Dr. Herbert Goode, His Mechanical Girl and the End of the World

ert Goode, His Mechanical Girl and the End of the World

  By Amber Grey

  Copyright 2012 by Amber Grey

  Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Dedicated to my friends and family who are my proofreaders, editors, critics but most importantly, my supporters.

  Herbert had stopped reading his book a long time ago. He had forgotten it was still sitting on his lap, left open to a page, with his forefinger still poised on one of the unread paragraphs. At first, he merely glanced out the window but then he took notice of the landscape and it occupied his mind. Now he sat gazing out the thick glass at the heavy fog and the white particles drifting in the air; neither of which had lifted in days. Even as a scientist, he couldn't be sure what the white particles were - if they were dangerous to inhale or if they were bone fragments from the explosion's victims.

  If I weren't a clever man, Herbert thought, I would have assumed it was another winter morning in Devonshire. He continued to reflect on the people he told about his calculations and his theory about how Andryous, their new power source, was too unstable, but no one would listen to him. They went ahead with the plan without him.

  In truth, Herbert did not care much about his colleagues, those foolish and arrogant men. The only person he did care about was Cecily. As soon as her image entered his mind, he stood up from the chair; the book falling to the floor with a thud.

  He left the room and descended the staircase of his family's manor, the stairs creaking from age. On the walls, were paintings of his parents and their descendants, all gone now. Fortunately, they had passed away before the explosion, but he knew it would be more comforting if at least one of them were alive and with him now.

  At least he had the peace of mind knowing they would have been proud of him protecting their estate. In his preparations, Herbert reinforced the outer structure of the house to be certain that it would withstand the blast. He paid careful attention to the windows and doors, to make sure they were sealed until he was able to breathe the atmosphere again.

  But he did add an extra room to the manor, a room his mother had always wanted but never had the chance to build it. It was a greenhouse for him to grow enough food for two people if necessary. Of course, it was only himself that ate anything. Cecily didn't eat at all.

  He turned the corner and walked to the glass greenhouse doors. He stood there for a few moments, his eyes scanned over the unruly landscape. There was every kind of plant that Herbert thought he would need and some he knew he didn't but wanted to protect for the future. There were rare plants. There were the edible plants and flowers made of coil, wire and spare parts he had made in his lab to occupy his time. Then he spotted Cecily. She was sitting amongst the fern on a stone bench.

  For a majority of her hardware, Herbert left it uncovered where it was safe to do so. Patches of smooth metal fused to her elbows, wrists and hands to protect the especially sensitive circuits. Her torso was covered by a broad shield of shining gold. The same with her kneecaps, feet and hips too. Her jaw line was riveted together by another patch of metal. Her face was a mask of porcelain, ending mid-cheek to allow a full range of motion for her mouth. Her green eyes were made of glass to protect the wires that helped her see the world. But the reason he left the rest bare and naked was because he liked to watch the wires stretch in her forearm when she reached for a pitcher of water. Or when the bronze and silver cogs and gears in her skull would circle and tick with every one of her artificial thoughts. His favorite part was to watch her brain work, like it did now, as she gazed at one of his mechanical butterflies perched on her finger, fluttering its glass turquoise wings.

  It was when the previously still frontal left lobe of her skull started to move that he knew Cecily could sense his presence. He had divided her brain into sections with different commands for each in order to conserve the longevity of the machinery.

  "Herbert." The wires at her mouth formed into a smile and she extended her hand towards him.

  He took it and sat down next to her. Together, they watched the butterfly flap its wings some more then it flew away towards the vitex tree.

  Cecily raised her head and looked through the glass ceiling at the gray clouds hanging above them. The clouds had been there since the explosion and he knew there was little chance of seeing the sky for a long time now. He looked around the green house at the plants that were already grown and knew they would not last much longer without sunlight. He was beginning to feel restless and anxious - a dangerous combination that was gradually settling in his bones every day.

  "Will the sun come out tomorrow?" Cecily asked him, turning to face him.

  "Possibly," He replied.

  "And then we'll be able to go outside?" she asked. Although he knew the components that made her eyes seem real, Herbert didn't want to see his work reflecting back at him. He wanted to see hope. For a moment, he did and refused to believe it was a trick of the light.

  He nodded.

  Satisfied with his answers, Cecily turned away. He sighed with relief. Since the first week she was able to converse and function on her own, she asked him the same questions every day, sometimes when they were reading stories together or sometimes while she sat with Herbert as he ate his meals. He always replied with variations of the same answer and always dreading the day when she would want more than the answers he gave her. But that day was not today.

  He admired the back of Cecily's head for awhile until he suddenly thought, Red hair. She needs red hair - copper coils of some kind. Yes, those would fit with the gears and not cause a problem.

  He reached out, caressing the base of the black tube that acted as her spine, but then his hand snapped back. Herbert realized that if he added hair of some kind, he would not be able to see his work anymore.

  But she's not perfect yet, he thought in defeat.

  "Can we read our stories now?" She asked. The question brought Herbert back into the present and away from his thoughts.

  He nodded.

  "Which one are we going to read tonight?" Cecily asked from across the room. She was perched in the armchair next to Herbert's, surveying the books on the shelves surrounding her with loving curiosity, anticipating his answer.

  He didn't answer. Instead, he stood over the empty fireplace, with a poker in one hand, jabbing at the gray ashes. Although he wished he could light a fire to warm the freezing room, Herbert knew he couldn't take the chance of opening the chimney. Sometimes, on the worst of nights, the temperature would drop to below freezing and Cecily's joints would jar, then they would stop functioning all together.

  "Herb . .Read. . .Story." Cercily tried to articulate. He stabbed the ashes a final time before he walked over to the bookshelves.

  He didn't have to consider his choice for too long, since he was looking for a specific story, after all. He leisurely dragged his hand cross the worn fabric book covers until his fingertips landed on a red cover embellished with gold imprints on the spine. Selecting it, he settled in his chair.

  "Oh yes, that one." Cecily smiled. Her words came out in a rush, tripping over each other. It was a normal reaction to her gears simultaneously halting and moving again, but it was starting to set Herbert's nerves on edge a little.

  He sat down in his armchair and gazed at the red book cover in his lap. He didn't want to read this story. He was tired; too
tired tonight to recite a story he had read a thousand times before about a fairy world that was always giving Cecily ideas. Herbert cursed himself for ever having read this book to her.

  With a sigh, he opened the worn pages to the first words and read aloud, "Once upon a time." He paused. Usually a squeal of delight would be heard from Cecily's corner but there was nothing.

  He looked up and saw she was frozen in her place. He breathed out. It was the first time Herbert realized he could see his own breath.

  "Thank you God." He closed the book and prepared to leave the room. He stopped at the doorway and looked back. He knew that once the cold temperatures returned to normal, Cecily would come alive again.

  Still, he bid her good night before retreating to his room.

  The following morning, Herbert awoke to a cacophony of breaking glass, the smashing of metal against cement and a