Chapter Text
Tonight’s show had been a blast. The robots were still high on their show rush. They were standing at their autograph station, laughing, joking around, too wound up to sit down. The fans were exuberantly discussing the show they had just seen, while patiently waiting in line. When it was their turn, some asked for autographs, some just asked to shake hands, some were granted the coveted photo with their favorite bot.
Eventually the crush started to die down, the end of the line was in sight. Rabbit was bent over at the table signing a program with a flourish. She stood and handed it back to the fan with a smile then looked to her right. Her smile froze to clenched teeth. She took a step back and grabbed for The Spine’s arm in a silent warning. He looked down at Rabbit’s hand then followed her gaze.
The next fan in line could only be another robot. Other fans nearby in line just thought he was a really cool and convincing cosplay, and wondered how the band would react to meeting him. But Rabbit sensed it right away. The Spine tensed. Zer0 looked up to see why his sibs had become suddenly still. His jaw dropped.
This robot was different from anything they had ever seen before, starting with his plating. At first they thought it was intricately painted, but a closer look revealed that his plating was truly carved from wood. He was shorter than they were, about 5’-7”, if that. He was rather shabbily dressed, but not at all out of place at a steampunk convention, wearing what looked like patched and repaired sailor’s trousers with multiple pockets, cut and buttoned mid shin. He wore a rough leather vest that showed his carved, articulated plating. A rope choker with a single green glass bead encircled his neck. He wore no socks and his heavy boots showed a lot of wear. His limbs were thicker and easily could be mistaken for a human in robot garb. His hands could easily have been mistaken for being gloved. They were large and were made for heavy work, the wooden plates only applied to the backs. Even his eyes were convincingly human, they did not glow, though the green color was far more intense. The glassy look could have been mistaken for contacts.
Other robots never approached them at shows. Most found some way to get to the Manor in San Diego, not to a steampunk convention on the East Coast. Rabbit didn’t like it. Something was odd with this one and she couldn’t place it. His sound was…wrong…and who would make a robot with a wooden skin? Way too…expendable. Except, he was beautifully and artfully carved from what looked like a wide grained blond wood. Someone had taken a lot of time to put that skin together, right down to matching wood grain with musculature and sanding and rubbing the oiled wood to a deep satin glow.
The four robots stood staring at each other for several long moments. The tension in the air was starting to telegraph itself to the remaining crowd, which was unconsciously starting to draw away from the table.
Walter Worker Chelsea looked over from the merchandise table and did a double-take at the quiet tableau. Hoping to diffuse whatever situation was developing, she left Camille's side and came around to the front of the tables, greeting the newcomer with a disarming smile. “Hi there.”
He turned to her slowly, seeing the other robots tense like tightly wound springs as his eyes focused on the young woman. Chelsea was struck by the sadness in this bot’s eyes as he struggled to speak. He did not move his limbs or otherwise make any kind of gesture. He was obviously being very careful not to appear threatening.
“Can…you…help…me?” His voice was very deep and low. He mumbled more words but managed, “…said…you…would…help…me…” He was obviously not used to speaking aloud. His eyes dropped as he spoke, as if embarrassed for his speech.
Chelsea felt a rush of sympathy for him. She put a hand to his shoulder. While he did not flinch away, she could tell he was fighting the urge to do so. He was warm to the touch, far different from the often cold metal of all the other robots she knew. She could also feel the hum of power under the heavy plating, and a slight tremor that usually signaled some sort of system overload or malfunction. Now she was worried he really did need their help. He smelled of hot metal, with a very slight fuel oil scent, also very odd. Her kind smile changed to a look of alarm as he crumpled to his knees. Zer0 was around the table in seconds, helping Chelsea keep the bot upright.”
Chelsea put a hand to his chest. He was very warm. “Are you not feeling well? We’re going to take you to our green room. We’ll get you some help.” Rabbit’s eyes widened in alarm at that, but Chelsea gave her a look to “stand down.” Zer0 lifted him gently to his feet. At first the wood-clad bot resisted, then acquiesced to their direction.
To the few fans remaining in line Chelsea said, “Hang tight for a few minutes. Zer0 will be right back. The Spine and Rabbit will entertain you while you wait.” She laughed at the looks she received from the two bots, but it broke the tension. Zer0 looked to The Spine, who nodded with a significant glare and a wifi message between them.
He looks harmless, but be vigilant.
Zer0 nodded.
