CHAPTER NINE

The morning dawned bright, clear and breathtakingly beautiful. The pink glow of a desert sunrise illuminated the dark hills and cast golden light over the stark, lonely landscape. The distant cry of a buzzard sang through the growing warmth, and the crystal shimmer of dew lit the cacti and Joshua trees until they glittered like diamonds in the morning sun.

The Spine awoke to the smell of good coffee and Connie softly singing Michelle Phillips' part in 'Dedicated to the One I Love' as she cracked eggs for an omelette and prepared breakfast muffins. He watched quietly from the comfort of the recliner, reluctant to move. His back was feeling far less problematic, and the misfires in his circuits were reduced dramatically. He was still far from being in tip-top condition, but he was, at least, functional and able to continue until he got home to Walter Manor and the Hall of Wires where he could relax and completely power down.

"I remember when that song came out," he said dozily, still tucked under the throw-rug. His photo-receptors blinked sleepily.

Connie turned, a smile on her face. She was already dressed and ready for the day, her eyes bright and full of humour. The Spine thought how beautiful she was.

"Mornin' son. How are ya this ayem? Want some breakfast?"

The Spine stirred himself and slowly sat up, rubbing his face and stretching. He winced as his vertebrae cracked, but he did feel much improved.

Connie limped over and handed him a damp washcloth and gestured at her own upper lip. "Moustache,' she whispered. "You don't want those two young hoodlums you call brothers to spend the rest of the day cacklin' like a couple of turkey hens 'cause they played a joke on ya, now do ya?"

The Spine brought his fingers to his upper lip and they came away smeared in black. Sighing, he stood up stiffly and wandered over to a small wall mirror. Studying his reflection he shook his head, perusing the extravagant villain's moustache, complete with pointy upturned ends, drawn stylishly upon his upper lip. He instantly knew by the deftly-drawn swirl of the moustache who was the perpetrator of this particular artistic extravaganza.

Rabbit.

Scrubbing vigorously with the washcloth, he managed to remove all traces of the moustache just in time, as The Jon appeared out of his room and shuffled along the short corridor into the kitchen. He was wearing his dinosaur pyjama bottoms and his beloved 'I'm a Real Boy' teeshirt, a Christmas gift from Rabbit. He was clutching a rather battered plushy Wile Y. Coyote to his chest.

It was obvious to The Spine that his baby brother wasn't quite awake yet. His optics were half-closed and he was only wearing one slipper. He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and blinked twice at The Spine.

"Mip," he said.

The Spine raised an eyebrow and hmmmm'd.

"Mornin', The Jon. Are you okay there, champ?"

"Pinatas," answered The Jon blearily.

The Spine nodded.

"Okaaaaayy … " He took a resigned breath. "I guess this is where I go freshen up and get into some clean clothes." He turned to Connie, who was standing watching the two robots. "Just leave'm there, Connie. He'll wake up properly in a minute or two." Ruffling The Jon's curls he disappeared into the bathroom.

Connie chuckled and limped forward, giving The Jon a motherly hug.

"C'mon, sweetie – come an' sit down an' keep an ol' lady company for a little while until ya wake up properly. I see ya found Acme." She gestured at the stuffed toy. "He used to belong to my daughter when she was little."

The Jon turned a sleepy face to Connie.

"Lonely."

"You're lonely?" Connie queried. "Oh, hon, ya have your brothers an' – "

"Acme." The Jon held up the soft toy. "He's lonely."

"Oh," Connie replied, understanding. "Gotcha. Well, I guess he must be. Cathy hasn't been home in a long time." Her voice softened. "A long time," she repeated sadly.

The Jon, still half-asleep, opened his arms for another morning hug which Connie duly gave him.

Within minutes, the human members of Steam Powered Giraffe wandered in for their breakfast, and before Connie knew it, her kitchen was full of laughter, good-natured insults and hungry young men. The Spine joined them, feeling much refreshed, and last of all, Rabbit gimped through from his room, looking dapper in his striped pants and all six of his belts.

"My," said Connie admiringly, "Don't you look spiffy this mornin'!"

Rabbit preened.

"One must a-always look one's best, dontcha think? E-Especially when there's a beautiful lady present. That's what Pappy always said."

Connie blushed, and shyly smacked Rabbit gently on the shoulder.

