In the Lives of Puppets, page 20
The Coachman waggled his finger at her. “Ah, you almost got me there! You are a delight. Your star burns bright, no doubt about it! Your label reads: NURSE REGISTERED AUTOMATON TO CARE, HEAL, EDUCATE, AND DRILL. PERFECTLY PRESERVED.”
Nurse Ratched was silent for a moment. Then, “I do not detect any lies. You may continue.”
Rambo beeped. “But—”
“Hush, vacuum,” Nurse Ratched said. “The adults are speaking. Engaging Flirting Protocol. Yoo-hoo. Coachman. One of my arms secretes a viscous liquid not unlike lubrication. Do with that what you will.”
The Coachman took a step toward her. “You don’t say? Perhaps a little demonstration is in order. Call it my checkup. Is that right? Is that what humans say? Going in for a checkup?”
“Yes. That is exactly right. Come over here and let me body check—I mean, see you for your checkup appointment. Remove your trousers and cough. Do not be shy. I do not judge.”
For a moment, Vic thought the Coachman would do exactly that. One hand went to the front of his pants as if getting ready to pull them down, the robot arm bouncing against his side. Then his eyes narrowed. “Say, you wouldn’t be trying to trick me, would you?”
“Disengaging Flirting Protocol. Yes. I was doing exactly that. There is lubrication, but it would not have mattered given what I was about to do.”
“Impressive,” the Coachman whispered. “I still almost want to try just to see what happens. But there will be time for that later. On to the next!” Back to the desk again, picking up the third label. This time, he approached warily, stretching the robot arm as far as it would go and setting the paper on the stool in front of Hap, who glared at him. “Easy there, handsome. I wouldn’t try anything if I were you. I hate to think what would happen, especially since we’re just starting to be friends.”
Hap’s arms shot out between the bars, fingers crooked, but the Coachman and the stool were out of reach. “L-let us go.”
“That’s no way to treat your boss,” the Coachman said. He paused, head tilted to the side. “But I can see why you would, given how I’m acting. My apologies! Language matters, yes? To that end, think of us not as illustrious employer and murderous employee, but rather as a family. You wouldn’t hurt your family, would you?”
“I d-don’t hurt,” Hap growled.
“Right-o!” the Coachman said. “But don’t let that stop you from acting like you could. Really sell it, my angry friend. To assist you in this endeavor, I’ve labeled you THE MOST DANGEROUS MACHINE IN EXISTENCE. You’re welcome.”
“Aw, Hap,” Rambo said. “It’s like he knows you!”
“Last, but certainly not least,” the Coachman said, bent at the knees and bending over backward until his torso was horizontal with the ground. He extended the robot arm, grabbed the last piece of paper, then snapped upright with a mechanical groan. “The strangest machine of them all. Who made him? Where did he come from? What is his purpose? Why does he look like he knows a cruel trick has been played upon him, but doesn’t have the wherewithal to do anything about it?”
“He has got you there,” Nurse Ratched said.
The Coachman approached Vic’s cage, setting the label upon the stool in front of it. “You, my odd companion, will be a mystery without answer. A puzzle with no solution. They will come from miles around to gaze upon your physical self, each of them asking the same question: Why? To help facilitate such discussions, you are hereby henceforth known as THE COACHMAN’S MALADROIT MACHINE OF MYSTERIOUS MACHINATIONS!”
“Nurse Ratched says that alliteration is a sign of imaginative weakness,” Rambo said.
The Coachman laughed. “Is that right? Far be it from me to speak against such beauty, but my customers appreciate it.” He frowned. “I think. Anyway! You all have your parts to play. While some will be bigger than others, every one of you is important. That’s called positive reinforcement. Huzzah!” Streamers shot from his hands again, and were sucked back up almost immediately. “Sorry about that. I can’t always control it when I get excited.”
“Why are you doing this?” Vic asked.
“Because I want to,” the Coachman said. “It’s as simple as that. Humans, for all their faults, are a fascinating bunch. After I . . . well. Let’s just say that after my mind was opened, I found myself inordinately curious about those who had made us. I’ve spent a lifetime amassing my collection, and you four are a beautiful addition to my work. Just look at you! I can’t believe I found you where I did. We’re going to make magic together, I promise you that.”
