"I do not understand," the robot said at last.
Burgess Robert "Bobby" Croker laughed. "Word of your visit twenty-five years ago spread like wildfire."
"Granted, but—"
"The things you said to us… all that jazz about outer space and rocket ships…well, it got people talking. The young kids, mostly. We started meeting to discuss what we’d heard. And we started piecing together the puzzle."
"You had no books on outer space," Director X protested. "I checked. Your city had expunged any reference to outer space, fact or fiction, from its libraries and records. From its entire culture, it seemed!"
Bobby nodded grimly. "Sure. We eventually reached that same conclusion. Previous administrations must have combed through the libraries and schools and bookstores, quietly gathering up books on outer space and destroying them. I’m guessing your ’bot bosses were behind that purge."
"Then how did you—"
"There were clues," Bobby interrupted.
"Clues? What clues?"
The burgess pushed aside his beer and related the events of the past twenty-five years.
The kids had started it.
Director X’s brief visit had become the stuff of legend. It had also imbued the vocabulary of the children with several tantalizing concepts. Things like "outer space" and "rocket ships" and "forbidden planets."
Asking their parents for clarification was no help. They didn’t know, since the astronomy books and space-based adventures and galaxy-spanning comics had all been destroyed generations ago courtesy of spies working with the Global Security Protectorate.
But children are not easily dissuaded.
The youth of Retro Los Angeles launched their own secretive, town-wide investigation. And in doing so, they began to notice anomalies.
Like old dictionaries.
New dictionaries all came from the publishing houses of the Protectorate. But older editions could be found in an attic, garage, or closet. In those yellowed pages, references to planets and solar systems were discovered. Definitions of the Milky Way, nebulae, comets, and meteors!
Emboldened by these clues, the children expanded their inquiry. Misplaced card catalogues were found, containing references to books that didn’t exist. And books that did exist sometimes contained explosive secrets. The Protectorate might have scoured the science-fiction shelves for any "unacceptable" material, but their search parameters had proved too narrow. District 5’s youth plunged into classic literature and uncovered a tale of extraterrestrial visitation in the tomes of French philosopher Voltaire. Buried in Gulliver’s Travels were speculations about the planet Mars. In a bookstore’s moldy Religious Studies section, one young girl discovered mind-blowing theories on cosmology by the Jesuit priest Pierre Teilhard de Chardin.
Word spread, gathering allies into the revolution. Kids began poking through great-grandpa’s old boxes and great-grandma’s storage trunks. Old issues of Amazing Stories were passed about like hidden contraband. A few Superman comics were located, complete with illustrations of other worlds and villains from beyond space.
Some of this contraband was discovered and confiscated and destroyed, but by then it was too late. The imaginations of an entire generation were fired up. Kids began illustrating their own stories of the future, of planets, of galactic exploration and discovery.
"What happened to the people who worked so hard to suppress knowledge and interest in outer space?"
"What could they do?" Bobby cried. "The old guard was voted out during one of the elections. Accusations were made of collusion with the ’bots, so we flushed the old bureaucrats from power! Retro Los Angeles looks to the stars now! Our revolution is just beginning!" He hesitated, glancing out the window at the granite cave ceiling and the artificial sun that hung over Main Street. "Well, you know what I mean."
Director X followed the young man’s gaze. What it noticed, though, was a crowd gathering along the street to point and stare at the robot sitting in the Asteroid Brunch and Salad Bar. Word of an outside visitor was spreading once again.
How long before the Protectorate hears news of my return? The city’s old guard was still about, and likely still in contact with the robotic administrators. And what happens then? Will they send me on another "investigation" into the fascinating ocean, or perhaps bury me beneath a mile of dirt so I can study the intriguing layers of geological sediment?
At least the humans in District 5 were safe, Director X thought. The Protectorate had formed in the radioactive days following the War of 62, bound by their programmed need to protect humanity and civilization. They could not harm human beings.
"Hey!" Bobby leaped up. "Want to see our film studio? We make our own movies now, just like you wanted us to! Want to see?"
"I really do."
Stargazer Pictures was a motley patchwork of innovation, inexperience, and incorrigible optimism. The humans had constructed several soundstages, and Director X amusedly walked past ringed moonscapes, monochromatic space stations, and nebulae-dappled backdrops through which model ships trembled on shoddy tracks. It was all reminiscent of its own low-rated films. There was even an alien jungle base under siege by gigantic, polyurethane ants. Cameras were positioned throughout like entrenched machine guns. The production staff followed Director X and Bobby like reverent disciples.
"Bobby," the robot said, hesitating by a ringed moonscape. "You said your revolution is just the beginning. What did you mean by that?"
"We’re going topside in another few years," Bobby said, grinning. "We’ve sent out scouting parties into the ruins of Los Angeles."
Director X froze. "What? But the radiation warnings…"
"The radiation is at perfectly safe levels now. We tested for it. Your bosses perpetuated a lie to keep us scared and pliable. Within a year, we’re moving out! Going topside!"
"To what end?"
Bobby looked confused. "To attain the stars! To reach the moon and the rings of Saturn. There are ’bots already out there in space, isn’t that right?"
"That is true. The solar system belongs to the Protectorate…" Director X recalled its conversation with Administrator G.
Humans must remain underground, while the Protectorate keeps order on and above Earth.
Bobby laughed. "Listen to me, rattling on about the future. You’re a filmmaker, so let’s talk about films! Based on what you’ve seen, can you recommend any improvements our little studio could…" The human trailed off, as a tickertape began to unroll from the robot’s chest.
"I suggest the following enhancements to be worked on immediately," Director X said.
The burgess nodded absently, tearing off the tape and reading through it. "Um, okay." His forehead wrinkled. "Some of these enhancements are strange…"
"Science fiction can be strange."
"Fair point." The young man turned to the production staff. "All right, people! We’ve got work to do!"
Working with humans had one huge and unavoidable drawback.
They needed sleep.
Director X’s fusion battery allowed 24/7 functioning, requiring nothing more than a glass of water every fifty years or so. Therefore, as the newly made artificial stars in the cave ceiling ignited in faux constellations while District 5 went to bed, Director X retired to the city theater, sitting alone in the front row with a bag of popcorn, to catch up on the manmade films that had been made for the past several years.