Hell Follows After (Monster of the Apocalypse Saga) (22 page)

The forge blasted heat as Edge worked. His education progressed over the anvil, a heavy sledge in his hand. The language of air under pressure, color intensity in cooling metal, and the singing made as his work was pounded into form came to him as though milk flowing to an infant. He suckled at the breast of the forge and grew.

Working alone more often than otherwise, Occam being occupied with something Edge was not privy to, thoughts ran swiftly through Edge’s head. Even while focused on the work and the learning, Edge had plenty of time for musing over what filled his thoughts.

Since Olivia and Occam had made their intentions known, Edge was surprised to feel relief, but his thoughts still led to the quandary of finding his life’s companion. Olivia had been interesting, beautiful, and seemed amenable, but was mainly interesting because she understood the customs he was familiar with. She had come from Roseburg herself and so understood her place in that society. Now that she was unavailable, Edge considered his options.

Of course Jody came to mind. Edge felt something more than casual friendship for her. He knew it. In studying his feelings, he questioned if it was a feeling much like a kinship, something he would feel for one of his little sisters. But he was not sure. Whenever he thought of her, he seemed to sweat more than could be explained by the heat from the forge. Although he had made efforts to speak to her whenever everyone got together, it never seemed to work out. He did not know why. All he knew was she was avoiding him.

Presently Edge’s thoughts turned to another young lady. Well… maybe not a lady exactly, a woman who had filled his arms last night before inviting him upstairs. He had politely declined, and she had pouted. More than once she had made the same invitation, and she seemed so sincere. Her warmth made Edge think.

Looking up just in time to see a freight wagon go by, Edge noted the driver. He had seen him many times over the course of the past few months, and every time the sight nagged at him. There was something. Something… but he could not put his finger on it.

L
eaning down, armed with a small metal pick in one hand and a stiff brush in the other, a bespectacled Occam worked patiently under bright lights. He hummed softly to himself as he scraped and pried small pieces of barnacle and calcifications from the focus of his magnified attention.

Established to be a last generation robot, a mechanical being contrived to be used in the service of man, Occam was not the only person taking turns in the care and cleaning of the metal creature. Several days had passed, and almost half of the surfaces lay well exposed.

Once enough of the robot had been exposed to allow for greater examination, removing plates covering the innards became priority. Specialists in other Trades had delved into the interior of the mechanical and freed the guts from what they could. It was a slow process.

During the cleaning process, they made many discoveries. The most important was that the metal man was, indeed, still powered and expected to be functional. Much like many appliances powered by electrical energy, though, when the power source discharged enough, the machine had gone into a state of stasis. The bot was in hibernation. The priority of recharging or replacing the power source had become critical. They did not know how long the weak charge remaining would last and if fully discharged what damage might result.

Musing over an especially difficult crevice full of calcified detritus, the Smith felt blessed to be involved. The other people he was working with were skilled, educated, and some of the most erudite people he had ever made the acquaintance of. In their company he felt intimidated, even unworthy. What he had yet to realize, but was true, was that they held him in as high regard. Those in charge counted themselves lucky that a man of such metallurgical skill had been offered up to them by coincidence.

Working his pick, the tiny point of which fit into almost any opening no matter how small, Occam pried. His mind wandered back to the evening of his invitation.

The warm glow of welcome lit the oval glass in the door of Angus’ home. Once again Occam was invited, this time for a late lunch. He had left Edge after a morning of intricate instruction at the forge and bathed and dressed, arriving late. Occam always liked to be early, and his tardiness bothered him.

His host seemed unconcerned, in fact effusive in his greeting to a friend so soon met. Occam assumed, though, that this was Angus’ way. He returned the hearty greeting with enthusiasm.

Inside, the beautiful, dark woman of advanced years, Pearl, was standing as though waiting for his arrival. She, too, seemed inordinately happy to see him. As Occam took Pearl’s proffered hand, Frank strode boldly into the room from the kitchen, popping something in his mouth. A voice followed his departure.

“You better run. Those cookies are for later.”

Noting the scent of good food on entering and having had some of Angus’ wife’s catering on previous occasions, Occam took time to draw a deep breath.