“N-no,” Hap said, stepping up to the bars again. “We w-won’t do this. You can’t m-make us.”
The Coachman deflated. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Thankfully, I’ve already thought of a workaround. Do you know what a threat is?”
“Yes,” Rambo said. “We do. We’ve been threatened a lot.”
“Is that right?” The Coachman sounded suitably impressed. “I might know a thing or two about that. Would you like me to show you?”
“Yes!” Rambo cried. Then, “Wait. I didn’t mean that.”
The Coachman nodded toward Vic. “You all seem very protective of this one. I understand that. He’s certainly . . . distinctive. I enjoy distinctive things.” His expression hardened. “Which is why I’d just hate to have to do anything to him. You’ll do what you’re told, or I will take him apart, piece by piece, until he is nothing but a pile of scrap metal.” His grin returned, eyes sparkling. “How was that for a threat?”
“Very effective,” Nurse Ratched said.
The Coachman danced a little jig, finishing by shaking his hands on either side of his face. “Tremendous!”
“You can t-try,” Hap growled. “But y-you won’t g-get very far.”
“So you think. Okay! The first stop is in five hours. Please don’t disappoint me. I just hate being disappointed. Think about how you would like to present yourselves, knowing that you’ll have an audience and that I’ll keep a close eye on each and every one of you. I’ll be back to check in before we begin. Please don’t try and plan an escape in my absence. Remember my threat.” He bowed low. “Ta-ta!” He disappeared through a door, closing it behind him. It was followed by an audible click as it locked.
Hap rushed toward the edges of his cage. “Victor.”
Vic raised his head. Hap looked worried. “Yeah.”
“Are you h-hurt?”
“No. Just sore and—”
“Sorely wishing we could be anywhere else,” Nurse Ratched said quickly. “Because robots cannot be sore.” On her screen came the words WE ARE BEING RECORDED.
Vic looked around the room. She was right: three cameras hung from the ceiling, all of them pointed at the cages. They had to be careful.
He stood slowly, knees popping. Hap reached through the bars of his cage toward Vic’s. Vic hesitated before stepping toward the edge of his own cage. He reached out and took Hap’s hand in his. Hap squeezed. “I w-will get us out of here,” Hap said in a low voice, turning his face away from the cameras. “I p-promise.”
“How?” Vic whispered.
Hap shook his head. “I d-don’t know yet. I n-need to process.” His face twisted. Then, “I need to think.”
“Maybe we should wait until after the show,” Rambo said. “I’ve never been to one before and I’m curious if it’s as awesome as I’ve made it out to be in my head.”
“You do not have a head,” Nurse Ratched said loudly. “But I agree. We should definitely wait until we see what kind of show it is. Perhaps we will enjoy it more than we think.” She turned away from the cameras as her screen filled. AT LEAST IT WILL GIVE US A BETTER SENSE OF OUR SURROUNDINGS. THEN WE CAN BURN THIS ENTIRE HOUSE TO THE GROUND. “I am excited to be in a cage where I will be gawked at. Yes, so excited. The joy I feel is endless.”
Vic realized he was still holding Hap’s hand. He thought about pulling away, feeling his face grow warm. But he didn’t. He held on as tightly as he could, even though his arm was stiff and he had to fight from curling in on himself. He needed to keep his head clear. He needed to focus.
Hap said, “We’re n-not going to d-do this. He c-can’t make us.”
Vic squeezed his hand. Hap looked down where they were joined before glancing up at Vic, an inscrutable expression on his face. “For now,” Vic whispered, though he was sure the Coachman could pick up every word. “For me.”
Hap stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “F-for y-you.”
He let go, Vic’s hand hanging suspended between the cages. Hap began to pace, muttering under his breath about how he was going to tear the Coachman apart until there was nothing left.
Vic looked out into the room once more, studying everything he could see, hoping for a miracle. He couldn’t see outside; the room had no windows. It felt like they were moving, the house still humming beneath his feet. The Coachman had said he was traveling to the City of Electric Dreams, but he couldn’t be trusted. Even if he was telling the truth, he’d given them five hours until . . . something. Vic didn’t think they could possibly reach the city in such a short amount of time.
