[Original Novel] Little Robot, Part 42

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I took the opportunity to explain to everyone present, on Helper’s behalf, that she doesn’t really know what she’s talking about where issues like this are concerned. She suddenly glowed bright red. The woman and the biker both fell silent as she laid into me.

“I what!? How-how could you...Didn’t you always tell me you wanted me-me-me to become my own person? To form my own opinions?” I nodded, then tried to qualify that before she plowed right ahead. “Then how come every-every time I express my opinions, you step in to correct me? To substitute your own opinions instead? Do you really...want me to become my own person, or a copy of you?”

Again I tried to apologize and explain myself, as she was apparently so upset now that it was making her glitch out. She wasn’t having any of it. “Okay, maybe I haven’t had enough time to-to-to learn as much as you. Maybe I’m....wrong about some-some things. But would it kill you to let me figure that out on-on-on my own?”

I sat there completely dumbstruck by the outburst, as did the other two. No doubt they’ve never seen a machine do that before. Neither had I for that matter. Helper never so much as contradicted me until a few days ago.

The sudden exposure to a wider variety of views...to real live human beings other than myself, Lars and Sue. The stimulation of last night’s attack. Maybe all of it together was responsible for greatly accelerating her growth.

“I...well...you’re right, Helper. I’m sorry. I was wrong to do that, please forgive me.” The tingling numbness following her sudden burst of aggression gave way to a warm feeling of pride, spreading outward from my heart all the way to my fingers and toes.

She seemed surprised by my reaction. Expecting me to be angry or hurt, I guess. “Those two are fuckin’. Guaranteed” the biker laughed. The woman glared at him, as did I. Helper slowly color shifted to magenta.

“Ha, look at her face! I knew it. If they fight like that, dollars to donuts they’re knockin’ boots. Which raises another question. If she’s so naive about human social whatevers, why do you think it’s okay to bend her over? If you ask me that’s a lot more messed up than anything I said.”

The woman agreed. Given her snide comment earlier I should’ve expected it. With the two now firmly aligned against me, I nervously took my leave and beckoned Helper to follow. She refused, instead staying behind to pick the brains of the first humans outside the cave she’d so far had a chance to speak with at any real length.

I was stopped on my way back to our assigned room by the bearded man with the rosy cheeks. “Hey fella, I meant to talk to you. Feels like we got off on the wrong foot, you didn’t seem too happy to find us. Most of the people who make it here are relieved to finally find a safe haven.”

I apologized if he felt we were ungrateful for his hospitality but pointed out that his men came at us with guns right off the bat. “Well y’see, the thing about that is, we didn’t know any more about you than you did about us. Not everybody who comes this way is good people.”

I tried to put myself in his shoes. Not my strong suit, but I could nevertheless imagine some sound, practical reasons for employing a measure of caution when receiving refugees. I thought back to the televised warning about desperate, armed looters.

“My name’s Big Red by the way. Like the gum. Or Paw Paw to some of our younger residents. We never got properly introduced. I just wanted to make sure we was on good terms so in case I need you to pick up a rifle and join the fight, I know I can count on you.”

I affirmed that he could, to his apparent relief. “Glad to hear it! Follow me, I’ll show you where the guns are kept.” I asked about the numerous rifles mounted to plaques throughout the lodge. He explained those are just for show, none of them loaded and in most cases probably unusable.

We made our way down a long, concrete lined stairwell into the earth. I expected the air to grow cold as we descended but it remained warm, the reason for which soon became clear. I expected a cellar or something. Maybe a couple bins of dehydrated food, seeds, basic prepper supplies.

Instead, the bottom of the stairwell emptied into what I quickly identified as a buried school bus. Steel plates welded over the windows to keep dirt from collapsing them inward, seats ripped out and replaced with all the accoutrements of a mobile home.

He watched my eyes light up with obvious glee. “I just love bringing people down here for the first time. Yes I really did bury a bus. Not just one, neither.” He led me through a doorway in the far end, and to my absolute shock I found myself in a labyrinth of interconnected subterranean school buses adapted into some sort of survival bunker.

“How did you do all this?” I begged to know, mouth hanging open. He just kept beaming with pride. “Life’s work, I told you. The lodge is just a front. Bought up all these buses from scrapyards, used a backhoe to dig ramped trenches, then wheeled ‘em in before piling the dirt back on top. They’re not too deep or else the weight of the dirt on top would be too much, but deep enough to survive all kinds of nasty shit.”

I thought about the nuclear assault still underway and wondered whether this could be a viable place to survive it. “Y’see, originally I bought a helicopter. It’s still out back gathering rust. I was gonna do helicopter tours of the mountains for tourists. I flew one much like it during the war. But then big daddy government sticks his nose in my business! He says there’s some project going on in the mountains that’s top secret, that I can’t be flyin’ no helicopters over it.”

I tugged nervously at my collar, realizing it must’ve been construction of the mountain complex which derailed his plans. “That’s a shame” I offered. “At least you had a plan B.” He slapped me on the back and chuckled.

“Funny joke! No, this bunker was always plan A. I was just gonna do the whirlybird tours to fund it. The hunting lodge was plan B. Worked out alright in the end, though I still had the EPA and Wildlife Resources Department up my ass the whole way.”

I next asked why he devoted so much of his life and money to building a survival bunker. “Well you know, they all said Noah was crazy to build his ark. But because he wasn’t, he got to be the founding father of a whole new civilization after the flood waters receded.”

It threw me for a loop when I realized he was speaking about the global flood in the Bible as if it actually occurred. I internally recalibrated based on that info and continued with kid gloves on. “Oh, sure. Noah and his ark. I see what you mean, it makes perfect sense.” I nodded contemplatively to sell it.

“The other thing is, I knew it wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ something like this would happen, but a matter of ‘when’. And I knew when it all turned to shit there would be desperate hungry people lookin’ for shelter, food and safety, knockin’ on the doors of any place they think can offer them those things.”

I felt a brief surge of respect for the man, commending him for his humanitarian streak. “Oh, sure. I love to help people out” he said. “But I’m about hand ups, not hand outs, you get me? I’m not running a charity here, I deserve to get something out of it on account of all my hard work.”

I asked what exactly he hoped to get in return from people fleeing disaster, most likely with nothing more than the shirts on their backs. A sly little smile crept across his face. “That’s the beauty of it. They got nothing, I got everything. I own this place, I run it, and they can’t just pick up and leave if they don’t like how I do things. It’s literally my way or the highway, and you already found out on the way here what the highway is like.”

My respect for the man, sky high a moment ago, now began to plummet. “Out there” he explained, “I was a nobody. A veteran the government promised to take good care of but never did. But down here, I’m king of the castle. It’s good to be king! There’s certain perks that come with it. Lots of the survivors what came here so far have been young, fit, good lookin’ women if you didn’t notice. Some single mothers, but I’m not too picky.”

He was now giving me what I interpreted as a conspiratorial look, nudging my still-tender ribs and wiggling his eyebrows. After navigating the astonishingly vast maze-like structure for a few minutes, we arrived at what could only be the armory. Rows upon rows of rifles mounted to every wall. Not hunting rifles like the ones I saw in the lodge, but machine guns of various makes and models.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 43!}