They walked backstage slowly. He could hardly believe he had reached his journey’s goal. The young woman at his side appeared to want to help him and the bot steadying him seemed truly concerned. Right now he needed rest. And oil. He was feeling weak and dazed as they took him the short distance to the room off backstage where the band had set up their green room. Chelsea picked up a plastic liter of water, handing it to him as she steered the two toward a sturdy chair next to a table. He sat carefully and watched as she quickly dialed her cell phone. She nodded at Zer0, letting him return to his fans. He did so, somewhat reluctantly.
Peter Walter VI answered immediately. He had already returned to his hotel room upstairs after the show, trusting his assistants to watch over the bots and see to the remaining details of the gig. “What’s up?” he asked nonchalantly, though hoping it wasn’t something that would cost him a lot of money. Robots being robots and all….
“Six, we have a visitor.” She put the phone in interactive mode to put the new bot on camera for Peter to see. She heard a low whistle from her boss.
“He’s beautiful, Chelsea. He just showed up? Out of the blue?”
“Yes in the autograph line, believe it or not. He’s very weak at the moment. He collapsed out in the hall.”
“That’s concerning. What’s his name?”
To the bot Chelsea asked gently, “Can you tell us your name?” She touched his shoulder lightly again.
He looked up at her somewhat confused as he slowly parsed her question.
“Arborus…My…m…” he hesitated, stumbling over the word. “My Mistress…called…me…Arborus.”
“Is that what you want me to call you? Arborus?”
He blinked slowly at her, cocking his head to one side as if he had to consider that question.
“Yes, my…name…is…Arborus.” He looked down quizzically at the water bottle he held in his hand then set it carefully on the table without drinking. Now it was Chelsea’s turn to look puzzled, and concerned. Peter was still on the screen, but she could see he was typing into his laptop.
“You don’t want the water?” she asked. Most robots that just “showed up” were usually thankful for the chance to tank up.
Arborus shook his head. “Need…oil,” he said softly, not wanting to be a bother. Usually this was something he looked after for himself, but his carried supply ended days in the past and he was on reserves now. He was definitely feeling unwell.
“Oil? What kind?” She went over to the large road box and opened the front panels to reveal a number of drawers in assorted sizes stacked inside. The bottom two were large and held many containers of different oils and fluids.
“Does…not…matter.”
That was confusing. Of course it mattered. “What do you usually have on hand?”
He looked at her, blinking slowly.
“Tractor…oil…”
“Okay, what kind of oil does the tractor take?” She ran through her limited knowledge of tractor engines and hazarded a guess on the heavy end. “15W-40 maybe?” She began to rummage through the two drawers looking for something close.
“Does…not…matter,” came the soft reply. She turned to see him looking into the drawer from the chair, his head cocked in that odd questioning manner he had.
Peter’s voice from the phone, “It might matter, Arborus. Do you not know what you use in the tractor? Does it come bulk? Do you remember the name on the barrel?”
Again the robot looked confused. He shook his head and looked down at his hands. “My…oil…comes…from…the tractor. Change…the tractor oil…that is my oil…”
“Used motor oil?”
He looked up to see Chelsea looking down at him, aghast. He looked down quickly and nodded. But now she recognized his characteristic odor.
Peter asked, “Arborus, is it a diesel tractor or a gasoline tractor? And do you know if you use standard or synthetic?”
“It has to be diesel, Peter,” Chelsea answered.
Arborus nodded then looked down again. “Synth…too…expensive.”
Chelsea found what she was looking for at the back of the drawer, one plastic quart of 15W-40. She had no idea why they had it, but it was always good to be prepared for every contingency. Even one like this. She handed it to him.
He took it gratefully but then looked around in distress. “A…a…place…to…do…this?”
Chelsea was feeling confused again, then an idea struck. “Do you want me to leave you alone while you refill?”
Arborus shook his head. “M…Mistress…always said, ‘not…in…the…house.’”
Chelsea smiled at him. “I’m not worried. Trust me, on the road with Steam Powered Giraffe, a little spilled oil isn’t going to matter here.”
Though he still looked nervous, his need was greater than his reluctance. He stood, somewhat shakily, and carefully removed his vest. With practiced ease he popped off a panel on his left side to access a fill port, just under what would be his rib cage.
Chelsea noted quickly that he had a metal frame under the wooden chassis. Curious, she held out her hand. “May I see that?” He handed the plate to her as he carefully uncapped the oil and broke the foil seal. He opened the port and even more carefully poured the oil in. Chelsea turned the wooden panel over and over in her hands, marveling at the workmanship. It was beautifully finished on both sides with what appeared to be tung oil. The leading edges were fitted with a black silicone seal that would slide over or under the adjacent plates as he moved. It would burnish rather than abrade the wooden surface under it while sealing out dirt and moisture.