The windchimes swayed overhead, shivering light notes.
CHAPTER 16
Hours later, the windchimes stopped swaying and fell silent. Vic looked up at them as he frowned. The sense of momentum came to a halt.
Before he could speak, the house began to rumble around them, the floor vibrating.
“What is that?” Rambo asked nervously. “Are we there? I’m not ready! I know I’m supposed to be a vacuum, but now I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Hush,” Nurse Ratched said. “I am trying to listen.”
“Don’t a-allow us to g-get separated,” Hap said in a low voice. “W-we need to be vigilant.”
Vic swallowed thickly as the house continued to grind. “Okay.”
“I think it is expanding,” Nurse Ratched said. “The house. Changing shape. It is a machine, though I do not think it is alive.”
The door opened, and the Coachman appeared, top hat askew on his head. It looked as if he’d styled his mustache, the ends curled and glistening. “There are my star attractions! Are you as excited as I am? The house is getting ready for our customers, and it won’t be long now before the tour begins. And it looks as if we’ll have a sizeable audience.”
“Where are we?” Vic asked.
“Ho, hi, ho!” the Coachman cried. “He speaks! What a fortunate turn of events, especially since I’ll be telling our customers you do. To answer your question, we are in the beautiful town of Paese dei Balocchi.”
“The Land of Toys,” Nurse Ratched translated.
The Coachman clapped. “Yes! The Land of Toys. A unique place, though the name no longer fits what it once was. It was initially created by the humans as a dumping ground when the toys they’d made became . . . sentient. Long story short, robot dinosaurs began to attack the little humans in great numbers, and they—along with many other playthings—were sent to the Land of Toys to be disposed of.” He sighed dramatically. “Those poor dears, though I understand the humans being protective over their progeny. The Land of Toys was rebuilt. It’s now a wonderful vacation destination, a lovely little town outside of the City of Electric Dreams. And as everyone knows, when you’re on vacation, you’re ready to spend, spend, spend. There is already a line forming that wraps around the house!”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that much attention,” Rambo said. “I think I might be shy.”
“I love vacuums so much,” the Coachman whispered fiercely. Then, louder, “There is absolutely no reason to be shy. You are a machine of great renown! Humans needed your kind to clean up after their messes. Never doubt your place in this world. You are important.”
“Wow,” Rambo said. “I feel better now. Thanks, Coachman!”
The Coachman turned to Nurse Ratched, but she was ready for him. “I am not as easy as a vacuum. Compliments will only get you so far with me.”
“Show lighting!” the Coachman called out cheerfully. In the ceiling above them, four panels slid to the side, and a metal cone extended from each opening. Once all four had lowered, they turned on, casting a powerful spotlight down on each cage. Along the shelving and in front of each display, additional lights rose, soft, muted, the glow faint, designed to illuminate each object. The entire process took less than a minute, and by the time it finished, the room looked hazy, as if seen from a dream.
“Much better,” the Coachman said. “You’re all museum quality now. But let’s save that dramatic display for the first tour, shall we?” He double-pressed the same button, and each of the spotlights above the cages fell dark, casting the captives in shadow. “Now, when I bring in the customers, act natural. Do whatever it is you normally do! Be yourselves. Remember, there are no small parts, only small actors.”
“I have decided to take you to a farm,” Nurse Ratched said. “There are squirrels. You will feel right at home.”
“Where is this farm?” Rambo asked. “Can we go and visit it?”
“Yes,” Nurse Ratched said. “When we take the Coachman there personally.”
“Is that right?” the Coachman asked. “I look forward to it. But until then, we have customers to entertain! Would you just look at all of them?” He pressed another button on his forearm, this one pink. Above the crackling fireplace, a section of the wall slid to the side, and a large screen pushed forward. It blinked to life, forming two rows of five images each, all from higher angles, pointed down.
