The Singular Six (The Chronicles of Eridia) Read online

2

  An hour later Adam and Maggie sat in the back of the RV with the back door open. The street had already been cleared of bodies and debris, though dark red patches in the dust attested to the afternoon’s battle. The citizens of Sweetwater kept looking into the RV as they passed by, which Adam found annoying. But Maggie insisted they keep it open “to air things out.”

  Adam had stripped to the waist so Maggie could clean and treat his wound with the items from the doctor’s bag, which she had retrieved from the street after their talk with Mayor Firth, Sheriff O’Toole, and Rin. It was a miracle no one had made off it with it in all the chaos.

  “It’s quite fortunate we acquired this when we did,” she said as she worked on punching a needle through his unnaturally tough, thick skin to sew up the gash in his shoulder.

  “Mm-hmm,” said Adam as yet another cluster of women passed the back of the RV, openly staring at him as they went. He seemed to shrink in upon himself every time this happened, clearly embarrassed about letting people see his naked torso, which was broad, wrinkled, and yellow, but not, contrary to popular impression, covered in scars. Dr. Frankenstein’s genius had made scars and stitches unnecessary.

  “You hardly need to do this, as you well know,” he said. “My body heals much faster than a normal man’s. The wound would have healed on its own within a day or two.”

  “This will help you heal faster. Besides, we can’t have you bleeding all over yourself, now can we? It’s unsightly.”

  “I am unsightly already,” he murmured, watching a little girl peep around the open doorway with eyes as large as dragon eggs. When she saw that he had seen her, she squealed and ducked out of sight. Adam sighed. “Why you insist on displaying my ghastly form for all the town to see is beyond my comprehension. Have you taken it upon yourself to invent new nightmares for the children?”

  Without looking up from her work, she said, “People need to see that you are not the monster they fear you are.”

  He turned his head and looked at her. “What?”

  “If they see you receiving the same sort of medical care all men must get, if they see you doing normal things, they will think of you more as a man.”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “Your attempt at rehabilitating my image is touching but doomed to failure. The merest glimpse of my face is enough to set babes howling in terror and make men reach for their swords. I look like no man alive.”

  “And the world as it is now looks like no world ever seen before, yet people are learning to accept it as well as they can. They can accept you, too, if you try. If you want them to.”

  “Why do you waste your time in such a way?”

  She stopped sewing and gave him a stern, level, I’m-only-going-to-say-this-once kind of look. “After the Cataclysm we spent over a decade hiding in that manor because you believed mankind was better off without you. And Anna and I went along with that even though we believed it to be a mistake.”

  “A mistake? I—”

  She shushed him. “So we played the game your way for a while. But now that we have been forced from our home and you walk among mankind once again, we will try a different approach.”

  “Like what? Parading me naked among the masses?”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic. Let me ask you one thing: Are you a monster?”

  “So the world has named me, so must I—”

  “I am not talking about the world. I am talking about you. Do you think you are a monster? Because I do not.”

  He was silent for a moment. Maggie waited.

  “I—” He faltered, started again. “I believe I understand your point. But things are hardly so simple. It is hard not to feel monstrous when everyone treats you like a monster.”

  “Then you must prove to them that they are wrong.”

  “I think I see now why you volunteered me to rescue those other abducted women: You hope that by good deeds I will be accepted into the fraternity of man.”

  “Somebody has to rescue those women and stop the Marauders from abducting more of them. It is clear that few around here have the means or courage to do so.”

  He snorted. “I fail to see why it should be my concern. I care only about rescuing Anna. Those other women would undoubtedly spit upon me under any other circumstances, so why should I concern myself with their welfare?”

  Maggie didn’t reply. She only stared at him with sorrow as he watched the passing villagers. Then she shook her head and resumed sewing.

  “This is taking too long,” he said. “Every minute we waste here is another minute between us and the Marauders. Why you insist on sewing my wound is unfathomable. She is your sister, for goodness’ sake. Aren’t you worried about her?”

