1899- Journey to Mars

The weight of this sentiment struck at Dakota’s heart. He knew what was going to happen next. He tried to cry out but his voice stuck in his throat and only a dim squeak emerged.

Guthrie launched himself at the Golden Man and struck him. Guthrie laced his arms around the alien robot and pressed his hands to the other robot’s back in a tight embrace, even as his clothing burst into flames and his own outer skin began to melt and run off of him in thick, rolling drops.

Guthrie’s form erupted in arcing electrical fire that played over the Golden Man from head to foot. The raw energy appeared to affect the other robot’s equilibrium because the two forms spun in mid-air. There was one last burst of a lightning bolt from Guthrie’s chest into the Golden Man and the ensuing thunderclap roared throughout the well and echoed back, again and again. Guthrie was thrown into the wall of the well and his ruined form sunk to the floor. The Golden Man dropped like a stone into the well far below. There was another gout of steam, but it was far less dramatic than the previous one. Guthrie had defeated the Golden Man.

“Guthrie!” Dakota shouted, and ran toward him.

When he reached his robot companion’s side, Dakota knew that his friend’s days with him had come to an end. He tried to touch him, but jerked his hand back from the searing heat. Guthrie smoked, even as metallic flesh melted from his body and pooled beneath him to run along the rampway, seeking its lowest level.

The robot’s mouth could not move. His lips and face were gone and the delicate mechanisms beneath were exposed.

“Dakota,” Guthrie said, and Dakota realized the voice came from the robot’s throat, that area that had endured little contact with the Golden Man. “Please tell me that I have done well in saving you.”

Dakota cried, the tears streaming down his face. “You have done well in saving me.”

“Tell your mother and your father not to cry for me. I may live again someday, but it will not be as the Guardian Ultra Three, the Guthrie, that you knew.”

“What are you talking about? Robots don’t come back from the dead.”

“This robot may. Someday. In a moment my power systems will cease, and I may not speak to you ever again. But watch...and wait. From my heart will rise...something. That something is...me. Take it, Dakota. Take it back to Earth. Take it...to Father Tesla. He will know...what to do.”

“No,” Dakota bawled, not in answer to his friend’s request, but in answer to his demise. “I don’t want you to die.”

“All things die...my young friend. But one day...perhaps...we will find each other...again.”

The exposed circuitry melted away and the ambient traces there of raw electricity diminished and faded.

Dakota began to wail. He placed his hands on Guthrie’s chest and though it was still hot, the heat was bearable.

“I love you, Guthrie,” Dakota cried.

Then, beneath Dakota’s hands, a shaft of metal arose. Atop it was a glistening orb of blue. Dakota watched, mesmerized, as pulses of blue danced inside it.

He grasped the orb and pulled it to him, hugging it to his chest.

“Goodbye, my friend,” he

said.

[ 92 ]

The workshop of Mort Prime was a castle with its back to the yawning chasm of the Great Canal. As Billy and Avi approached, the place looked ruined and abandoned. There were pieces of robots strewn across the inner courtyard and the gate stood with one great stone door leaning back on one hinge. It appeared that it would topple with the slightest provocation.

“This must be the place,” Avi said.

“Oh, it’s the place, all right. But I’d feel better about it if I had to shoot my way in. It looks...creepy.”

“I don’t think your friend is here.”

“He has to be,” Billy said. “We don’t have time to search the whole planet.”

Billy stepped forward between the outer gate and a tiny, rodent-like machine spun away and across the courtyard toward the closed door of the castle.

“We must stop the thing, Billy,” Avi said.

But Billy’s hand was a blur. The JPM pistol was in his hand and Billy fired. There was a brief phhht sound, and the tiny robot flew apart, its wheel spinning in the air.

Instantly four other robots, each no larger than the size of a beaver, darted from hidden positions in the wreckage-strewn yard and converged toward the doorway.