Chapter Text
It was late. The Spine lay awake on his bed in his room trying to quiet his mind enough to power down for a bit. He wasn't liking how the world had changed after Father's death. While life at the Manor had continued on, it had become far more subdued, far too quiet. It was too quiet even for The Spine, who normally liked things that way. They were all fairly insulated from the rest of the world here, but he did keep up on current events and he did know about the bombing of Pearl Harbor a couple months ago. He knew that there was a war, that the United States had been pulled into it and that it would only be a matter of time before they were called up. That they hadn't been called yet was a mystery to him.
He kept quiet about it, not wanting to upset Rabbit, mostly. He didn't even consider talking to The Jon. The Jon had never really been grounded in reality since his return from stasis after the Weekend War, especially after the lab accident that mysteriously changed his inner workings. Their service in the last Great War hadn’t helped him any in that respect. No, best not even try to talk to either of them. He really missed Hatchworth. He could talk to Hatchworth and Hatchy's often different perspective and no nonsense manner were usually just what The Spine needed to bring all his thoughts into order. He could only hope this war wouldn’t delay the twins too long in finding a way to help his friend. He had been there the day that vault door had closed.... Lately though, the twins were grim and tense as well, so while he could not quite bring himself to speak with them either, he was sure they were just as aware of things as he was. Maybe more so because of what they owed to the military establishment just to continue their work.
The Spine was worried about Rabbit the most. The Jon was The Jon, but Rabbit was behaving more erratically. He seemed to have withdrawn into himself and was far too quiet. When he did speak, his system stutter was more pronounced. Sometimes he would find Rabbit weeping softly in a dark room of the house. If the door was open he would stand quietly and put a hand to Rabbit's shoulder just to let him know he was there if he wanted to talk, but he never did. There wasn't anything that seemed to cheer him – not even their music. The Spine was worried there was something he needed repaired. Rabbit had hinted as much but wouldn't speak of it any more. He was at a loss what to do to help and Rabbit had forbidden him going to the twins. Maybe he should anyway. Especially after the last several days where Rabbit had gone out to the duck pond near Father’s grave site even though the late winter rains had started again. He had come back drenched to his metal skin, oil tears mixed with the raindrops on his face, only to slog silently up to his room to change and remain there alone for hours.
There was a soft knock at his door. Thinking it might be Rabbit, he said, "Come in." But it was Okimi, the maintenance technician in charge of his general upkeep.
"I saw your light still on and wanted to check that you are okay," she said quietly.
He smiled a genuine smile of affection at her, "I'm fine Okimi. I'm not so sure about the rest of the world, but I'm fine. I'll go to sleep in a few minutes."
She smiled back at him and nodded. "Be sure you do. It's past scheduled time and it doesn't take much for Mister Walter to get angry these days. At both of us." She smiled again and turned the light switch to off. "Good night, The Spine."
"Good night Okimi." After she closed the door, he took the pillow from the other side of the bed and turned on his side, holding it tight to his chest. Sometimes this helped him feel not quite so alone. Silently he wished Father had not given him the ability to think...or to feel. As much as he longed to be more human, there were times when he wished he were a simple automaton only able to follow orders and not caring if he lived or died carrying them out. He held the pillow tightly, rocking slightly and willing himself into low power mode, just to get away from the thoughts...and the feelings.
It was the very next morning that The Spine came down from his room to the sound of angry voices coming from behind the closed front parlor doors. The voices were muffled but he could hear both twins were shouting, their arguments countered by a man with a low, even voice. While The Spine could have attenuated his hearing to listen, he didn't need to. Instead he looked out the front window, only to see a car with military flags on its fenders, a soldier standing at parade rest next to the rear passenger door. He heaved a heavy sigh and put a hand against the window frame, his metal fingers tinking lightly against the glass. His head dropped and his shoulders sagged as if he could feel the weight of all the men he had failed to save in the last great war-to-end-all-wars. How many more? What would be asked of them this time? Helpless, he felt oil welling into his eyes. He had really hoped for more time for Rabbit to recover from the loss of Pappy…Father…. He felt his chest get tight. Going into battle again would take another heavy toll on all of them. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want his brothers to have to go either.
The yelling in the next room was becoming louder, the countering voice more adamant and demanding. The door opened abruptly and a man with General’s stars strode out. From prior habit, The Spine straightened up, but he did not salute. It felt insubordinate, but he himself was not yet in uniform. Seeing him, the General looked him up and down with disdain. To the twins he said, “Colonel Walter, have them ready to go tomorrow, 0400. A vehicle will be here to pick them up, and a car for you as well.”
“No, I’ll travel with them.”
“Suit yourself.” He waited until Peter III saluted. Returning the salute and with a glare at The Spine, the General left the house.
“You heard?” Peter III asked a little too loudly, still trembling in anger.
