Expedition Westward
***
Jack, the erstwhile repair bot, sat enthralled before the computer, playing yet another round of a Gorzo the Adventure Robot game. Legions of evil creatures were assaulting Gorzo from all directions, but under Jack’s expert guidance, the adventure robot was mowing them down wholesale.
Unnoticed, Quincy entered the workshop.
“Hey, what’s up?” he called.
No reply.
“Earth to Jack!” Quincy yelled.
Jack remained fixated on the computer display, totally unaware of Quincy’s presence.
Quincy strode across the room and flipped the power switch. The holographic battle scene abruptly vanished. Jack swiveled toward Quincy and looked up from his chair. His optical sensors were vacant, a million kilometers away.
“You need to go easy with those games,” Quincy said, “before your brain fries out the rest of the way.”
Jack did not respond, just the terrible, vacuous stare. Quincy seized him by the shoulder and shook him hard.
“Snap out of it already!”
Finally, Jack began to return.
“Why’d you do that, Quincy?” he wailed. “I was just about to make the next level.”
“Next level, my iron ass!” Quincy said. “You were about to check out for good. Why don’t you do something productive with your time?”
“Like you, I suppose,” Jack said.
“Yeah, like me,” Quincy replied. “I’ve been to the library again – I found out a few things.”
“What?” Jack sneered.
“How to get us out of this mess, for example.”
Jack became attentive then. His old, disciplined self began to reassert control. Around them, the damaged robots lying on the workbenches added a rather macabre audience for the conversation.
“Well, tell me!” Jack demanded.
“We adapt a government system once used by the humans,” Quincy said, “what they called a ‘constitutional monarchy.’”
“How did that work?”
Jack was fully aware now, the Gorzo game momentarily forgotten.
“Well, they had a king, or sometimes a queen,” Quincy said. “This person could be a real bone head, but it didn’t matter because he had no real power.”
“How did anything get done, then?” Jack said.
“A ‘prime minister’ did the actual work,” Quincy said. “This guy ran things while the king just looked impressive and trotted out on ceremonial occasions.”
“So, what’s this got to do with us?”
Quincy placed his hands on his hips and assumed a condescending expression.
“Don’t you see?” he said. “When Winston comes back, we make him prime minster, or ‘city manager.’ We keep Ajax as mayor, but he’ll just be a figurehead, like he used to be when he was standing on that pedestal outside town.”
Jack nodded. Wheels began turning in his head, figuratively.
“We’d have to make sure Winston doesn’t control the mech wolves,” he said. “That’s where we went wrong the last time.”
“Exactly!” Quincy said. “We could give him a couple as bodyguards, build a dedicated, short range communicator for him. But the rest would have to be controlled by somebody else.”
“You know, this just might work,” Jack said. “There’s only one problem.”
“Yeah?”
“How do we know Winton’s coming back?”
Quincy sagged. He gazed out over the vast workshop which had suddenly become as cold and silent as a human tomb.
“We’d better get back to work on those wrecks,” he said, “before we both go nuts.”
40. Closing the Gap
The chief acolyte held the little bottle of mascara in trembling fingers and moved it to close to an eyeball twitching with excitement. He fell to his knees, rather enjoying the pain of impact against the concrete, and spread his arms wide toward the heavens.
“Thank you Father,” he bellowed, “for showing me this sign!”
Pam and Susie exchanged worried glances. After so much time following the chief acolyte on the ‘Sanctified Westward Path’ they thought they’d witnessed all of his contrary moods. But this was something different and frightening. For not the first time since the campfire killings, they considered fleeing. But where could they go?
The chief acolyte scrambled back up to his feet and rushed toward them, waving the mascara like a holy relic. The girls recoiled. He shoved the bottle under their noses.
“Do you know what this means?” He cried.
The girls examined the talisman, recognized the premium brand name.
“Uh, it means that somebody has expensive taste in mascara?” Pam said.
“No, not that,” the chief acolyte said. “It’s a token from the demon spawn female!”
“Oh ... her,” Pam said.
“We’re on the right track!” The chief acolyte cried.
For days now, they’d heard him rant about the ‘demon spawn female’ robot – the one who had crucified the holy Messiah, the one they were pursuing through this vast, barren countryside. She was accompanied by another demon spawn, a blue male, and a wolf-like creature that looked ferocious but was no threat to humans.
The three robots formed an ‘unholy trinity’ that the chief acolyte was determined to wipe out. It was his sole purpose in life, he’d said, and once he attained it, he would concentrate on rebuilding the community of believers for the ‘one true religion’ and finding the reincarnation of the Messiah.
Whatever, Pam thought.
After all the violence and horror she’d experienced over the past months, the demise of a few robots didn’t seem like much of a big deal. In any case, they’d probably never find them in the huge jumble of the urban area towards which they were headed.
That demon spawn female sounded interesting, though. She must have had some real stuff in order to take out that Messiah guy. He sounded like a total freak.
“We must redouble our effort, sisters!” The chief acolyte was almost babbling now. “Divine providence is showing us the way.”
“Amen to that, Chief Acolyte!” Pam shouted, using the prescribed terminology. “Lead us on to glory!”
She had adjusted to the guy’s new behavior mode and was playing along well. Not so Susie who was badly frightened and clinging to Pam’s arm. Her eyes seemed like those of a cornered rabbit.
“It’s okay, girl,” Pam said in a low voice. “We’re on the right track, and he’s excited. That’s all.”
Pam knew that Susie was not a strong person. She’d hardly spoken a word since her man died in the god damned plague – not that the abusive prick was anyone to cry over. Then the beatings and rapes she’d endured from the Brad crew had damaged her deep inside. Pam was worried about her. Susie almost seemed to believe the crap the chief acolyte was spouting about the ‘Holy Cause.’
The chief acolyte had moved away from them now and was walking fast amid his ecstatic revelry.
“Praise the Heavenly Father!” he shouted. “Blessed be thy holy name!”
“Come on, Susie, let’s get moving,” Pam said.
The two girls started walking along the westward path, while Pam took a personal journey down memory lane.
Yes, Susie’s boyfriend had been no prize, but Pam’s guy, Jeff – now there was a man! The others guys in the biker gang were scared of him, but he was always sweet and gentle with her. It was his idea to take the gang into the high mountains in an effort to ride out the plague.
Of course, they sucked at the survivalist game. And all the “brotherhood” crap that had held the gang together in former times went out the window when half the guys got slaughtered at Pickle Lake. After that disaster, it was only Jeff’s iron will that kept them from disintegrating altogether.
She’d never forget Jeff’s ashen face as he scrambled down off the slope from Pickle Lake, leading the survivors.
“Those people are fucking nuts up there!” he cried.
He
hopped on his bike and roared off with her. The other girls had to double and triple up with the remaining riders. They fled under a hail of gunfire, abandoning half the bikes with their vital supplies.
Some months later, only nine guys survived, but that was too many for the available women – her and Susie. That’s when Brad staged his coup. Pam had nearly lost her mind amid the carnage.
But she rejoiced when she saw the gunshot wound in Brad’s head. It had been the high point of her life – even better than knocking over Tom and watching the chief acolyte have at him. Of course, the old guy was a nut job himself, but Pam would always love him for what he’d done. He was the answer to her prayers.
You don’t suppose there really is something to all his religious babble? she wondered.