Peter’s voice from the phone, “Chelsea, pick up.” She switched the phone over to voice and put it to her ear. “Chelsea, he’s registered in the Cav as Arborus. He’s blue matter powered. I don’t recognize his creator’s name. I’m hoping he didn’t walk from the address given, but he probably did. Get his joints lubricated, water, oil, - send for whatever you need - and I’ll do a little digging on this side. I’ll set up another room for the night and once you’re finished up we’ll get him settled and maybe figure out his story. Give a ring when you are packed up down there.”
“Will do, Six.”
“The Spine is worried. I’ll ping him that it’s okay and he’ll settle the others.”
“Thanks Six.” She hung up.
Arborus had finished with his task. He was looking around for somewhere to dispose of the empty oil container. Chelsea held out the wooden panel.
“Trade ya,” she said, taking the container from him as he took and replaced the panel. “We have to carry out what we bring in.” She sealed the empty container in a heavy plastic ziplock and put it back in the road box. “How often do you need oil? I’m going to send a courier for more.” She looked at her phone screen. “But it’ll have to be in the morning. Should I get a case? Is there anything else you need in the way of general maintenance? My boss wants me to give you a quick maintenance check as it sounds like you’ve come a long distance, so if you have a preferred lubricant, need any filters or repairs, I’ll have that stuff delivered too, if we don't have it here.” She waved at the road box.
“Need…one more…quart to top off." His voice was smoother but he still spoke hesitantly. "One…or two…quarts…per week..if not…harvesting. More then. Grease…gun…general…purpose…same as…the…tractor. Everything…else…is in the green…thank…you.” He put his vest back on. He was feeling much better now.
Chelsea wasn’t liking this constant comparison to the tractor. Was he just a machine to his creator, no better than this tractor? “I have a general purpose grease here, and a gun. Can you show me your joint fittings?” He rotated has arm across his chest and unscrewed a cap on his elbow.
“Standard…grease…gun,” he said, showing her.
“All of them?”
He nodded.
Of course, she thought as she started looking through the fittings drawer. Just like the tractor.
*******
Peter sat in his room, now staring at the Cavalcadium logo on his laptop screen. They had contacted him immediately after he had finished his records search, but he had been put on hold, both of which were very odd. When the screen lit back up, his eyes went wide in surprise behind his mask. Antoinette Shelby? Top brass of the Brown Suits Division? This wasn’t going to be good. No, not at all.
“Good evening, Peter. I trust the show went well?”
“It was a fine night, Netty. Packed house, the gang spot on, and a nice little steampunk convention set up with some interesting speakers and some really cool toys...but you didn’t call me for small talk.”
“No. It’s about your query regarding a certain robot. You have Arborus there with you? Is he safe? Is he okay?”
“My lead technician says he seems to be ok. Needed some oil and she’s giving him a quick check up now. Haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet. Looks like he walked all the way here to Boston from somewhere near Bar Harbor, Maine. An island off the coast near there?”
“Yes. Fortuitous for him that you were playing a venue outside your normal eastern radius, and that he had the wherewithal to figure out how to find you without being found himself. While he sometimes speaks slowly, he is far from slow. Let me allay any fears you may have. He’s a very sweet young robot, not quite 20 years old yet, and I’m very, very glad to hear he is with you. I have a pair of Agents headed out your way. You know Tom Hanson, right? He will be the lead. They’ll arrive in about two hours. A third Agent is procuring a vehicle and will join them in about three hours. I want them to escort Arborus to the Manor while you continue your tour as though nothing has happened. Can you prepare him for travel in 3 hours?”
Peter nodded. Two agents, so one was always awake and vigilant. That meant some kind of trouble. A third agent meant they were going to drive non-stop from here to California. “I think so Netty. Chelsea said he was just weak and tired, but I heard him refusing water. That is a bit troublesome, but maybe he tanked up somewhere nearby….”
“Peter, he doesn’t need to tank up. His creator somehow harnessed the blue matter directly. No steam powered generators. It’s all direct.”
Peter leaned back hissing between his teeth. “Direct! I’ve never met his creator, didn’t even recognize her name, but I’d love to talk to her!”
“It’s too late for that, Peter. Miss Ramsay passed away a little over a month ago. Besides, of course we talked with her over the several years immediately after Arborus became sentient. He is blue matter powered, after all. But she always chalked it up to a happy accident, much like what happened with The Jon. We still don’t know what makes The Jon tick, and neither does he. We’re hoping Arborus knows more about his own workings and maybe he can enlighten us.”
