Klunk

by Bill Bowler

Table of Contents, parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

part 1

Escape From Earth

Just one last tale and my chronicle is complete... — Pushkin, Boris Godunov

Outside my window, the snowflakes fall, a solid curtain of swirling white obscuring the mountains from view. The river is frozen to a solid block of immovable ice. The temperature has dropped to a level at which no living creature from Earth could hope to survive.

But here inside, a gentle warmth radiates through the room. The walls of the new Temple are thick and solid. Thanks to the architectural expertise of our dear friends, the library is comfortable and quiet, the perfect place for study and concentration.

My notes about the catastrophe are quite extensive. Reviewing them now, I had hoped in hindsight to grasp the Lord's intentions, but I still do not.

From the blank page, the participants of these events cry out, asking to be heard. All I can do is record this history without bias.

And so, one last entry, and my chronicle is complete...

* * *

It was mid-November. The sky was gray and a chill was in the air. I was walking down Park Avenue through a fine mist, my coat collar up and my hat brim pulled down. I had come past the steel and glass towers, left the clean, safe streets behind, and was approaching the checkpoint on Eighteenth Street. After waiting in line with a group of street people, my turn came.

“I.D.”

I showed the officer my license.

“Destination?”

“Thirteenth Street.”

“Purpose?”

“I am Rector of the Temple.”

The officer scanned my license and compared the photo to my face. “All right. Go ahead. Next.”

Crossing Thirteenth Street, I tripped in a pothole and fell. It was quite painful. A group of outcasts, huddled in a doorway, watched as I got to my feet and rested for a moment, supporting myself on the hood of an abandoned vehicle. I made my way carefully past the boarded up storefronts, glass shards on the sidewalk crunching underfoot.

The mounted camera on the corner had been smashed by vandals. An armored half-track with a front-mounted laser cannon rumbled past on Third Avenue. A cop in black SWAT armor brandishing a plasma rifle popped up through the hatch. He kept his visor down.

The half-track passed from view and, a moment later, I heard automatic fire and screams. I lowered my head and kept walking, climbed the steps, and let myself in through the double doors.

* * *

“Evening, Rector.”

“Hello, Dearborn. Hello, Tanya.”

“Let me take your coat, Egon. It's started to rain?”

“Just a drizzle.”

Dearborn Wappinger, graying, with a slight paunch, gazed at me over half-lenses resting low on his nose. “I thought you could stand in the rain without getting wet, Egon.”

“Pay no attention to him, Rector. Dearborn, you leave him alone.” Tanya Esperanza was like a daughter to us both. I had officiated at her wedding. Her husband's death had shaken her faith, but not for long. Her children were grown, and she had blossomed into a second life, more vital and beautiful than ever.

It was after-hours at the Temple, but we had business to conduct. Dearborn, Tanya and I were going over final plans for our departure the next day. A group of believers was finally setting out on our long awaited pilgrimage to Alphane 3. It was the most important event in the history of our congregation. We were filled with excitement and anticipation and, of course, apprehension.

“Did you have any trouble getting here?” asked Tanya.

“I was stopped at a checkpoint, a patrol opened fire, and I tripped over a pothole. Other than that, no trouble.”

“Good grief!” said Dearborn.

“Were you hurt?” asked Tanya. “Please be more careful! You could break your hip! Sit down, Rector. Let me help you.”

“I'm fine, dear, thank you.”

“You're lucky they let you through the checkpoint,” said Dearborn. “They're stopping everyone now, looking for sympathizers and collaborators.”

“As bad as it was, I thought when that bot Andrew was elected,” said Tanya, “and the droids saw humans could back a droid — not that I would — that tensions would be reduced.”

“Andrew shmandrew,” said Dearborn. “They don't want our support. They want to replace us. They think they're better than us. I, for one, resent it.”

“They should never have turned off the fail-safe,” said Tanya. “As long as the AI was capped, they worked fine in service and support. They were high-end machines. No one had any problems. But now they don't want to work. They want to teach at MIT.”

“And serve as governor,” said Dearborn.

“There are too many of them now,” said Tanya, “and they have too much power. People are scared.”

“It's because of the disturbances,” said Dearborn, “the looting and arson. It's spreading. The extremists have guns and the cops are using live ammo now. It's just terrible. Robots walk around scot-free while people get shot and killed.”

“When bots get control, they treat people like criminals,” said Tanya. “They have bots in the police, in the courts. Human beings are hunted down, tried, shipped off to prison by droids! They walk all over us, turn our children against us.”

“And we are blamed because of our beliefs,” said Dearborn.

“Our lives will be different on Alphane 3,” said Tanya.