“No, just loud voices,” The Spine answered truthfully. “But I knew this was coming. Ever since December 7th.”
“Of course you did,” Peter II said quietly, putting a hand to his brother’s still trembling shoulder. “We tried, Spine, but…I’m sorry…we tried….”
“It’s not much time,” Peter III said, quieter now as he leaned against his brother. “Do you want me to tell the others?”
“No, I’ll do it,” answered The Spine. “But when they wake up. Let them sleep peacefully one last time before we leave. I’ll go downstairs and get the heavy armor ready.” He turned and left, going to the rear of the house to the freight elevator that would take him to the labs below.
When he was gone the twins hugged each other. Peter II said, “I don’t want you to go.” He hugged his brother harder.
“I have to go,” Peter III said gently. “At least to see that they are trained for this and not just thrown into it.” He looked down the hallway where The Spine had vanished from view.
The Spine entered the elevator and drew down the manual cage doors. He pushed the button for a level he didn’t often request, then leaned back against the mesh metal cage as it slowly took him down deep into the underground labyrinth of labs and workshops below the manor. He realized he was shaking, just a tremor at first but the thought of having to go back to the battlefield, to the screams, to the broken bodies of men, just boys really…. He fell to his knees on the elevator floor, hands clenched, to let the shakes run their course. He felt the single oil tear streak down his cheek from his tightly closed eyes. It was like releasing the torrent from behind the dam. He couldn’t help himself, alone in the deepening darkness as the light from the hallway above receded. He covered his face with his hands as heavy sobs welled up from deep inside, his quiet moans of inner pain drowned by the rattling of the elevator cage as it traveled down into the darkness as deep as the darkness threatening to engulf his soul. He cried aloud for his father, missing the man even more now that he realized he would no longer be there for him when...if...he came home from this.
The elevator slowed and bumped to a stop. It took a moment for him to realize that it had stopped and to remember what it was he was doing. He slowly stood up and shook his shoulders loose. The tremors had stopped. It was time to be The Spine. The strong one. The adult. He loosened his shoulders one more time before opening the manual cage doors. He stepped out into near total darkness, having forgotten to adjust his optics. It took several seconds for the infrared to switch over, The dim light from the elevator shaft was just enough. “That’ll have to stop,” he chastised himself aloud at what could have been a time-costly and potentially fatal mistake on any battlefield.
Actually the infrared capability of his optics was new to him. A few years ago the twins had heard rumors of some research in that area and had decided to see what they could do themselves. Of course they had needed funding and had gone to who else but the military, but among the items they produced, The Spine’s new optics had been a by-product of that research. Today they were helping him find…a light switch. He turned it on and immediately bit back a curse when he was blinded by the bright light. He spent the next several minutes turning the light on and off, learning to switch from one vision mode to the other quickly. “Should have thought of this long before now,” he muttered aloud.
He left the lights on to walk down the narrow hallway carved from the native base rock until he came to a large room. He went to the workbench along the side wall. Pulling a soft rag from the cupboard underneath, he spent a few minutes wiping the oil from his face and hands before getting to work. A number of crates were stacked against the far wall. There were four crates right in front on the floor. He opened the one with his name on it, the hinges of the lid complaining a bit from disuse. The contents of the crate were just as he’d left them. His heavy battle armor. It had been cleaned and upgraded over the years, the fitment checked occasionally. As much as they had hoped never to go to war again, Father, and then the twins, had wanted to be sure the robots had every chance of surviving it if they did. He lifted the heavy, articulated chest carapace out of its packing, already dreading having to carry the weight around wherever it was they were being sent. He made sure everything was in order before checking Rabbit’s and The Jon’s armor too. It was all there of course. There was the fourth crate he left untouched. Hatchworth’s armor would not be needed this time. He paused a moment looking at it, then shook his head sadly.
Going into the next room, he found a stack of furniture dollies and brought them back, putting two beside each crate. He lifted the crates onto the dollies. From one of the shelves over the bench he pulled out pre-packed repair kits and tossed them, two each, on top of the crates. Going back to the room where he found the dollies, he pulled another large crate out into the hallway. It was very similar to the road boxes they used when traveling as The Steam Man Band. The hinged doors faced him allowing him to open up one whole side of the case. Inside were stacked drawers with marked boxes of parts, robot parts, to have on hand hopefully relatively near to their field of operations. He picked up some long bars of steel and pushed them through the ears that would hold them in place, then he padlocked the bars to secure the doors closed. He pushed it out into the freight elevator. He got the armor crates into the freight elevator and took them up to the main floor, rolling them into the back parlor as it had no furniture and would be large enough for them all to get ready together. It was early yet and no one seemed to be moving about but he had to make a fair amount of noise getting them moved. He had just gotten the last one placed when he looked up out the open parlor door to see Iris standing at the end of the hallway. Her eyes were red from crying. He moved around the crate to the doorway as she rushed toward him. Seeing the telltale sheen of wiped oil on his face, she wrapped her arms around him in a desperately tight embrace
“I just heard!” she cried softly, sobbing against his chest. “I just heard…”
He returned the hug gently. “Shh. It’ll be alright, Mother. We’ll be fine. It’s what we have to do.” She hugged him even tighter when he called her, “Mother.” He didn’t do it often, usually only when he was anxious or unsure, which was rare for him, and it made her feel so much more worried and afraid.