“She left no schematics? No programming?”
“Miss Ramsay was a bit of an eccentric, Peter. She lived alone on that island with only Arborus. He cared for her, tended the gardens and a few farm animals, grew most of her food, chopped wood for heat, tended a small reverse osmosis unit to fill the gravity tanks with water, and sometimes even brought home a fish or two for her supper. Every Spring and Fall he would row across the channel to pick up a pallet-sized load of supplies, but he kept to himself and gave off the impression of being slightly unbalanced. He’s not. But no one ever dared bother them out there.
So, no, there are no schematics that we have been able to find. Her death threw a large wrench into those discussions too. Apparently she has family on her sister’s side that didn’t exactly agree with the terms of her last will and testament and rather than take it to court, they liquidated her assets and sold them, most of them, at auction, before we could intervene. They held Arborus against his will, hoping to sell him to the highest bidder in another, more clandestine auction being held on the dark web. We were able to put a stop to that but I’m worried. He was commanding a huge sum simply for his appearance, as they just assumed he was steam powered. In the millions actually. Apparently he escaped, which is when we found out about all of this. He literally dropped a dime, or rather a quarter, at probably one of the only working pay phones in the eastern US. He’d apparently been drilled in what to do if he was ever in danger. Call us. And find you.”
“But why me?” asked Peter.
The Director heaved a heavy sigh and looked down at her hands. “As you know, robots on Earth Prime are still considered property. Arborus ‘belonged’ to Miss Ramsay and her will specifically contained instructions for his well-being.” She looked directly at him. “Peter, in her will, she left him to you.”
******
There was urgency in Peter’s manner as he headed to the green room. The band was packing up for the night. He only checked in briefly with them on his way, just long enough to tell them not to speak of the new robot, aloud or via wifi. They were curious but knew better than to disobey when Six was this serious. He worked the room a bit to see what the general buzz was on the robot but most fans still thought him a cool cosplay outfit, that the fan wearing it had overheated, and wasn’t it sweet of SPG to help him out. A few were pondering whether he was a real robot, but the wooden plating and lack of steam seemed to discourage them of that. Peter made his way back to the green room. He entered the room just as Chelsea was finishing up her maintenance. He introduced himself. Arborus seemed in awe, fascinated by his face mask of wood. Peter stood still, allowing the bot to reach out tentatively to touch it. The bot’s face lit up with a rare and beautiful smile, the first Chelsea had seen.
“M…my mistress said I would like your face, Mr. Walter.”
“I would truly love to have met your Mistress. I’m very sorry for your loss,” Peter said sincerely. The bot’s shoulders sagged and he got a far away look in his eyes. Peter put a hand to his shoulder. “Arborus, do you understand when I tell you there is something I need you to do? That I need to get you someplace safer than here?”
Arborus nodded.
“Yes.”
“I’ve arranged for a car and three people to accompany you. They are going to drive you to my home. It will be a long drive, much farther than you’ve walked. I can’t go with you but I need you to go with them. Will you do that?”
Though the young bot looked about to cry he answered, “Yes.”
“I know it’s been difficult for you, Arborus. I’ll do what I can to help get this all sorted out. Now, is there anything you need us to do for you to make you ready for travel?”
A couple hours later they had Arborus ready to go. They had 'requisitioned' and hemmed up a spare pair of The Spine’s black jeans for him to wear and Peter gave him one of his own sweaters. Unwilling to part with the garments made for him, his only belongings in the whole world now, Chelsea found a tote bag to put them in so he could take them with him. They topped up his oil from standard stock they had on hand as he assured them he was made to run using waste oil, that it didn’t matter where it came from. He seemed to burn through it. Peter just hoped he was keeping up with whatever cleaning cycle he needed to be doing for that. Arborus assured him that he was.
A little over two hours later Peter received a call that the car was at the underground loading dock of the convention center. He took Arborus down himself. The three agents greeted them and were genuinely happy to meet Arborus, trying their best to put him at ease. Peter could see the robot was in distress, and even though he wasn’t sure it would help, he gave the bot a hug before helping him into the back seat of the car.
“It’ll take a few days to get to my home, Arborus. If you need anything at all, just say so and Tom here will see to it. If you want to talk to me, have him give me a call. The band has a few more shows to do on this tour, so it’ll be about 16 days before you see us again. My family is expecting you and will take good care of you, and trust me, I’ll be working to sort out whatever it is needs sorting.”
Arborus could only nod. He flinched as Peter closed the car door and was too overwhelmed to return Peter’s wave as the car pulled away. He hadn’t told anyone he had never ridden in an automobile before.