“God willing,” I said. “The ship is ready?” We had chartered a small private interstellar ship, the Seeker, and hired a pilot and crew of two by using Temple funds drawn from our endowment.

“I spoke to Captain Pierson today,” said Dearborn. “We're cleared for takeoff at three. He asked that we arrive at the spaceport at noon.”

“The bus will pick us up here?” I asked.

“Out front at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“How many are we?”

Tanya glanced at her notes. “Twenty-seven, including us. Not everyone is coming. Some are more scared of the trip than of bots taking over here.”

“It's understandable,” I said. “Cryostasis. Immense distance. Light-years of travel. A lot could go wrong, but I believe our path forward is clear. We are meant to reach Alphane 3. Our faith will guide and protect us.”

I opened the folder on Alphane 3, and we went over the paperwork one last time: passenger list, cargo manifest, flight itinerary. Everything seemed in order.

Over the years, we had saved pictures and news clips about the founding of the original colony. Images of the planet's surface were low-res, but you could make out vast plains with mountain ranges at their edge, inland seas, lake and river systems, heavily forested coastal areas. Data indicated a temperate climate and an oxygen-rich atmosphere.

A close-up of the colony site showed a complex of housing structures the original settlers had built. Another picture showed a group of colonists, courageous men and women locked arm in arm, smiling into the camera.

“Our new home,” said Tanya. “We'll be free. We'll able to speak our mind, to practice our faith, to live with whom we wish and how we wish without armed thugs watching our every move. No droids. No bots. People only.”

“Amen,” said Dearborn. “It's the beginning of a new life for us. A chance to start over. Look.” He spread out the sketches for the magnificent temple we were going to build on Alphane 3. Our plan was to establish a new outpost for our faith there, to start fresh and rebuild our community.

Tanya clicked on a press release. “It's an old one, asking for volunteers to emigrate. There's too much space and too few people.”

“Can you imagine?” said Dearborn. “Alphane 3 is a place of beauty, a natural paradise. It's a second Earth, a better Earth. From all I've heard, the colony is prospering.”

“We'll help make this new world a refuge for humanity, a place for people to love each other and be free,” said Tanya.

“Others will follow,” I said, “but it will take time for people to learn of our new life. Communication between Earth and Alphane 3 is sporadic. We'll be out of touch with our loved ones here.”

“How long has it been since the last transmission received from the colonists?” asked Dearborn.

I checked the dates on the files. “It's been eight years.”

“I worry,” said Tanya. “What if something has happened to them?”

"Communications over such vast distance are subject to time lag and numerous technical problems,” said Dearborn. “It could be some local issue with their equipment or there could be interstellar interference.”

“We'll find out when we get there,” I said. “Anything else?”

Tanya and Dearborn looked at each other and shook their heads no. We all rose. The two of them put on their coats.

“Then we're all set,” I said. “Get a good night's sleep, both of you. We need to be fresh in the morning. We have a big day ahead. Let me see you to the door. I'll lock up. I have to stay a while to make a chronicle entry. Until tomorrow. Be safe.”

Dearborn and Tanya wished me good-night and stepped outside. The street was deserted. I locked and bolted the door, and was left alone with my thoughts.

* * *

I poured myself another cup of tea, went into the rear of the Temple, to the library, and sat at my desk. I was bringing the chronicle up to date when I heard some noise in front. Someone outside was knocking. I thought perhaps Dearborn or Tanya had forgotten something and I went to unlock the bolt.

I was startled when a stranger pushed in through the door. The uninvited guest was a handsome man in a Red Blood Brigade militia uniform, with a black beret, a crossed lightning-bolts insignia on his shoulder, two gold stripes on his epaulets, high, laced combat boots, and a stun gun in his hand. He was gasping from exertion, and had the drained look on his face of an exhausted animal pursued by a predator. He took in my robes at a glance.

“Rector, in the name of God, please help me!” He struggled to catch his breath.

“What is it, my son? Are you in trouble?”

“Sanctuary! I need sanctuary. They're after me.”

“All humans are welcome here. But who is after you?”

“The police. I need a place to hide.”

“Why are the police after you? What have you done?”

“Only what was necessary, what anyone would have done in my place. I pulled the plug on a bot that needed turning off. Permanently.”

I heard sirens wailing outside, coming closer.

“Please, Rector! There's no time!”

I hesitated a moment longer, and then closed and bolted the doors. “What is your name, my son?”

“Caspar. Caspar Klunk.”

“Come with me, Caspar, and tell me what happened. Perhaps I can help.”

Our visitor holstered his pistol and followed me to the rear of the Temple, through the doorway into the library. The sound of the sirens faded, for now. I cleared a space, sat him down, and offered him a cup of tea to calm his nerves. Caspar began to breathe normally and his color returned. He wiped his brow with the napkin.