Steve was not to be outdone.

"Hey! I'll have you know I put on my best bandanna this morning!" He got out of his chair and knelt on one knee before Connie, grasping her hand (complete with eggy whisk) and kissing the back of it with genteel care.

Sam clutched both hands to his breast and gave a dramatic sigh.

"Oh, the pain! My heart will surely break!" he uttered in his most angst-ridden voice, "Spurned! Spurned, I tell you!"

Michael had too much of a fit of the giggles to say anything, so he just stood up and wrapped Connie in a Michael-Hug.

The Spine laughed to himself as he sat quietly with a good cup of coffee – something he loved to do, even though the tannin didn't really do much for his boiler. He also found a local newspaper lying on one of the worktops, and within minutes was happily perusing articles about sheep-rustlers and bargain-basement sales of bulk cattle cake. He only appeared from behind it when Rabbit turned the conversation to moustaches. The Spine peered over the top of the newspaper, dropping it low enough for Rabbit to see that he was, indeed, moustache-less. Smug Rabbit suddenly became Crestfallen Rabbit. Foiled again.

The Jon just sat silently at the table, looking somewhat self-absorbed.

Breakfast was a leisurely affair. Everyone was relaxed, rested up to a point, and feeling ready to face the day. After helping Connie to clear up and wash dishes, it was decided that now was a good time to sort out the remaining wind-chimes and flower baskets, and then replace all of the fallen items back onto the store shelves. It was the least they could do, they all decided.

The Spine tapped The Jon on the shoulder.

"Okay, chief, let's go. You have to get dressed and then we'll hang up Connie's stuff, all right?"

"Huh?" The Jon blinked.

The Spine frowned.

"Jon, snap out of it. We have work to do!"

The Jon blinked again, slowly.

"It's coming, Spine."

"What?" The Spine asked, puzzled. "What's coming? What are you talking about?"

The Jon shrugged, optics clicking as his photo-receptors blinked rapidly. It was the first time he had looked fully awake since he had powered up.

"I dunno," he said blankly, and then he smiled shyly up at his brother.

The Spine shook his head, mystified. But then again, being mystified was fairly normal when dealing with The Jon.

"Oh … never mind. Let's get going."


Within an hour The Spine and The Jon, with Steve's help, had re-hung every single one of the wind-chimes and flower baskets. After a couple of artistic tweaks by The Jon, they headed over to the store where Michael and Sam were hard at work replacing fallen cans of carrots on shelves and tidying up a display of cat munchies.

As everyone worked around the store, Rabbit sat beside the till as he wasn't allowed to help out. First of all, he admired the clutter and variety of goods Connie sold in her tiny store, shelves piled high with amazingly interesting things like ear-taggers for cows (Rabbit thought the bright yellow numbered tags most decorative) and plastic whirligigs for gardens, light bulbs and an infinite number of strange agricultural hand implements that Rabbit had no idea what they were for. They looked excitingly dangerous.

But after twenty minutes he yawned noisily. There were only so many scary unknown agricultural implements to get excited about, and he was rapidly descending into boredom. He counted the light bulbs. Boring. He whirled a whirligig. Even more boring. He wrote a ballad in his head. It took him eight minutes (because, he decided, he was awesome that way), and then he sighed. Nobody took any notice. He sighed again, this time adding a 'yak-yak-yak' on the end, hoping somebody would complain. He was ignored. Even Connie was too busy to check and see that he was all right.

He idly looked around to see if there was something he had missed that would engage his attention.

Ah-HAH! He perked up immediately. Along the wall behind him was an untidy line of framed photographs, and to his great delight, they were all skewed. Here was his job for the day! He would straighten the pictures! If he was careful and did a good job, Connie would call him 'sweetheart' again and he might even get another hug!

And so he set to work, spending a great deal of time making sure each photograph was exactly level, and also taking great care not to push his damaged hip too far. But as he became absorbed in his task, he didn't notice that everything in the store was finally back in its accustomed place.

Connie was thrilled. She clasped The Spine's arm, hugging it.

"Spine, sweetie, thank you so much! Thanks, all of you! It would have taken me days on my own to get everythin' back in shape."

Sam put his arm around her.

"Anything for you, Connie. You are one amazing lady, you know that?"

