Travnicek screeched and leapt backward several feet, putting himself behind the Outcast. “Get rid of it, slug! Put battle armor over the vent, smash it, I don’t care!”
“I’m listening to her. She’s not going to let go. Not yet.”
…can’t kill Bloat shit shit shit…
The Outcast grimaced and gathered the shreds of power around him. He concentrated. Harsh purple light flared in the amethyst of his staff. He blinked. When he opened his eyes again, Patchwork — minus eye and hand — was standing before him. Teddy almost staggered from the effort of bringing her here. He had almost nothing left.
“Beware the Jabberwock,” he said, and giggled despite his weariness. “Patchwork has been a very bad girl.”
“He won’t let Modular Man go,” Patchwork said. She talked hurriedly, rushing the words as if she could make them more convincing with speed. “You weren’t supposed to be here, damn it. I was going to —”
“— kill Travnicek,” Teddy finished for her.
“—talk to him,” she answered. “Really. I just want him to say the right words. I want him to tell Modular Man that he doesn’t have to obey anymore, that he can follow his own mind. And if he won’t say them, I’ll make him.”
“Or kill him. With your vorpal grenade.”
“Or kill him,” she conceded. “Yes. I figured it would come to that.”
“The tin heap’s mine,” Travnicek spat. “By the way, Governor Slug, how is it that you missed this little assassination attempt?” Travnicek moved to the opposite side of the room, keeping the Outcast between himself and the grenade.
“I’ve been busy,” Teddy said. “I can’t listen to everyone all the time. I’m only human.” That seemed funny too, but no one but him looked amused.
“Governor,” Patchwork pleaded. “Modular Man is a person, as much as you or me. He thinks, he feels. He hates what Travnicek’s doing to him.” She turned to the man. “He’s told you that. He loathes you. He’d kill you himself if he could.” Back to Teddy. “He’s made Modular Man into a slave, forced him to do things he doesn’t want to do. All I want is for him to let Modular Man go. Set him free.”
“Hallelujah!” Travnicek mocked. “So I’m Simon Legree. Well, Little Nell, Uncle Tom’s a machine. I bet you don’t let your car decide which way it wants to go. You don’t let your stereo play what it wants, do you. And he can’t kill me. He can’t even think that. He’s a fucking tin can. Tin cans don’t have feelings. I didn’t give him feelings.”
“Maybe he’s learned them on his own,” Patchwork answered. “Maybe you built him better than you thought. He’s more than you know or want to believe. I — I —” …love… Teddy heard the thought. “— care for him. He’s a friend and he’s done a lot for me. I owe him this.”
“You might as well have feelings for a vibrator,” Travnicek scoffed. He kept the Outcast between him and the grenade. “Because that’s all he is. A big, shiny vibrator. You just like it because you can talk to him afterward.”
“I’m not talking about sex,” Patchwork said. “If you were even halfway smart, you’d know the difference. Governor, please… How can you let him do this? I thought the Rox was all about freedom, about being able to make our own decisions. How can you call the Rox a homeland when you allow this kind of thing to continue? Isn’t this exactly what you’re fighting against? Isn’t it? Damn it, Governor —” Patchwork stopped, breathless. “I’m so lousy with words. I can’t tell you how I feel or what I know. If you hadn’t been here…”
“I’ll make it easy for you,” Travnicek said. “This is now Toaster Liberation Day. He doesn’t interest me anymore. I’d rather watch the slug here, and I’m safe where I am. You want the toaster, you got him. How’s that for easy? Now, Governor Slug, why don’t you take Grenade Lady here and pop her someplace safe.”
“You’ll do it?” Patchwork breathed. Her fingers tightened around the grenade’s lever. “You’ll really do it?”
“Yes, I’ll really, really do it,” Travnicek answered in a mocking, high voice. “Now take your little play-toy and go.”
“Then tell Modular Man now, while I’m here.”
“I can’t. The slug here sent him on a mission.”
“Then how can I trust you? How do I know you’ll do it?”
Travnicek gestured at Teddy. “The governor can read my mind. He can tell you exactly what I’m thinking. Since you don’t seem to want to blow him into little slug-pieces, I assume you trust him.”
Both Patchwork and Travnicek turned toward Teddy. “Governor?” Patchwork asked desperately.
The Outcast blinked, his mouth open.
The truth, slug? The truth is that the toaster’s programming is hardwired and I couldn’t change that even if I wanted to — and I don’t want to. The truth is that frankly Grenade Lady here is too dangerous to live and I’m going to enjoy telling the tin heap to take care of her just as soon as he gets back. That’s the truth. And! don’t mind telling you. You know why? Because you can’t let the toaster go. Do that and you’ve lost the one weapon that’s worked for you in this fight. Let the toaster go and who knows whose side he’ll come down on. He knows everything about this place now. You want him bringing back a tactical nuke? You want him taking you out with a well-placed laser burst? I control him, and I’ve given him to you. I didn’t hear you complain about using him. You’re a putz, a wimp, the Great White Weenie. I heard what you did with Detroit Steel and Snotman. That was stupid and now you’re going to do something smart. You’re going to lie. You’re going to talk nicely to Grenade Lady and get rid of her until the toaster’s back. Go on, slug, tell her that nice Dr. Travnicek will let the poor old toaster have its freedom.
“Go, on,” Travnicek said aloud. “Tell her, Governor Slug.”
“Patchwork —” Teddy began. Stopped. He was looking at Patchwork, at the defeated sorrow in her face. He listened to her dejected thoughts and rummaged through the images of Modular Man she held. His head whirled with other images and thoughts; Jack in his bayou swamp: his cousin Rob and Uncle Alan; the penguin flinging itself in front of him not once but twice.
“Fat boy, how many more times will someone have to do this before you get the idea?”
“You’d really do it?” Teddy asked, and read the answer in her mind even as he spoke the question. “It isn’t just a bluff. You’d really sacrifice yourself to give Modular Man his freedom.”
“Hey, slug” Travnicek said.
Jack, in the dreamtime. Rob, crying under the covers.
There’s nothin’ you can do, Teddy. Nothin’. Just leave me alone.
“He lied,” Teddy told Patchwork. Travnicek’s alien face looked in horror at the Outcast. “He can’t and won’t let Modular Man go. I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Patchwork said. She nodded and tried to keep her next thought from him. Teddy heard it anyway. He tried to send Patchwork one place and her hand another. The amethyst gleamed and faded, but she was still there.
The lever of the grenade hit the floor with a distinct chime.
“Go!” Patchwork shouted at Teddy.
He went. The echo of a twinned scream followed him.
Saturday night
September 22, 1990
On the heels of a strong north wind, through a storm of fire, carrying his new weapon wrapped in a tarpaulin, Modular Man returned to the Rox. Forgetting about shoot-and-scoot tactics, Zappa had finally unleashed a continuous barrage from his full arsenal, and though a lot was inaccurate, enough was hitting the target to continually outline the Rox in a glow of fire. Broken turrets yawned to the murky sky alongside shattered domes. Weapons lay abandoned on the ramparts. Smoke rose from the burning.