“It,” Pat said. “It’s not a ‘he’ or a ‘she’ because it ain’t human, Dakota. It’s a robot. It has no sense of guilt or innocence. It has no...humanity at all. Don’t you forget it, son.”
Billy stepped forward and tousled his son’s hair. He turned to Pat. “Relax, will you? This boy has got enough far-journey adventuring in his head already. He don’t need it so close to home. Besides, Guthrie here is Nikola’s prototype for the new generation of problem-solving robot. He defends this family. He doesn’t need to shoot, because he’s faster that either one of us. Why, just the other day...” Billy trailed off as he noticed Ekka shaking her head. “Nevermind. I’ll tell you later. For now, forget what happened in Lincoln. According to the papers, that was one of Westinghouse’s robots anyway, and everyone knows they’re...” Ekka shook her head at Billy again. Billy smiled. “My wife thinks somebody’s going to bring a civil suit against me again for speaking my mind. Let’s head home.”
Billy ordered Guthrie back into the driver’s seat and Ekka and Dakota followed suit by taking the rear seat while Billy went around the vehicle and got in beside the robot. Pat stood on the cobblestone street for a moment, scratching his balding head. He replaced his hat and pursed his lips.
“It’s a three mile walk,” Ekka said.
“Alright,” Pat replied. “I’ve come this far. I suppose I can go the rest of the way, however it is I am to go.” He climbed inside.
The robot driving the horseless carriage made for a great deal of gawking among the townspeople as they passed along the bustling streets. Billy ordered Guthrie to stop twice, once at the post office, the second time at the telegraphers. Each time, Dakota jumped down, looked up and down the sidewalk and across the street, then ran inside. He was back empty-handed each time.
“Expecting a letter or a message?” Pat asked from the back seat.
“Worried about someone,” Billy replied.
“Who?”
“Nobody you know. It’s from a foreign country, anyway. Not much I can do until I receive further word.”
After making it past the outskirts of Waco and into the rolling pastureland beyond, Pat leaned forward. “We’re being followed.”
“Of course we are,” Billy replied. “Tell him, Guthrie.”
The automaton’s head swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees to regard Pat Garrett. The movement and awkward position were disconcerting.
“There are two men on horseback. They are over the hill behind us. They are each heavily armed. Behind them, half a mile, walks a robot. It is a Westinghouse Burris-Mercedes Omni-5 model. It is in hostage acquisition mode.”
“Are you prepared to defend this family?” Pat asked.
“Non-sequitur interrogatory. I am a Tesla Guardian Ultra Three.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” They continued out of town and along the dusty road until the trail curved and descended into an area of many oaks and pecans, with lush grass and tall brush. A wooden bridge spanned the small, lively stream in the bottom of the draw and as the horseless carriage crossed it, Guthrie said, “I believe the mathematics favor this as a most appropriate location for me to neutralize our pursuers, Billy. Shall I disembark?”
Billy said, “Yes, and we will slow our pace so you can hightail it to us when you finish.”
“Most excellent.” Guthrie hopped from the vehicle and Billy slid over to drive. When Pat looked back to find the robot, it was gone.
[ 2 ]
The two men on horseback stopped as they approached the high-bluffed creek area and the dense trees. They wore brown bowler hats with brass goggles resting on the brim. The leather vests showed a line of bright brass buttons and silver metal liners on the mouths of the vest pockets. The gun belts were as wide as a man’s palm, and festooned with brads and straps of brass and polished steel. Both men carried black-barreled radium pistols, with the tube-shaped brass reservoir atop the barrel. These were the newest models, Guthrie noted, the ones that Hawken invented. Guthrie shifted through his memory banks to Hawken: Adolph Hawken, American, one-time protégée to both Alexander Graham Bell and James Clerk Maxwell, then traitor to both. It was said he practiced dark arts, was an inventive genius, and a megalomaniac.
Guthrie studied the two men more closely. Their hair was bright orange, and reached the shoulders. The coats they wore were brown, plain, and stopped high on the waist, leaving room to draw their pistols. They wore black gloves that extended to the elbows, and intertwining patterns of brass and red lines circled the forearms from the back of the hand to just below the elbow. The brass was bright, as if fresh from the forge, and the red lines seemed to glow from an inner heat. The pants were black, as were the tall boots that reached to below the knees. They, too, had brass and red patterns like those on the forearms. The two men were identical in height, build, and both had skin as pale as that of a corpse. They also had piercing violet eyes.
One of them signaled the Westinghouse robot far behind them to come forward. It increased its stride and steps-per-minute pace and stood beside them in fifteen seconds, covering the two hundred yards as fast as a galloping horse. It was as tall a
s the men sitting on horseback, and the steel and brass body was big, but proportionate in build to an eight-foot-tall man. The long arms were brass-scaled from the elbows to the ends of the fingers, which gave the forearms a snake-like appearance. The hands appeared to be as large as oversized skillets and they opened and closed with mechanical whirring noises. The legs were of similar metal, with brass scales beginning just below the knees and covering the bottom of the leg all the way to the ends of the feet.
The man on the pinto said, “Go first. Catch them.”
The robot said in a scratchy metallic voice, “Acknowledged.” It walked fast and disappeared around the corner.
The two men followed, not wanting to be too far behind at the capture.
[ 3 ]
Guthrie watched from behind the dark green leaves and fog-gray trunk of a wild persimmon bush as the Westinghouse robot came down the trail. Guthrie calculated the robot’s speed. He crouched low to remain invisible to the Westinghouse and moved to a new position that would allow for the most correct angle of attack.
The Westinghouse slowed as it reached the wooden bridge, continuing at a slow walk. Guthrie shot out from the brush behind the much taller mechanical man and closed very fast, crashing low into the bigger, heavier machine and knocking it through the railing, snapping the wooden rail with a splintering crack. The Westinghouse flailed its arms as it fell thirty feet to the shallow, rock bottom stream and crashed on the stones. The shallow water splashed outward in a wide white ring of spray and the Westinghouse lay unmoving in four inches of water.