Chuckling, he admonished in an easy way, “Scoundrel, you had better leave sufficient for the rest of us. A double helping for me!”

Frank grabbed his offered hand and shook it vigorously, powdered sugar at the corner of his lips.

Speaking carefully with a full mouth, the dapper gentleman grinned and said, “Too late, friend. They’re all gone.”

Frank’s eyes twinkled. Looking back at the kitchen door, he spoke loudly, obviously for the benefit of the cook.

“Maybe we should get someone to make some more! Surely they got nothin’ better to do!”

The voice from the kitchen responded. “Not likely! I think I’ll just pack this lunch as a picnic. My sister would appreciate it if I brought her something!”

Face suddenly sober, Frank quailed at the thought. Under his breath, he offered an opinion quietly.

“She wouldn’t do that. She’s only kidding.” But he looked concerned.

After a short while spent in greetings and small talk, the woman of the house made her appearance, dressed for the weather outside. She made her apologies for having a prior engagement and instructed everyone to enjoy the buffet laid out in the kitchen. Frank tried to inspect her basket, wanting to make sure that any cookies were staying behind for him to eat, but she swatted him away with a laugh and a mock glare.

As she departed, the four left behind gravitated toward the kitchen. The table within was crowded, both by volume and variety. Plates were filled, drinks were poured, and the party moved back into the front room. Everyone sat at the small table centered on the bay window, a delicate thing of carved and bent wood with chairs to match. Worried slightly that his weight would damage the chair he sat in, Occam was suddenly aware that Angus was unconcerned despite his bulk. The Smith relaxed and fell to, enjoying both the feast and the company.

Winding down as plates were pushed away, the conversation lulled. Once again Occam had come to the idea that he was here for more than his charm and wit or his pretty face.

Angus returned once again from the kitchen. He placed a plate, this time lightly laden, back down on the table. Underneath, a sheaf of papers, poorly bound in aging leather, remained somewhat hidden. Before sitting the corpulent man leaned over, shoving a small book toward the Smith. It was a copy of the Renoites’ history.

“You’ve seen this,” Angus asked, “and read it?”

His eyes narrowed, and Occam could feel the other two tense, their eyes on him.

“Aye… yes. I have read it and more than once.”

Shifting his gaze side to side at his compatriots as though seeking their approval, Angus continued.

“We received our first copy almost fifty years ago, just after it was first published on a real press.”

He cleared his throat, hesitating.

“We do as much as possible to research everything we get, especially anything printed after the plagues. There isn’t much from the early years, so at least volume isn’t an issue. It’s an ongoing process. This is accurate in every detail that we can verify.” He patted the small book lightly.

The three seemed to be waiting for Occam to speak.

“As far as can be said, I find it accurate as well,” said the Smithy, “but I know not the area as a resident. It seems written in truth, certainly, and informative.”

“Yes,” nodding his head, Angus agreed. The others nodded as well, seeming satisfied.

“The book is accurate but not complete. It speaks of what happened in the immediate timeframe of the plagues and of what occurred directly after for the next thirtyish years but doesn’t address all that the original writer knew. The book is edited, perhaps even censored, to leave out something monstrous. The man who wrote this history had a part in creating and implementing the diseases that cast humanity from the earth, almost into extinction.”

For what seemed like minutes, no one stirred.

Considering carefully, Occam searched the faces looking at him, one by one. There was no room for doubt. They knew what they were saying, but there was nothing for him to say… yet. Except…

“Go on.”

Lifting his plate of untouched food, Angus pushed the tattered, leather-bound papers underneath toward Occam.

“This is the original manuscript. I’m not sure why we were given it. Maybe they didn’t realize what they had, thinking that it contained only what was in the printed book, but they did say that it was for our archives. It contains in graphic detail a story that chilled each of us. It tells of a plan to rid the world of excess people. And it tells how that plan went astray, folding in on itself and killing the planners. And it tells the reasoning behind their efforts. Much of what we know today is influenced by what these pages contain.”

