Wasteland Blues (21 page)

And laying side-by-side on the bed were Derek and Magdalena. Their scruffy traveling clothes had been removed and replaced with….

“Pajamas!” Samuel sputtered.

Derek and Magdalena seemed lifeless and pale. Their complexions were waxy, their eyes were closed. They looked dead. A sign inside read
Recent Additions– Classification and Nomenclature Pending
.

Leggy pounded against the glass, wondering if he could break it when Samuel called excitedly from the next window. “Nicodemus! Hurry. Over here.”

Leggy scrambled over and was surprised to see an identical room to the one which Derek and Magdalena reposed. John sat on the bed, his face buried in his hands, weeping. Samuel jumped up and down in front of the window, but John apparently could not see him.

“Holy crow,” said Leggy. “Stand back there, Samuel. Let’s see if I can break the glass.” He drew his knife, determined to shatter the glass with the haft.

But before he could swing, a mechanical voice from behind them declared, “Now, now, sir, please don’t do that. Visitors aren’t permitted to tamper with the displays.”

Leggy and Samuel spun around. A tall, mechanical creature peered down at them. It was man-sized and man-shaped and stood with its hands clasped in front of its waist, long fingers worrying with muted clicks and taps. Its body was composed of burnished steel. The lines of its torso and legs were shaped to give the appearance of clothing tinted a deep burgundy, giving the robot the appearance of a carnival barker.

Its polished face had a host of fine qualities, such as one would assemble if building an ideal actor or politician—high cheekbones, patrician nose, strong jaw line, and a pleasant, polite, permanently affixed smile. Whatever craftsman had created this artificial man had even hammered in a pair of dimples. Its eyes were a soothing blue, and they glowed calmly, almost cheerfully, as the robot spoke, growing brighter as it grew more animated.

“Now then, let me introduce myself,” it said softly. Its voice, though mechanical, had a warm, melodious quality. “My name is Mr. Tines, and I’ll be your guide during your visit. Feel free to ask me any questions you like. We don’t get visitors often, and I’ve got
sooo
much information to share.”

“Whu….” said Leggy, his mind struggling to make sense of things.

Sheba growled, her hackles raised.

“Oh!” said Mr. Tines, rearing back a bit. “I’m afraid pets aren’t allowed in the museum.”

Samuel put a hand on Sheba’s back, quieting her.

“Oh well,” clucked Mr. Tines. “I suppose we can make an exception.” His blue eyes sparkled. “I don’t think the other patrons will mind…because there aren’t any!” His mechanical voice tittered.

“Now then, I can see that you’re interested in our most recent acquisitions.” The robot gestured toward the windows with their friends inside. “I haven’t had time to conduct a full curatorial analysis because they just arrived today, but I can tell you a thing or two if you don’t mind my engaging in a little bit of speculation?”

He paused, waiting for a response.

All that Leggy could muster was a grunt.

“Excellent,” said the robot.

Mr. Tines folded his fingers and turned his eyes up to the brightly lit ceiling. “Based on their relatively unblighted physiognomies, it’s very doubtful that they are dwellers of the deep wastes. More probably they come from the pockets of humanity that were outside the most lethal effect areas of the fallout or the genetic toxin bombardments. That is, well away from the toxic coastal clouds, or any military targets or bug-infested Heartland. While nothing remains unaffected by the fallout or toxin clouds, these specimens do not appear to exhibit any external abnormalities. While I can’t say with certainty from where they originate, I would guess that they’re representative of the population in the central farmlands of what was once known as the Great State of California.”

The robot sighed, and though the smile didn’t change, the blue light in his eyes dimmed slightly. “I do so hate to speculate, though. My master abhorred speculation. ‘Always the facts, Tines!’ he would say to me as he worked. ‘If there’s one thing this museum will preserve, it’s the facts!’”

The robot tsked. “What ever would he say now? I haven’t even had time to mount them correctly because I’m not sure what kind of background to construct. And here you are, the first visitors we’ve had in years. Surely you’re thinking it
unforgivably
inappropriate to have them in a pre-War motel setting. I couldn’t agree more. The anachronism just grinds my gears. But it was all that I had handy, and it
is
better than just laying them on a bare floor.”

Leggy, who’d been listening in utter astonishment, straightened himself up. He didn’t like the way the robot loomed over him, and the machine man’s dignified bearing made him feel awkward and shabby. He cleared his throat.

“Listen, ah, sir—”

“Mr. Tines,” insisted the robot politely.

“Are they dead?” asked Leggy, glancing at the prone figures of Derek and Magdalena.

“Dead? No, not yet. Unfortunately I have not yet had time to fully prep the taxidermy lab. For the moment they are unconscious. They’ll revive in several hours, unless I administer another dose of soporific.”

