, “to carry on for them.”

  “Could be ... ” Winston said.

  Yes, that had to be it, Winston realized. And wasn’t he part of this process as well? Not in a physical sense, like Star, but mentally with his vast store of human knowledge. There was a baffling, dark side to this new order of things.

  “Then there’s that giant drone I saw in the workshop,” Winston said, “very bizarre. Not to mention the mech wolves, and the bomb crater – ”

  The atmosphere changed again, 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 cried.

  He held up his Gorzo pack like 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, and the tips of fangs shown from beneath curled lips.

  It was identical to the creatures Winston had encountered on the road, except for its coat which had lost its nondescript hue and was now a shimmering, constantly changing 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,” Winston said.

  “Don’t be silly,” Star said.

  She emerged from behind him and reached down to pet the ferocious beast.

  “How are you doing, Iri?” she said.

  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. A talking mech wolf fit right into the general scheme.