***
Hours later, after the screaming finally stopped, the chief acolyte and his two converts gathered up all the supplies they could carry and headed off into the night. Flames roaring from the funeral pyre van illuminated their path for some distance.
37. Furious Progression
Star drove them relentlessly along, saying nothing, never pausing, a fearsome expression contorting her face – like some terrible Valkyrie exploding out of Valhalla. The water evaporating off of her body chilled her temperature sensors. Her brain unit was hot and seething, though.
Imagine! she fumed. How could Winston do that to me? Cavorting with those sluts – right before my eyes!
She should have left him down there with the floozies. Serve him right ... let him short circuit in the water ...
There were serious flaws in this reasoning, however, and Star knew it. Didn’t she, herself, almost succumb to the allure of the Squish Girls? If it hadn’t been for Rippie, she’d still be down there engaging in who knew what kind of erotic games. And if she could be so easily seduced, then how much less so the resistance of a simple male, like Winston?
The mermaids existed on love, and their merman was out of commission. No wonder they were so desperate. Star was not totally without empathy for them. Still, she needed time to work through her other feelings of rejection and betrayal.
Okay, I’m a lustful creation, she admitted. I need to forgive myself for that ... I need to forgive Winston. As long as it doesn’t mean anything – as long as the real love is just for the two of us.
For his part, Winston couldn’t remember the details of his abduction – only vague recollections of an incredible, all-consuming rapture. He’d never felt anything remotely like it before. The experience seemed to have altered his programming, sending it in fantastic directions. He felt a new, almost painful, attraction for Star. Despite her obvious anger and ill will, Winston had never seen anything so wondrous as her figure pushing along on the scooter ahead of him.
Finally she paused at the top of a low rise. Winston caught up and flung an arm around her. At first she was rigid, resistant, but then she melted against him.
“Oh, Winston,” she said, “I’m so sorry – ”
Winston pressed a finger against her lips.
“I think it’s better if we don’t say anything just yet,” he said. “Let’s wait until things return to normal, whatever that is.”
Star smiled. “Yes, Winston, you’re right ... my hero.”
She remained blissfully in his embrace. He was very different now. Never before had she felt such urgency and passion coming from him. The Squish Girls had altered him in fundamental ways – wonderful ways. The last of her anger against them evaporated.
Maybe she could do them a good turn, get their merman repaired and back in action. Dr. Rackenfauz could probably do that, if they could find him. Dr. Che could certainly handle the task.
She stared off into the distance. The Expedition Westward was nearly finished now, soon they would find Dr. Che, or at least know of his fate.
No! She couldn’t allow herself to think like that. Of course she would find Dr. Che. She had to, she couldn’t go on much longer like this. He was out there ... just on the road ahead.
He would solve all her problems, he’d build Winston up to his full potential. Then she’d come back with him to the hot springs and repair the merman so that the Squish Girls could once again enjoy the happiness that Star would come to know so intimately.
She began to feel a universal good will toward all the surviving females of the world and their quest for love. As long as they understood that Winston was off limits, that is.
38. West Coast at Last
Late morning on the tenth day out from Pickle Lake Castle, twenty four days after departing Mech City, Winston and Star finally reached the outskirts of the great west coast megalopolis. So much had happened during this time that it seemed as if years had passed.
“Oooo,” Star cried, “we made it!”
In some ways, the area was not unlike Mech City, but its streets and buildings heralded something far vaster, with more depth and power. This was a locale where great volumes of human activity had once bustled and roared.
Winston studied his road atlas, looked up at a street sign, studied the atlas some more.
“In a manner of speaking we have made it,” he said. “Actually, the Robotics Development Center is many kilometers away – south of here, and more towards the ocean.”
“The ocean!” Star said. “Oh, I want to see it.”
“Perhaps we shall,” Winston said, trying to keep a note of sadness from his voice.
He wanted to see the ocean too, but dreaded the circumstances that would bring them there. Because, once they got to the RDC and found out that Dr. Che had died in the plague, Star would be totally devastated. Winston would take her for a walk on the ocean shore and try to console her, but nothing he could say would matter.
He diverted his attention to the neighborhood stretching around them.
The immense, abandoned acreage would have been more imposing if viewed from elevated terrain, as was the case on the Mech City periphery. But here, the urban sprawl was more of a backdrop, a dull reality, like the leaden sky brooding overhead.
Fortunately there were no human corpses in evidence. Not on the streets, anyway. Who knew what horrors might lurk inside the buildings? Winston figuratively breathed a sigh of relief. The sanitation department drones much have operated to the bitter end carrying off the dead.
One of the drones stood inert nearby, its power depleted, its blank white face staring off into nothingness. Disposal Service had been stenciled onto its back in lurid orange. Winston approached and gazed up into the robot’s unfocused optical sensors.
Ah, there but for the grace of the Great Technician go I, he thought.
The robot was a full head taller than him, a strong manual worker model. Winston patted its back in a comradely gesture.
“You did good work, pal.”
The drone began to move.
“Look out, Winston!” Star cried.
Winston stepped aside as the drone rocked back and forth on its heals like some grotesque punching toy struck by a child. Then it fell forward and crashed onto its face.
“Oh, my!” Star gasped.
Somewhere within the drone’s physical plant, a last bit of power sparked into life to run the voice recording. Muffled by the pavement, the speaker rattled off the pre-programmed remarks in their entirety, without distinguishing the potential audience or the time of day:
“Good / morning / afternoon / evening – sir / ma’am / people,” it said. “I am here to dispose of the deceased. Please do not interfere with my work. I am authorized to summon police assistance.”
“That’s horrible,” Star said.
“Good / morning / afternoon / evening ...”
“Let’s get out of here,” Winston said.
They scootered away fast. The drone’s plaintive voice followed them for some distance until it abruptly died – like the final exclamation of a ghost.