“You got to let these people out,” said Leggy. “They ain’t exhibits. They’re our friends.”

Mr. Tines, who had bent obsequiously at the waist as if to better hear Leggy, straightened up in surprise.

“You know them? You know where they came from?”

“Well, sure,” said Leggy. “We all came from a little shit-heel place called San Muyamo.” He didn’t feel inclined to explain Samuel’s provenance.

“I see,” said Tines, sounding disappointed. “I haven’t heard of this…San Muyamo. Perhaps it’s in the master’s atlas?”

“Doubt it,” said Leggy. “But it is about fifty miles from a place they used to call Fresno.”

“Ahh,” said the robot excitedly. “Then I was right about their origins. Oh, this is good! Can you tell me what their environment was like?”

“Mr. Tines,” said Leggy, not liking the direction this was heading. But before he could continue, the robot cut him off again.

“For example, did they live in neo-adobe structures? Or a sandstone domicile like those dreadful Bedouins?”

“RVs,” said Leggy. “And shanties. Whatever you could dig out of the ground or salvage from a scrap heap, is what we turned into shelter.”

“Oh, very good,” said Mr. Tines. “How quaint! Simple, yet sublime. This will really add some color to the exhibits. It’s a shame the master’s not here to construct the display. He had such an amazing eye for detail. I’ll do my best, but I’m sure to leave out that poignant quality he imbued in his work. Master had a real empathy for the plight of humanity.”

Mr. Tines leaned in conspiratorially. “Not being human, it’s hard for me to get that bit.” He nudged Samuel with a burnished elbow.

“Now then, can you describe this shanty-town?” he asked, turning back to Leggy. He held his hands in front of his face, long metal fingers extended in an open gesture. “I’m picturing worn-out old shacks with corrugated iron roofs, the hulks of long-abandoned cars half-buried in hardpacked mud. Sand drifts, tufts of shrub grass, maybe a tuber root or two protruding from the dry ground. Have I got it?”

“No,” said Leggy. “I mean, yeah, you got the picture all right, but you’re missin’ the point. You can’t have those people in there.”

Mr. Tines turned his head to the side, his blue eyes pulsing. “I can’t? Why not? They’re perfect. They’ll bring the museum right up to date, and it will be such a fascinating project.”

“Because they’re with us,” said Leggy. “And we’re moving on.”

“You’re welcome to leave whenever you like,” said Mr. Tines, “but these exhibits must stay. If you’re concerned about their preservation, I can assure you that after I’ve embalmed them, they will remain unchanged for the next millennia.” Mr. Tines pushed out his chest proudly. “The master taught me to seek only the highest standards in the curatorial arts.”

“I don’t know what you said, but it don’t matter because you’re crazy,” said Leggy. “C’mon Samuel, let’s bust ’em out.” He raised the haft of his knife and struck at the pane. The glass was thick and strong, and Leggy’s blow had no effect other than to galvanize Mr. Tines.

The mechanical man reached out and snatched Leggy’s wrist. The robot squeezed, and Leggy cried out in pain. The knife slipped from his hand.

“Now, now,” said Mr. Tines, the cheerful tone in his voice never once slipping. “I warned you not to touch the exhibit.” He slapped Leggy with a powerful backhand, knocking the crippled man onto his back.

“Stop it,” cried Samuel, running to Leggy’s aid.

Sheba snarled and leapt at the robot, but Tines batted her aside without effort.

“Did your master program you to attack visitors?” demanded Samuel as he helped Leggy sit up.

The old man was dazed and blood trickled from the side of his mouth.

Mr. Tines twitched once, as if jolted by a momentary surge of electricity. “My first duty is to the museum and its contents. I’ll allow you to stay only so long as you behave yourselves. But I will not tolerate tampering with the exhibits. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve got a display to assemble.”

***

The robot walked over to the steel divider between the case that held John and the one that held Magdalena and Derek. There was a small numeric keypad set into the wall, and Mr. Tines tapped out a quick code on the pad.

Samuel tried to count, and thought there might be six or seven digits.

A door slid open in the space between the cells, and Mr. Tines glided through it. Before they could react, the door slid closed again with a hiss. A few moments later, Mr. Tines appeared behind Derek and Magdalena’s window. The robot easily lifted the humans and placed them gently on the floor. And then like a stagehand striking a set, he began carefully dismantling the motel setting.

Leggy stirred himself.

“Are you all right, Mr. Nicodemus?” Samuel leaned over him, offering his tiny, six-fingered hand.

“M’allright,” said Leggy, “but we’re in a fix, no doubt about it.” He wiped at his bloody mouth with a dirty handkerchief.