It took Victor a moment for his mind to process what he was seeing. The forest was gone, having been replaced by a vast open desert baking under a bright sun, the sand blowing, strange treelike protuberances that had what looked like needles sticking out of them growing from the ground. In the distance, a small town rose up from the dunes, the buildings squat and made of what looked to be adobe, a material Vic had only a cursory knowledge of. No snow, not even trampled melting remnants. What happened to winter?
But that mattered not, given the figures in front of the house. Dozens of them, all as the Coachman said, standing single file in a line that wrapped around the side of the house toward the town.
Vic’s heart started hammering in his chest when he saw the figures up close. At first, he thought them human, people like him, flesh and blood. That notion was dispelled almost immediately as he got a better look.
He saw beings that reminded him of the smooth men. Some had ears. Others did not. Still others had hair, though it appeared to be wigs, big bouffant styles with ribbons styled to form drooping bows. Not all stood on two legs. One was a black cube the size of a large boulder with a row of lights across its front. Some had wheels, some treads, some floated above the ground, clouds of sand and dust rising around them. There were toys, too, though they were far outnumbered. He flinched when a large lizard-like creature tilted its head back and roared, the sound tinny through the screen. He wondered if this was one of the robot dinosaurs that had eaten children.
And speaking of children.
They too stood in line, interspersed among the other machines, staring ahead with blank expressions. At least ten of them, all different. One had bright red freckles. Another wore glasses. Another had his two front teeth missing, the gap black as his mouth hung open. With all that he’d learned since his father had been taken from him, Vic had never considered that there could be machines designed to look like children. He didn’t know what purpose they served. Why they had been made to look like they had. They were children forever, never aging. He recoiled at the sight of them.
“See?” the Coachman said. “Isn’t it exciting? By the time we’re done today, we’ll be the talk of the town! Remember: do what you are programmed to do, and everything will be right as rain.” He moved toward the doorway, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “Oh, and if, at any point, I feel that you are endangering myself, my house, or any of my treasures, there will be consequences. I happen to know at least three machines who can make anything feel pain. Something to keep in mind on this, the first day of the rest of your lives. And remember: have fun with this!” With that, he went through the door, closing it behind him.
Only to appear on the screen a moment later, standing on the porch of the house, a wide smile on his face as he raised his arms above his head, streamers shooting from the sleeves of his coat. “Welcome!” the Coachman cried, his tinny voice crackling through the speakers. “Welcome, indeed. How delightful it is to see all your faces, even if some of you don’t have faces. You should all consider yourselves extremely lucky, for you are about to embark on an adventure that will be talked about for years to come!” He bowed. “I am the Coachman, the preeminent collector of all things human-related. Though this may just look like a house, it is, in fact, a time machine, one that will allow you to travel to a time when humans roamed the earth. This is . . . the Coachman’s Museum of Human Curios and Curiosities!”
“Why is he speaking about humans in the past tense?” Nurse Ratched asked as banners unfurled on the front of the house, red and green and yellow balloons spilling out onto the sand. One—a green one—bounced gently off the head of the gap-toothed child. The boy didn’t react, staring straight ahead, mouth opening and closing.
“Friends,” the Coachman said. “I can see by the dull lights in your eyes that your excitement knows no bounds. And while that’s all well and good, I would caution you: once you have entered this house, you will never be the same. Your perceptions will shift, and you may find yourself questioning all you thought you knew. You, there! Yes, the gentleman with the missing eye. You are first. I’m positively thrilled for you! All that I require before you enter is payment. I just hate to talk money, but the upkeep for this old gal isn’t cheap, so I’m afraid I must insist. Good, good. Yes. You will all get a turn just as soon as your credits have cleared. . . .”
The Coachman pushed open the door to the showroom where Vic and the others were caged.
“. . . and yes, human tastes were very subjective, but a painting of dogs playing cards while smoking cigars was considered art, even if we don’t completely understand why.” He glanced at Hap, Vic, Nurse Ratched, and Rambo, who waved at him through the bars. “To attempt to understand humanity can seem like an exercise in futility. For example, instead of asking a medical professional, some mated human pairs filled rockets with shredded paper. Then, the mated pair exploded the rocket, and if the paper was blue, that meant they were pregnant with a baby. If it was pink, they were also having a baby.”