  She glared at him. “Of course I am worried. But we are in no condition to go after them right now. We have no provisions yet, no mules. And you still need to recover from the battle earlier. You are injured and weak and tired, even if you refuse to admit it. It is better to rest and gather our resources and energy for now and begin the hunt tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps you are right. I—”

  “Excuse me,” said a deep, refined voice from the doorway at the back of the RV. “I was told that you require my assistance.”

  It was a humanoid robot with a gunmetal-gray casing and a flexible platinum-white substance serving as its joints. Its eyes were concave circles lit from behind with orange light, its nose a simple wedge-like projection, and its mouth a small rectangular silver grating. A trio of horizontal slits on either side of its head parallel to its eyes seemed to serve as ears or vents or both. As it moved, faint whirs were audible beneath its casing.

  “Are you the robot who passed through the lands west of here?” Maggie asked.

  “I am indeed,” the robot said. “Miss Rin informed me of your plans, and I will be happy to serve you in any way I can.”

  “Do you know where the Marauders’ base is?” Adam asked.

  “No, I do not. I do, however, recall passing through an area about thirty miles due west that showed signs of nearby habitation and the frequent passage of many horses. Perhaps that—”

  “That must be it! How do we get there?”

  “A simple description would not suffice. The terrain to the west is quite confounding in many places. It would be best if I guide you. I may be of aid in other ways, as well. Like all robots where I am from, I am programmed to protect human life at all costs. Thus, if there is trouble, I shall provide a first line of defense.”

  Adam shook his head. “I doubt you shall be of much help in that regard; we are more than capable of protecting ourselves. But as a guide, your help would be invaluable.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I wonder, though: If the westlands are as dangerous and full of monsters as we have been told, how is it that you were able to pass through unharmed?”

  “I imagine it is because I carry no valuables and am completely inedible.”

  Adam grunted. It made sense. He looked at Maggie. “What do you think?”

  She nodded. “I think we should bring him with us.”

  “I agree.”

  “Excellent!” the robot said. It paused, then turned its orange eyes upon Adam. “Forgive me if this is an impertinent question, but are you in fact the so-called monster created by Dr. Victor Frankenstein?”

  “Why do you ask?” Adam said, though he was pretty sure he knew. He had been through this several times since the Cataclysm.

  “Again, forgive any possible impertinence, but according to the Encyclopedia Galactica in my internal database, you are in fact a fictional character.”

  “You are not the first to believe so, but I can assure you, master robot, that I am indeed flesh and blood and as real as anything in this madcap world.”

  “So my various sensors inform me. But then, since the Cataclysm I have encountered quite a remarkable number of entities that my encyclopedia informs me are fictional, mythical, and/or deceased. I find it most perplexing.”

  “As do we,” said Maggie. br />
  “At any rate,” the robot said, “given your story and your unique ‘family’ situation, I believe that psychoanalysis would be of great value to you.”

  Adam blinked at him for a moment, then turned to Maggie. “What does ‘psychoanalysis’ mean?”

  She shrugged. “I have never heard the term before.”

  “Oh, my,” said the robot. “I should have known. The great breakthroughs in psychology occurred long after your time! Well, let me explain, for I believe that knowledge of the psychological sciences will be most interesting and helpful to you, as they are to all men.”

  “I am hardly a man,” said Adam.

  “And I am a woman,” said Maggie.

  “Oh, dear,” said the robot. “I meant ‘men’ in the sense of mankind—”

  “That might include my cousin here, but it still precludes myself,” Adam said.

  “Hardly. You have a man’s brain, or at least a brain composed of segments of men’s brains, am I not correct?”

  “Yes…”

  “Then your brain functions along the same paths, and thus you are a suitable candidate for psychoanalysis.”

  “Which you still have failed to explain.”

  “Because you have not given me the chance. Men who resist psychoanalysis are usually fearful of the results.”