“Don’t cry, please,” he said quietly, feeling the tears threaten again in his own eyes. He blinked them back. Time to be the strong one, he reminded himself. He could feel that mantle settling heavily as he once again placed his emotions in check. He rocked her gently, humming a quiet lullaby tune until she quieted.
She pulled back and smiled. “That was Abigail’s song.” He nodded and smiled back, brushing at her tears with gentle metal-clad fingers. Iris, the young woman who had been Abigail's lady's maid. She had been so young back then, The Spine thought. Now she was a woman in her mid-60s while he remained unchanged, yet another reminder that he was destined to lose all the humans who came into his life.
Sensing his distress, but misreading it, Iris gave him another quick hug. “Do you want me to come with you when you tell them?”
“No. No, it’s best I do that myself. We’ll need some time alone together." He looked down the hallway to the back stairway. "I should go. They should be awake about now.” She let him go, watching after him as he went very slowly up the stairs.
Around noontime three solemn robots came down the stairs and headed for the door to the terrace gardens. Iris was in the front parlor, a handkerchief in her hand and her eyes still red from crying. The Spine went to her and took her hand. “We’re going out to visit Father," he said somberly. "We’ll be back shortly.” Her eyes followed them as they left, her chin quivering.
When they came back an hour later Peter III was waiting for them with their gear. The Army had sent out a driver with equipment and fatigues for them. They were to be Lieutenants, in name only, unable to give orders to men.
They all spent the rest of the afternoon checking through their armor and going through service routines and systems checks. Rabbit went through the motions mechanically, as if in a daze. He didn’t say a word all afternoon except when running diagnostics and answering checklist questions. The Jon was nervous and very unsettled. Peter III worried about him, wondering whether or not he was even fit enough to be sent out again. As the time got closer though, The Jon seemed to steady down. At midnight they made to get ready. Peter left them alone for that.
The robots were slow to change out of their clothes, not wanting to leave their life behind. Rabbit was especially slow, turning away from the others as he carefully folded his clothing into a neat pile. They helped each other with their armor, settling the plating into comfortable positions. It needed very little adjustment as it had been made to attach to their frames. They were a little bulkier now but the armor did not impede motion. They dressed in the fatigues and boots brought out for them as it would be easier to move among men if they looked more like them. They checked the packs they had been issued, trading toiletries, socks and skivvies for the maintenance tools and two comprehensive patch and repair kits each. Rabbit tied a bandana over his head to keep his rabbit-ear-like antennae and interface cables under control, and under his helmet when the time came to wear it. The Jon looked like a frightened teenager as the realization was coming to him that this was really happening again.
The Spine stood in front of them, putting a hand on the shoulder of each. “We can do this,” he said stoically. “We can do this and we have to take care of Peter while he’s with us.” He clapped them hard on the shoulders and drew them into a hug. Rabbit seemed to awaken at that moment. He stood up taller and returned the embrace. The Spine felt Rabbit's hand pat his shoulder, a reassuring gesture that things were as alright as they could be.
It was near time. They put on their packs and went out into the foyer. Peter III was there, in uniform. Everyone else was there to wish them well. The three young women assigned to look after them were crying as each gave their respective charge a tight hug. The Spine lingered overly long in Okimi's embrace, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping back with the others.
An Army truck roared up the driveway at almost exactly 0400. Peter II gave each a handshake and a hug. Iris came over to them, smiling bravely. She gave each of them a small key chain with a medallion attached. “A memento from home,” she said. Rabbit took his and gave her a kiss on the cheek before embracing her. Next, The Jon seemed to approach her hesitantly, looking at her with an uncertainty that confused The Spine, but he took the medallion and gave her a hug, his eyes shut tight as he did so. When he stepped back there were tears in his eyes. The Spine next took her hand lightly in both of his and kissed her on the forehead, having already said his goodbye.
The three robots went with Peter III out to their transport. The truck had no bench seats in the back and the cover was loose canvas. The robots had to argue with Peter to get him to sit up front with the driver before they would crawl up into the back. He did, but was unhappy about it, promising to do better for them when they got to their next stop. But their next stop was an airfield and their next ride was aboard a cargo flight taking them on the first leg of the North Atlantic Ferry route to Great Britain. It was going to be a long trip.