I sat beside him. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“It's like this, Rector.”

“Please, call me Egon.”

“We don't deny they have rights, Egon, but we have our rights, too. And ours are being taken from us and trampled on. All we ask is they keep separate. Bots and humans don't mix. It's not natural.” He took a sip of tea. “We don't deny their right to exist. Equal rights? Sure. Fair enough. We'll give them that. Let them have their own neighborhoods, their own schools, their own everything, everything they want, just keep away from ours. You give an inch and they take a foot. One drop and the next thing you know, you have a flood. Let them keep to their own, and we will, too.”

“Your beliefs are in harmony with church teachings, Caspar.”

“They think they're stronger and smarter than we are, but think about it. They have unfair advantages, titanium bones, electronic processors and everything. We have some advantages too.” He patted the stun gun in his holster. “They have no emotions, Rector. None. Cold as ice. And no god. Colonel Bagrath says it's time to take the gloves off.”

“Who?”

“Oscar Bagrath, Red Blood Brigade commanding officer. It was his operation. Andrew's election was a huge shock and a wake-up call. No way it wasn't fixed. They should never have let droids vote. They're not even eligible to hold office, or shouldn't be. It's a total fraud. Half the people who voted for Andrew probably looked at the posters and thought he was human. And what do we have now? A goddamn bot running for re-election. The Colonel said we strike the robot rally at Union Square. We power down Andrew and as many droids as possible. The human cops and the flesh and blood people wouldn't get in the way. They're on our side.

“Oscar and I stopped by a military surplus shop on Nineteenth Street to charge our stun guns. They're incredibly effective against droids. Shorts them right out and fries their circuits. While we're in the shop, some idiot android with a blank expression — you know, the dull eyes, the stupid look on their plastic face, and no docs — comes in and tries to buy a rifle. With the Colonel and me standing there in uniform, armed.

“This droid had balls, I'll give him that, but must have had a screw loose to take a chance like that. The store owner is a militiaman and a pal of mine. He pulls a club from under the counter and clocks the droid top of the head. Some goo starts oozing from the ears and it's wobbling and stumbling around like a drunken sailor. We toss his ass out onto the sidewalk and give it a couple of kicks so it won't forget. It gets up and runs. We got a good laugh out of it.

“Once our weapons were charged, we proceeded to Union Square to rendezvous with the men. The city cops were deployed along Fourteenth Street at the edge of the crowd. Some of the cops were droids. They looked at us Blood Brigade guys a little funny, us in uniform at a bot rally, but we had every right to be there. The bots had set up a stage hung with banners of Andrew, equipped with a podium, mic, PA speakers, the works. They had their own bot security guards on stage.

“We pushed our way through the crowd. Lots of robots and a few brainwashed people, too. Bot lovers. Sympathizers. Some of them even live with bots, the perverts. What's wrong with these people? Where the hell do they come from? They just crawl out from under some rock. The idea of human beings mixing with these things is just revolting. Disgusting. It's a genetic dead end, suicide for our species. Andrew came on stage, asked for quiet, and started into his re-election spiel.

“It wasn't in the plan, but when Andrew started in about sex bots and comfort droids, I started heckling. Andrew took the bait and started arguing back at me from the stage. Haha. He's got the mic and I'm just shouting at the top of my lungs, and he's talking over me through the PA, drowning me out. So I give the signal and make my move. I climb up on stage, shove Andrew aside, grab the mic, and start speaking some truth to the crowd.

“That's when bot security laid hands on me. I don't want things touching me, nothing that ain't human. It gives me the creeps. I drew my gun, zapped the guard, and then gave Andrew a good one. You would have done the same. I know for sure they don't feel pain. Andrew starts jerking with spasms, I smell smoke, and it drops in a heap on the stage floor. Totaled.

“Our men were zapping droids in the crowd left and right. The cops move in, but instead of helping us, they start clubbing our men. It was too soon. The time had not come for our movement to rise. Oscar was shouting at me to run.

“I jumped off the rear of the stage and ran like hell down Fourteenth Street. I turned the corner on Third Avenue, slipped through the alley, over a fence, and came out by the Temple. Good place to hide, but the doors were locked. Thank God you were here, Rector.”

“The Shepherd watches over his flock, Caspar.”

Caspar took a deep breath and slumped in his chair. His cup was empty and I poured more tea. There was a loud knock at the front door.

“Police! Open up!”

Caspar reached for his gun, but I put my finger to my lips and motioned for him to stay there. I turned out the lights, locked the library door, pulled the curtain, and went out to the front of the Temple.

* * *

Proceed to part 2...

Copyright © 2021 by Bill Bowler

Proceed to Challenge 927...