“My brothers!”
Robbie’s head rotated almost automatically at the sound, as the directional microphones mounted next to the primary optical unit behind the angled stained glass filters in his head kicked in. There was movement near the theater, near the main doors, not on the balcony. Something wasn’t right, but the voice was crosschecked and identified: it was the Corsair, the King’s servant.
“My brothers,” came the voice again, “the King has sent me to bring the green. Come and receive the green from your King, and rejoice in his majesty.”
Ratings 112363 and 112464 chattered excitedly, their shared words piling over each other and vanishing into a rush of static. Robbie could understand the feeling, the want, the need to get the hit, to get the green.
Robbie retracted his arms and stood, his body rotating towards the theater. His optics adjusted to the red light and he saw the Corsair standing in the doorway of the castle, holding out one hand. Robbie zoomed in, and saw the small rectangle of something dark on the Corsair’s upturned palm. Nearly a whole ounce of green. On the ground next to the King’s servant was an open metal box, and within, stacked in neat piles, more wrapped hits, one for each robot, except the larger ones that needed two.
The absence of the King himself was unusual, but it didn’t matter — his servant had brought the green instead. Already there was movement across the street as robots pulled themselves out of shadows and out of alleyways, from behind stairwells, up from basement entrances. The street was soon filled with moving machines, although perhaps fewer than the night before. More had succumbed to the cold, the low temperature sucking the life from their batteries. The green fixed that, or at least it made it feel like it did.
The nameless robot in the blanket behind Robbie didn’t move. Another one gone.
The robots moved across the street, but Robbie was closest — that was why his group defended the stairwell with such desperation, because it was closest to the theater, which meant Robbie was first in line for the hit.
The Corsair turned towards him as Robbie approached. Robbie’s rubber skirt slid on the ice, making it look like he was gliding if it wasn’t for the slight bobbing up and down of his short steps. The Corsair held out his hand; Robbie paused, the red light flooding his sensors, the knowledge that the hit was just seconds away almost too much for his logic gates to handle. He heard them clicking inside his carapace, and gears moved inside his head as the optics zoomed in on the Corsair’s gloved hand and the prize it held.
The other robots, knowing the hierarchy, fearing the might of Robbie and his Rating companions, fell into line behind him in silence. While most were happy to fight out territory elsewhere, there would be no skirmish here, not in the red light, in the presence of, if not their King, then his royal servant.
Robbie bowed his head, and gears whirred inside his head as his voice box came to life.
“GREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENN.”
The Corsair nodded in return; his black metal face was expressionless, but switching spectra to penetrate the opaque glass of the Corsair’s goggles, Robbie could see the eyes behind the mask. He wondered what kind of a man he had been, to be so strong to have resisted and overcome conversion in the Naval robot yards and to have sworn to help those less fortunate than he on their journey back to humanity.
“WHENWILLITBETIIIIIIIIIIIME?”
The Corsair chuckled behind his mask, and when he spoke it was a sibilant whisper.
“Soon, my brother, soon. Soon we will be ready to go downtown, and claim that which is rightfully ours.”
The Corsair’s black fur coat moved in the wind as he began dispensing the green to the King’s loyal subjects.
TWENTY-NINE
Rad retraced his steps at a run. He remembered a short journey from the underground workshop to the furnace room, but now it was confusing, with more doors and turns that he’d noticed coming the other way. All he could do was try not to think too much and hope his subconscious knew the way. He was too busy worrying about how long the locked door behind him would hold out against the King, however damaged the robot was.
Rad burst through the green door, into the workshop. He turned, but the corridor behind him was silent, with no indication the King had managed even to climb the stairs of the furnace room yet. Rad threw the door closed behind him.
“Kane, buddy, time to go.” Rad raced to Kane’s side. The former reporter blinked and squinted at Rad, and began to shake his head. Rad waved his hand and turned to scan the workshop.
“Oh no,” said Rad. “No, no, we’re going. That guy who calls himself a king? Turns out he’s just the same as the Corsair, one of our metal friends. Aha-” He spied a long crowbar-like metal rod among the robot parts and grabbed it. Then he returned to Kane’s machine and began trying to force the two seams of the machine apart.
“Rad, listen to me,” said Kane, his voice a dry, cracking croak. “We can’t leave, not without-” His voice dissolved into a dry cough.
The metal rod slid against the smooth surface of the machine, Rad almost connecting his chin with it as he fell forward. He swore, readjusted his grip, and tried again. This time he got purchase and forced the end of the rod into the seam. There was a click, and a small gap formed, from which shone a bright light. Rad frowned, gripped his hands together, and tried to leverage his weight. He puffed his cheeks out as he worked.
“We ain’t got much time,” said Rad, teeth clenched. “I did some damage to our robot friend and locked him in the other room, but he’ll get out eventually.” He heaved again. “Although a robot with a robot servant, now, there’s something. Seems like they’re building some kind of society of their own.”
“Rad!” Kane said. “There’s someone in the other machine!”
Rad paused, his eyes scanning the other machine. The robot’s head was turned away from him, and at the base of the neck he could see brown hair bunched under the edge of the metal.
Rad yanked the rod from Kane’s machine and it snapped shut again, cutting the light out. Rad felt the room spin a little but got to the other machine. The one holding Special Agent Jennifer Jones.
He carefully rolled her head so she was looking at the ceiling. What he’d thought was a robot head was actually a mask or helmet, hinged at the top, held together with simple pins. This close, he could see Jennifer’s eyes through the holes in the mask. She sighed, and Rad could see her teeth through the slot mouth.
“OK, OK…” said Rad, his hands moving over the mask, locating the pins holding the mask in place. There were four, and they came out easily. After dropping them to the floor, he lifted Jennifer’s head carefully and pulled at the front of the mask. It swung up, and the back panel loosened; within moments it was free. Rad tossed it to the floor, and then swore.
There was another mask, smaller, covering Jennifer’s face from hairline to chin. Rad ran his fingers around the edge, which stopped just short of her ears, trying to find a strap, but there was nothing. The mask was brilliant gold, shining, the front an elegant Art Deco sculpt of a woman’s face, with delicate eyebrows and full lips.
Rad pulled at the edge, but the mask didn’t shift. He pulled again, harder this time, but the mask was firmly attached. Rad merely lifted her entire head, making her to moan in discomfort. Jennifer was alive, at least. He could worry about the golden mask later.
Kane coughed. “The Corsair isn’t a robot… it’s a man. I saw his eyes.”
Rad nodded, processing the new information. “OK, OK… so the King is a robot and his robot is a man. Great. Let’s work out the why and the how and the who later. We’ve gotta get out of here, but it looks like I’m the only one up and moving.”