  “It is hard to be fearful of something I know nothing about.”

  “Ah, but men naturally fear the unknown, as you yourself must understand firsthand.”

  For a moment Adam said nothing, his eyes dark with unhappy thoughts. Then he waved a hand for the robot to proceed. “Very well. Explain this…whatever it is.”

  “Psychoanalysis is the creation of the great Sigmund Freud, after whom I was named.”

  “Your name is Sigmund?” said Maggie.

  “Oh, dear. Perhaps I should tell you about myself first. My name is Freud. I am Mechanical Analyst Number One.”

  “You mean there are others like you?” said Adam.

  “Not exactly like me. Though my eleven ‘brothers’ and I shared the same boot-up date, the same basic morphology, and the same occupation of instructing and entertaining visitors to the Hall of Psychology on Old Earth, each of us was colored differently and programmed with the complete theories and writings of a different prominent psychologist from the science’s long and storied history. There was myself, Jung, Seldon, Ming, Shandra—”

  “Pardon my interruption, but I understand very little of what you are saying. ‘Boot-up’? ‘Programmed’? These terms mean little or nothing to me.”

  “I apologize,” Freud said. “I shall endeavor to explain things in a more comprehensible manner.”

  “I do not know if I care enough.”

  “Let him talk,” Maggie said. “I, for one, am intrigued.”

  “Thank you, fair lady,” said Freud, giving her a small stiff bow. “Now then, psychoanalysis is a method of helping an individual come to terms with neurotic problems by examin­ing the contents of their unconscious mind via talk therapy.”

  “Unconscious?” said Adam. “You talk to people who are asleep or have been incapacitated?”

  “Oh, no. You see, all people have mental processes of which they are unaware. In some cases, alas, these processes are neurotic disorders, often stemming from fixations and traumas in an individual’s childhood.”

  “Ha!” said Adam, as if he had just beaten someone at a complex game. “I had no childhood. I was ‘born’ as you see me now. My consciousness developed quickly, and my education unfolded within a matter of months.”

  “But it did develop,” Maggie said.

  He goggled at her. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I am on the side of truth.”

  “Hmp.”

  “The young lady is correct,” Freud said. “A careful reading of my Encyclopedia Galactica’s rather detailed synopsis of the novel that recounts your history shows that your overall development did indeed proceed in a manner similar to the average man’s, albeit much more rapidly. At first, the world was new and strange to you, and you could not speak, read, or communicate in any meaningful way. You were, in short, in a state similar to infancy. Then, alas, when you sought the love and affection of your creator—your father, if you will—he fled in terror, which is precisely the sort of traumatic event one finds at the root of many neuroses.”

  Adam scowled and seemed about to say something, but before he could, Freud went on: “But of course your case also presents several highly unusual features, perhaps the most notable being that while your cognitive functions matured rapidly—thanks no doubt to your having a fully grown brain to begin with—your affects, your emotions, developed more slowly, building up through experience. Accordingly, your actions at that time, violent and abhorrent though they were, are about what one would expect from a small child if that child possessed a body and a ratiocinative faculty like yours.”

  “Bah!” Adam waved a hand at Freud as if dismissing him. “This is absurd. It is infantilizing and insulting. Your work is irrelevant to me.”

  “I apologize,” said Freud. “I did not mean to upset you.”

  “Were you not necessary to the success of our quest, I would be done with you here and now. Now be on your way. Leave us in peace until it is time for our journey to begin.”

  “And when will that be, exactly?”

  Adam looked uncertainly at Maggie.

  “Tomorrow morning,” she told Freud.

  “Very well. I shall see you then.” Freud strode away.

  Adam watched him go with slitted eyes.

  “Now, now,” Maggie said. “We need him to find Anna. We will not regret taking him with us.”

  “If he continues to be as annoying as he has been so far, I fail to see how I will do anything but regret it.”