Sheba came to them and sat on her haunches. Samuel ran his hands along her body, probing for injury, but she was sound.

The trio watched as the robot moved smoothly through the display case, emptying it of its contents, even peeling off a layer of wallpaper to reveal smooth, white walls beneath.

“Samuel, I’m out of ideas,” said Leggy. “That tin man in there has all the cards.”

Samuel frowned. He had an idea, but was afraid that Mr. Tines could hear them even from the display case. He had no choice—he projected his thoughts into Leggy’s consciousness.

The old man startled as Samuel’s voice rang out inside his skull.

DON’T BE ALARMED MR. NICODEMUS—IT’S ME—THIS WAY THE ROBOT CAN’T HEAR

Jesus that’s weird
, thought Leggy. And then,
Are you…are you hearin’ me?

YES—I THINK IF WE HUMOR MR. TINES WE CAN GET OUT OF THIS

Humor the robot? What are you talkin’ about?

I’M GOING TO TRY AND CONTACT JOHN NOW

Samuel went and stood in front of the last display case. John paced the room, searching for some way out. Samuel took a deep breath and pushed his thoughts toward John. He stopped and looked up in shock. His hands flew to his head.

“Who’s that?” he shouted. “Where are you?”

IT’S SAMUEL—MR. NICODEMUS AND I ARE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GLASS WALL—CAN YOU SEE US

John stepped forward and pressed his face against the glass.
No. It’s a mirror. Is Magdalena with you? Is she all right?

THE ROBOT HAS MAGDALENA—SHE’S DRUGGED

At that moment, Mr. Tines entered John’s room. John whirled around, and Samuel recoiled from the surge of fear and anger that overflowed into him. Mr. Tines picked up the water glass on the bedside table and approached John.

He wants me to drink it, but I think it’s poison.

DONT DRINK IT—TELL HIM YOU CAN HELP WITH THE DISPLAY

“What?” said John. “I don’t understand.” He backed away from Mr. Tines, who advanced cheerfully on the human with the water glass extended in one burnished steel hand.

SAY YOU CAN HELP WITH THE DISPLAY—SAY YOU WERE BORN IN SAN MUYAMO—SAY YOU KNOW EVERY DETAIL OF THE PLACE projected Samuel, his brow knit in concentration.

The robot backed John up against the glass and used its own body to hold him in place. One hand reached up and took John by the chin. Steel fingers forced his mouth open. The other brought the glass to bear.

“Samuel, help me,” shrieked John.

TELL HIM urged Samuel, pounding the glass with his fists. YOU HAVE A LIFETIME OF KNOWLEDGE OF CUSTOMS, RITUALS, FOODSTUFFS, LIVING CONDITIONS, CLOTHING, CRAFTS—TELL HIM—TELL HIM—TELL HIM

Samuel heard an echo of John’s frantic babbling, but couldn’t make out his words.

Whatever John said worked. Mr. Tines backed off and escorted John out to where his companions waited.

“Leggy! Sheba!” shouted John, running to the old man and the dog. “What is this place?”

“It’s a goddam nuthou—”

“It’s a museum,” said Samuel brightly, cutting off Leggy. “This is Mr. Tines. He’s the curator. We’re going to help him with his newest display.”

“His what?” asked John.

“Display,” said Mr. Tines, coming around from behind him. “And your assistance is going to be so very valuable. The master would be quite pleased.”

John turned and saw Magdalena and Derek on the floor of the now-bare display room. He ran to the glass. “What’ve you done to her?”

***

CALM DOWN Samuel focused the full strength of his mind on John.

John recoiled as if slapped. The words were like a knife in his head. A thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his left nostril, which he quickly wiped away with his sleeve. Turning back to his friends, John noticed a similar trickle of blood from Leggy’s nose.

TRUST ME—OKAY—JUST TRUST ME

John wiped his eyes and tried to breathe more steadily. “Okay,” he said aloud, the hysteria gone from his voice.

“I assume,” said Leggy, turning to Mr. Tines, “that you’ve got some idea for a particular scene in mind?”

“Oh yes,” said Mr. Tines. “We must think it through very carefully, and it’s essential that we get the details right. Now then, what should our subjects be doing?” The robot looked around at the humans. For the first time he seemed to take notice of Samuel. “And
what
, exactly, pray tell, are
you
?

“Cooking?” offered Leggy with a sidelong glance at Samuel. “Skinning hides?”

“Excellent,” said Mr. Tines, his attention back on the subject at hand. “A splendid idea. The action of cooking and tanning will give exquisite movement to the scene, while also providing an intimate look at the daily routine,” The robot put a hand to its cheek, a disconcertingly human gesture. “But when should they be cooking? At dawn? Perhaps the mid-day meal?”