“Report.” The general said.
The nearest robot stepped forward and said:
“We have finished constructing the wall. Robots Two and Three have carried out a reconnaissance of the Continent. Two prisoners have been taken. Weapons were not located.”
“Bad.” The General said. “Terrible. Insufficient. Idiots. The bomb shelter?”
“Will be ready tomorrow. In the second watch.”
“I commend you for your diligence. Bring me the prisoners. Set a guard for the night. All hail me, your Leader!”
“Hooray!” The robots shouted.
“You have rusted, but you have kept your powder dry.”
The general turned, lifting one foot, but the foot would not go back down again. He hoped around in unsteady equilibrium and could have toppled over onto the stones at any moment. The wall of robots stood there unmoving.
“Help me!” The general ordered. “Push my foot down. Quickly!”
“Which of us will go to your aid?” The nearest robot asked.
“You.”
The robot obeyed. With all its weight it pushed on the general’s upraised leg until the stuck limb finally went back down to the stones with a loud creak. Limping, the General went back to the ruins.
“Where are the prisoners?” The robot who had helped the General asked.
“They are right here. Did they not hear what was ordered?”
The old man and Alice and gone up to the ruins and entered. In side it was almost entirely dark, and only an uneven twilight came in through a few cracks and spaces in the half ruined roof.
The ruined house was filled with metal junk, trash, and old tin cans. In one corner stood a bag, right beside it a rudely cut limestone block. The Robot General sat on the block beside the bag and held a large pair of scissors in one hand. The bag was stuffed with pieces of tin can and boxes of concentrates. Evidently, the archaeologists and tourists who had spent time here, had felt it was better to lay their accumulated garbage into their old trenches than dump it into the sea. The General was cutting a complicated, many-pointed star from the top of a tin can.
“You’ve come.” It asked, not letting the scissors out of its hand. “Stand where you are and come no closer. I cannot stand humans. And be silent. I am busy. I am making a medal. Beautiful, isn’t it? Why don’t you answer? You are doing the right thing; I have not ordered you to answer yet.”
Finally the robot finished its work, attached the piece of tin to its chest, and seemed pleased.
“Beautiful.” It said. “We will begin the interrogation. You with the beard will answer first. What is your name?”
“Let it never be said that I gave any information to such an Iron Monstrosity? No, never.”
“Which detachment?” The robot continued as if the old man had said nothing. “How man robots and battle machines? Tanks? Cannons? You will answer now.”
“I said, I will not answer a single question. When General Gurko led us into battle he said: “‘Don’t think of your widows and orphans, boys or we won’t take Mount Sapan by storm!’ Or something like that.”
“Write it down.” The Robot General said to his aid. “Their Commander is General Gurko.”
“I have nothing to write with, Chief.” The robot said.
“Of course you have nothing to write with. And don’t lie to me. You aren’t able to write at all. None of us can write. And this is good. When we are victorious, no one will ever write again. And what shall we do when we are victorious? You ask. And you? And You? You don’t know. We shall march. That is all. And work. And enforce order and discipline.”
“That will never happen.” Alice said. “You don’t understand anything or you’ve gone out of your mind. It’s time to turn you off and throw you into the trash; you’re even all rusty. What I can’t understand is why you haven’t been sent to a scrap metal foundry already.”
“Silence!” The robot said. There was a grinding sound, a gnashing of metal, a burbling of hydraulic fluid, and the robot repeated: “Silence….” The robot blew air through its acoustic system a moment, and continued:
“Silence! After your interrogation you will be thrown into the lock-up. Do you understand? Now, tell me your name? What is your unit? How much artillery do you have? Where are the tactical nuclear weapons situated?”
“I don’t understand the word you used. What tactical nuclear weapons? What cannon?”
“You will be locked up.” The general said. “We will thrash you. We will drive you before us with whips!”
“You would do better to keep your mouth shut!” The old man grew very angry. “Who are you to drive anyone anywhere? Who do you think you are talking to? I’ll….”
“Hold him!” The robot General shouted to his robot aide de camp. “He is attacking!”
The robot aide grabbed the old man from behind with his enormous claws. The old man’s hat fell off and coarse synthetic hairs scattered in all directions.
“Good.” The General said to the robot. “You will receive a medal. There is no way he could have defeated me. I am a fatalist. Do you understand what that means? It means I fear nothing and nothing endangers me. Not even rifle fire frightens me. Not even the direct application of explosive charges.”
The Robot General rose to his full height. His rusty joints screamed.
“Damnable Rust!” It said. “There are no lubricants. Tomorrow on the march you will capture lubricants and machine oil. Tomorrow the prisoners will be put to work on the construction of fortifications. That is all. I have spoken. That is my order.”
“I serve you!” The other robot answered.
“Take this medal and weld it to your chest. You are now awarded.”
“A joy to serve you, sir.” The robot answered and clutched the top of the tin can to its chest so it would not fall, and started to lead the lead the prisoners outside.
Turning, Alice saw that the general had seated itself before the bag again and was again cutting up pieces of tin cans.
“Stop.” The general’s voice brought them to a halt before the door. “I have entirely forgotten. It’s the damned rust. Humans, do you want to serve me? Will you serve faithfully. I will give you medals.”
“No, we don’t.” Alice answered for both of them. “We’re not going to serve anyone, and we’re not afraid of anyone.”
“We will see what tale you sing tomorrow,” The General said, “when an iron arrow pierces your soft human hearts. Go.” But the prisoners and their guard had only moved a few more steps when the general’s scratchy voice ordered them back. They had to return.
“Again I have forgotten.” The General said. “Is Moscow very far from here?”
“Far enough.” Alice answered. “You’d never get there on foot. But they can carry you there in a freight train and turn you into giant candle holders. The latest fashion.”
“Shoot them immediately!” The robot general said.
“We cannot.” The subordinate robot said. “It’s grown dark. We might miss.”
“Those of you who would bring terror to all, turn on the floodlights in your heads!
“Impossible. You ordered us to economize on energy, Chief.”
“Then to the lock-up. To the lock-up!”
“I’ve had enough of your pointless noise; you’re just getting me angry; go to your lockup yourself!” The old man said. “I’m going to shoot you now with my own stick.”
The old main raised his walking stick to his shoulder and took aim with it as though it were an old style rifle, straight at the Robot General. Either the old man had totally lost his robot reason from fear, or he really did not know the difference between a rifle and a walking sick, or he just wanted to frighten the robot, but the results turned out disastrous for him.
The General-Fatalist grew terrified and collapsed on the floor with a loud clang but the second robot struck the old man on the forehead with his own iron fist.
The head of the old man shattered, scattering the tiny workings of his electronic brain. The old man staggered back and forth, made several uncertain steps, but his coordination centers had already been destroyed, and he collapsed on the floor beside the Robot General.