***
The next hours dragged by in an agony of suspense.
Star paced back and forth in the hall, stopping occasionally to eavesdrop at the door. But then dippy ‘easy listening’ music started coming through, foiling her attempt.
She returned to Dr. Rackenfauz’s lab to inform him of what was going on. Rackenfauz merely shook his head.
“That sounds just like Jerry,” he commented.
She didn’t have to explain much. The eccentric old robotics technician seemed to understand everything and accepted it with weary indifference. Besides, he was busy packing for his trip to Mech City. He planned to leave the next day with Iridium, and did she want to go?
“Yes, of course,” Star said. “I ... we’ll go with you.”
But would that be possible? What if Jerry failed with the conversion – what if he turned Winston into a zombie, or another Clawfurt monster? He certainly could. Jerry Che was a ‘loose cannon.’ Hadn’t Dr. Rackenfauz used those very words to describe him?
Hadn’t the Che Syndrome been named for him in recognition of his potential instability? His inner rage must have been responsible for the breakup with the original Estrella. And hadn’t Star, herself, witnessed the brutality he’d used against the captured vandal?
The sadistic glee with which he’d manhandled the boy was terrifying. And firing bullets past the kid’s ear!
On the walk back, Star echoed Dr. Che’s anguished sentiment. “I’m such a fool!”
She’d give anything to see Winston again – as he was, unsexed but whole. She wanted to hear his voice, experience his vast intellect, see him in action. Even the terrible days when he was Mech City’s mayor softened in her mind into a kind of non-stop celebration.
Why did she drag him here on this insane venture? Only disaster could result, and every bit of it was her fault! He’d battled the Visionists for her, and the scrappers, and that lunatic chief acolyte. He’d rescued her from Fascista Ultimo. He’d placed himself between her and destruction many times.
And for what – so that he could be turned into some zombie monster?
Daylight had faded from the high window by the time Star returned to her vigil outside Dr. Che’s workshop. She brought a small sofa in from the lobby and positioned it across from the door. She turned on the lights, turned them off again.
She compulsively primped her hair in her compact mirror, glancing frequently at the metal door. To her feverish mind, it seemed like the entrance of a tomb. The nonstop tension finally overstressed her emotion circuits. She flopped onto the couch and went inactive.
The night closed in.
62. A New Day Dawns
Come morning, the blockade chair on the far side of the door scraped away from its position. The dead bolt mechanism clicked. The sounds were low decibel, but loud enough to wrench Star out of inactive mode.
She flung herself bolt upright on the couch and stared at the door as if her optics could somehow pierce through the metal barrier.
Oh, please, please let everything be all right!
The door creaked open. A dazed and confused figure shuffled into the hall. The door closed behind it and locked. As if pulled up by an unseen hand, Star rose to her feet. She gaped in wonderment.
The figure standing before her was encased in the Nordic Avenger epidermis. His short, blonde hair bristled in the subdued light. His eyes were distant and unfocused. He wore a yellow jump suit with red stripes running along the limbs, very form-fitting, with a prominent bulge at the crotch area.
He was taller now with his enhanced feet and new boots. His whole body was larger and more imposing. Star experienced a mixture of awe, fear, and overwhelming lust.
“Hello ... Winston,” she said.
The figure tuned its blank gaze toward her. Star took its arm gingerly, as if she were touching a live electrical cable.
“It’s me – your very own Star Power,” she said.
The figure frowned, uncomprehending, staring into her worried face.
My God, Star thought desperately, something went wrong!
Until this moment, she’d never given a thought to whatever god might be in charge of the world’s realities, but now she appealed to him fervently for help. She glanced at the workshop door. It stared back at her, cold and indifferent, like a metal tombstone.
Had Jerry Che’s efforts failed? Had he intentionally avenged himself on her by turning Winston into a drone? A frightful minute dragged past.
Then, with agonizing slowness, recognition began to move across Winston’s face like a rising sun. A joyous smile graced his lips.
“Of course,” he said. “How are you, Star?”
“Oh, Winston!”
She kissed his new lips. They were warm and sensuous against hers. After a delicious moment, she pulled away again.
“You’re going to find out how I am,” she said, “real soon.”
“Uh ... yes,” Winston said. “I believe I’d like that.”
“Let’s go, my love,” Star said.
She gripped Winston’s arm firmly and led him off down the corridor. They did not even notice the workshop door opening behind them. Jerry Che peered out to observe their departure.
“Thank God that’s over,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
A bitter taste polluted his mouth. The scientific objectivity he’d forced himself to observe during the procedure gave way to a jealous fury surging in his heart. He wanted to charge down the hall and bludgeon the two robots with a sledge hammer.
But even now, he knew that he could never harm Estrella. He shut the door again and locked it, cutting himself from the sight of the Winston abomination and its paramour.