***
Star examined the tapestry hanging in front of the window. This one also portrayed an episode from the Christian bible – Jesus being arrested by the temple guards. Again, the beautiful workmanship was defaced by heavy black ink. Jesus and his followers now bore submachine guns, and hand grenades festooned their belts. The feeble weapons of the temple guards were totally overmatched now.
This and the other defacements must provide insight into the messiah’s character. How could this knowledge be used to their advantage? If only Winston were here to interpret things.
If only I wasn’t so scared!
She pulled the fabric aside so as to look out the window. The tapestry was not securely mounted, however, and it fell to the floor in a dusty plume. Star jumped back.
“Oh, dear!”
The window was fully exposed now. It was about three meters across by two and one half high. A broad stone ledge ran along its length, and a pair of binoculars hung from a nail driven into the adjacent wall. Star looked up toward the tapestry’s fastening hardware. Clearly, it was too high for her to access, and a second party would be needed for any remounting effort.
She rolled the tapestry up and shoved it against the wall. Hopefully, this little mishap would not cause her any problems when the messiah appeared to satisfy the lust she’d seen on his face. Her own lust for the strange man with the misty eye rose in her heart. Again, she tried to refuse it entry.
She felt evil, soiled. If only she could roll up these unworthy passions and kick them aside as she had done with the tapestry! She peered through the window, seeking distraction for her feverish mind.
The view outside was very subdued, almost otherworldly in the fading light – as if it were the vision of some extraterrestrial artist. A heavy mist rose from Pickle Lake, roiling about almost like a living thing.
Some movement in the distance caught her eye. She leaned out for a better view, gripping the window ledge for support. A stone under her hand started to give way, throwing her off balance.
“Oh!”
She drew back quickly. Wheels began to turn in her head, figuratively speaking.
This just might come in handy, somehow.
She repositioned the stone, carefully brushing away any evidence of crumbled mortar. From all appearances, the stone was as solidly placed as any other. She picked up the binoculars and adjusted them to her optical sensors.
Out toward the lake, she could see a group of six walking toward the castle on the trail. At first she thought they must be human, but it soon became apparent that they were robotic. Even from this distance, their awkward movements betrayed their origins.
Who could they be?
A scrapper gang, probably – like the one that had attacked them on their previous trip. Nobody decent would be out creeping in the gathering darkness. Star shuddered with the recollection of their encounter with the renegade robots.
Have they followed us here?
She could make out more details now. The lead robot was missing an arm. Hadn’t Winston said that Iridium had torn off the arm of a scrapper – could that possibly be the same one? So many unanswered questions!
No matter, the cultists would finish off the interlopers soon enough, unless ...
Star recalled Dr. Rackenfauz talking about scrappers that had attacked him on the road – how the programming of those robots had deteriorated so much that they could actually molest humans.
“The Che Syndrome,” she muttered.
She leaned her elbows on the ledge and watched the group’s progress with rapt attention.
20. Back at the Ranchero
The work crew labored mightily with picks and shovels digging a new channel for the “Winston River,” as Jimmy had named the waterway coursing through Mech City. Jimmy stood a short distance away, observing.
We could sure use some power digging machinery, Jimmy thought.
But there wasn’t any available, just the back-breaking, brain-numbing effort of these robots. The idea was to direct the river into the bomb crater, flush out the stagnant pool, and create a scenic pond where there was only destruction and ugliness now. It was a good idea, Jimmy thought, but increasingly, the workers were not buying it.
Sam, the assistant foreman stepped beside him.
“How’s it going, Jimmy?” he asked.
Jimmy would have sighed if he’d been able.
“Not so good,” he answered. “I’m afraid the boys don’t understand the reasons behind what they’re doing.”
“You explained it to them clear enough, didn’t you?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, but ... I can’t inspire them the way the Boss could,” Jimmy said. “Even when I’m down there digging alongside them, they don’t see the point.”
He gazed out at the crew, saw the miserable extent of the work they’d accomplished so far.
“It makes me sick how everybody turned on the Boss!” he snarled.
“You and me didn’t turn on him, Jimmy.”
“That’s right,” Jimmy said. “And I’m real proud of that, too.”
On the other side of the canal, the enormous figure of Mayor Ajax appeared, standing powerfully with arms crossed over his chest, surveying the work below.
“Ajax means well,” Jimmy said, “but he just doesn’t have the Boss’s moxie. The boys haven’t taken to him at all.”
“There’s been talk of quitting,” Sam said. “It would only take one or two guys walking off and all the rest would follow.”
“Yes, I know,” Jimmy said.
He glanced down at the communicator strapped to his wrist. As ‘interim security chief’ he had control over the mech wolf guards. Again he thought of summoning them to help control the workers. His prosaic mind recoiled at the idea.
If it comes to that, we’re finished, he thought. I wish the Boss was here.
“Well, we’d better go speak with Ajax,” Jimmy said. “See what his latest ideas are.”
The two construction robots began moving toward the mayor. Their shuffling gait betrayed their lack of enthusiasm.