Expedition Westward

  ***

  At the RDI main workshop, Jack and Quincy labored over the wrecked occupant of a workbench.

  “Are we going to activate him when we’re finished?” Jack said.

  “What for?” Quincy replied. “That would just be one more guy raising hell about Ajax.”

  He gestured to the other workbenches, each with its own occupant.

  “We’ve got enough to do just repairing the physical damage. We can activate them later ... if things ever settle down.”

  “I wish Star was here,” Jack said.

  “I wish they were all here,” Quincy said, “even that Iridium smart Alec. I never thought I’d miss his sarcastic talk.”

  The two repair bots fell silent as the pointless emptiness of their existence pressed in on them.

  “This boredom is killing me,” Jack said.

  At that moment, Jimmy and Sam burst in through the double doors. The repair bots nearly jumped out of their lab coats with surprise.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Quincy said.

  “Mech birds are tearing up the town!” Sam cried.

  He and Jimmy grabbed a workbench and began maneuvering it toward the doors.

  “Be careful with that!” Jack said. “Don’t damage anything.”

  A phalanx of mech birds battered against the reinforced plasti-glass of the door windows. The doors sagged, almost opening under the assault.

  “We’ll help you!” Quincy cried.

  The four robots piled workbenches, tool boxes, anything they could find against the doors. Finally they seemed secure.

  “That ought to do it,” Quincy said.

  But then a mass of birds appeared outside the high widows at the back of the workshop.

  “Over there!” Jimmy cried.

  “Lower the shutters!” Quincy yelled.

  Jack ran toward the electric switch box, but before he could get there, Pete came crashing through a window amid a shower of plasti-glass chips.

  “Hoo Wheee!” Pete shouted. “Look out below!”

  He sailed across the workshop like a grotesque guided missile. He skipped over a work bench, dislodging its occupant, then slammed against a wall where he broke apart. His head rolled along the floor. Quincy snatched it up.

  “What happened man?” the head asked. “I’m feeling a bit light.”

  “Don’t worry, everything is just fine,” Quincy said.

  He flicked the deactivation switch; the head went silent. Jack flipped another switch, and heavy metal shutters began lowering over the windows. A squadron of mech birds that had been streaming in after Pete thought better of things and retreated back outside. Sultry dimness descended on the workshop.

  “Looks like we’re stuck here,” Quincy said.

  “Yeah, what are we going to do?” Jimmy asked.

  Jack crossed the room and fired up the computer.

  “There’s always video games,” he said.

  59. Morning After

  At the first light of dawn, Star exited Dr. Che’s workshop, closing the door quietly behind her. She finished buttoning her blouse, then withdrew a small fold-up mirror from her bag and studied her face.

  “Oh, dear,” she said.

  Her hair was all disheveled and her makeup badly smudged. Even in the dim illumination streaming through the clearstory windows, she looked a fright.

  What will Winston think?

  She smiled wickedly. Winston would think whatever he was told to think. She possessed the only available Star Power, right? And now she knew exactly how to use it. She’d be the one making the rules. Never before during her brief existence had she felt in such absolute control.

  She dropped the mirror back into her bag and walked down the hallway. Her hips conveyed a new and luscious swagger. She pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. Time to tidy up.

  The wind storm was over. The RDC campus sprawled brown and sullen in the morning light as Star walked toward Dr. Rackenfauz’s building. Her shoes left prints on the dusty concrete. Despite such drab surroundings, she’d never witnessed such a beautiful morning. All of creation was fresh and new and full of marvelous possibilities. Today would commence a whole new existence for her.

  “Here I am!” she announced to the world.

  But then guilt began to gnaw at the edges of her consciousness, spoiling the new day. The ugly words user and taker emerged in her mind like bloated corpses bobbing to the surface of a cesspool.

  Was she nothing more than a wanton exploiter – like those women throughout human history who Winston talked about during his philosophical ramblings? The ones who destroyed men and even brought whole empires crashing down? Cleopatra, Mata Hari, Christine Keeler.

  She pushed these unsettling notions aside. Maybe later she could think about them, when she’d achieved her final goal.