Pearl interrupted, speaking low, and slowly, “Basically, it says that world population was so great the earth couldn’t cleanse itself any more. That humans were creating a cesspool for themselves to live in. That was the reason behind the reasons. It was common knowledge that humankind was in danger from overpopulation, but nothing was being done about it effectively. Once a small group of people realized that reality, they also determined that any efforts to rectify the problems were not going to be effective. They realized that the human race was never going to do what was necessary to survive. The masses were too busy being distracted by everyday life to be concerned with the enormity of the issue. Everyone was aware, could read the signs, but nothing was being done to solve the problem.”

She leaned back, swirling the wine in her glass and looking into it as though for answers. Or maybe questions.

“The man who wrote the book worked for the people that designed the plagues. He was a direct party to the first plague, and maybe both of the first ones. He was sure the second plague was related to the first.”

This time Frank broke in, “There’s more to it. There had to be several factors coming together at once to make the cleansing possible… and necessary.”

He laughed, shaking his bowed head and seeming uncomfortable with what he had just voiced.

“Well, necessary in their eyes… and just like most things, the solution also involved several things coming together. In this case there was immediacy to the solution because of mechanical servants becoming so sophisticated. You have seen the rudimentary ones, Occam. A few examples have survived beyond their functioning, found in protected places where they stand immobile.”

The Smith had inspected an ancient robot closely in his own apprenticeship long ago, and he remembered his fascination and wonderment of what technologies it held, now lost.

Angus continued, “It was those primitive models that created the realization that advanced ones were sure to follow. Much more advanced. That led to the realization there would no longer be a need for human labor. That single thing provided more impetus to the plagues than anything else. The people involved in the plan understood the mass of humanity was a burden instead of an asset and without any modulating factors would continue to breed. They feared that the coming sophistication, the advances in technology, would not free man to pursue their dreams… but would incarcerate them in consumption. In other words man would become slaves to their own desires because there would be no effort necessary. And there were too many people for the earth to support that many uncontrolled consumers.”

Silence once again permeated the room.

Afraid to ask but knowing he had to, Occam enquired, “So… these artificial servants became… a solution?”

Angus slapped the table with his open palm, agreeing.

“The very thing that provided the fear in the people that realized the problem also provided one of the key factors for a way out. The advancing technology would replace human labor. If people weren’t necessary to mine or till or manufacture… then maybe they weren’t necessary at all.”

Feeling his blood drain from his face, Occam quailed at what thoughts were coming to him, but he was drawn in as well.

Continuing, Frank said, “The people with the ideas, the terrible realizations, were few. Very few. Only a handful. But they were the children of great wealth and privilege, and they felt themselves entitled. They had the means to not only design a solution but to implement it. They used their resources to find the best minds, they compartmentalized their efforts, and they designed not only a plague but also the technology that was on the cusp of happening anyway. They accelerated the technology involved in the robots, built them, and then used them to justify killing those they no longer needed.”

All of those seated at the little table felt the need to gather their thoughts. The quiet gradually became a burden, though. The story had more to reveal.

Speaking again, Angus shifted uncomfortably.

“We got this copy, the hand written one here, several years ago. It tells of the robots… which weren’t in the edited version. We’ve been searching for them ever since.”

Leaning in and reaching out to grip Occam’s hand, Pearl whispered, “Frank found one.”

The gathering went on into the evening. There was much to discuss. Occam was offered the opportunity to peruse the old manuscript but only within the walls of Angus’ home. He accepted and spent the next few evenings in the professor’s home office, reading avidly. From what he read, the tale the others had shared with him was true.

An offer followed. A select group of skilled people had been enlisted to examine and study the metal creature rescued from the depths. Always the intent, they were also tasked with restoring it to working order if possible. In that endeavor Occam became the metals expert.

What the Smith found was that he had little knowledge of any help. But he was not alone. Most of the people examining the mechanical man were over their heads. They did what they could, learned much, and put the pieces of a large puzzle together by speculating in deep conversation and long moments of silent thoughtfulness as they lay awake in their beds at night.

When the power source inside the bot was discovered to be drained almost to the point of being completely dead, a trusted man on a fast horse was dispatched to the coast by a southern route. Once found, the power source located within the robot had provided a clue to where there might be a fresh replacement.

Time would pass before the man returned. Weeks at least and probably more.

The little pick in the big man’s hands continued to chip away at the barnacles. When Occam tired of humming, he started to whistle.