The Jon agreed, hat bobbling as he nodded vigorously.

"Can we keep Miss Connie, Spine, huh? Can we? Puhleeeze?"

The Spine smiled down at Connie, her free arm still linked in his.

"Well, Jon, I think that's up to Connie, don't you think?"

Connie broke into a full, rich laugh.

"Jon, you are a joy!" She looked around at expectant faces. "My boys," she murmured. "All my beautiful boys. I know you gotta go home today, but I tell ya, I'm gonna miss ya somthin' crazy."

"We'll be back, Connie, I promise you that," smiled Michael. "Bussie will bring us this way as often as she can, I think."

Connie frowned, puzzled.

"Bussie?"

"Our bus," continued Steve. "She, ah, seems to have a mind of her own when it comes to which roads we travel."

"Well, I for one am glad she does," Connie said. "She sounds like a bus after my own heart. Now you boys make sure you drive safe, y'hear me? An' you let me know ya got home okay. I'll be frettin' m'self into an early grave iffen ya don't!"

"We will, Connie, we promise," smiled Steve, dropping a kiss onto the top of Connie's head. She patted his cheek affectionately, making his smile turn into a brilliant grin.

"Okay," said Michael reluctantly. "I suppose we'd better go pack up and get going. I wish we could stay though. I'm gonna miss your cooking, and … well … everything."

There was a soft chorus of agreement.

Connie had to shoo them out of the store before she broke down and burst into tears.

She didn't see many people, although she had her regular customers, but up until now she had liked it that way. She loved the desert, and she loved her home. She had enough of a pension to live on, and didn't need a big clientele to survive. She didn't have much, but she didn't owe a thing to anyone and was content. Until, that is, Steam Powered Giraffe had burst into her life, bringing chaos, noise and a whole passle of love straight into her heart. She was going to miss them desperately.

But in the meantime she had them for another hour or so until they had packed everything back into Bussie. She would treasure every moment.

As they filed out of the store, she turned and spotted Rabbit. She frowned. He was just standing there, as still as she had ever seen him, gazing at one of the photographs hanging on the wall. The intensity of that gaze intrigued her, and she limped over to see what he found so enthralling.

"Rabbit? Rabbit, hon, are you okay?"

He didn't answer. Now Connie was worried.

"Rabbit?" She touched his shoulder. Rabbit didn't move. "Son? What's wrong?"

He started slightly and turned his head to look at her. His mismatched optics blinked out of sync, and she realised this extraordinary copper being was in shock. She glanced at the photograph that had stopped Rabbit in his tracks.

It was a small, black-and-white snapshot of five young men in combat uniform, leaning against a jeep adorned with a couple of cannibalized .50-calibre machine guns. They looked world-weary and battle-hardened, but they were grinning like idiots, arms looped over each other's shoulders and goofing it up for the camera.

Connie smiled sadly.

"Vietnam, January 1968," she murmured.

"Th-Th-The Tet Offensive," whispered Rabbit. He turned his gaze back to the photograph, mesmerized.

Connie nodded. "Yep. You got it." She pointed to a tall young man in the centre of the group, grinning widely from beneath his helmet. "That's my Dan, right there." Her eyes turned to Rabbit for a moment. "Sergeant Dan Malone. He was 26 years old when this picture was taken."

"U.S. Marines," Rabbit said more to himself than to Connie. "Khe Sanh."

"You know about it?" Connie queried. "You read about Khe Sanh?"

Rabbit closed his photo-receptors for a long moment, and then took a deep, deep breath.

"Couldn't save 'em. Tried. C-C-Couldn't get to 'em in time."

Connie peered at him, confused.

"What d'you mean, sweetie? I don' understand – " Her eyes widened. "Oh! Oh my lord!" The realization hit her like a brick wall. "You … you were there, weren't you? You were at Khe Sanh!"

Rabbit nodded wordlessly.

Connie reeled and had to sit down on a packing case she used as a seat behind the till.

"How …?" She stared at Rabbit, trying hard to make sense of it – and then she remembered. "Hell, I shoulda known! The Mamas and the Papas!"

"What?" Rabbit blinked as though coming out of a dream. "M-M-Mamas and the Papas?"

"Uh-huh. Spine said somethin' this mornin' about rememberin' a song they did back in the day. 'Dedicated to the One I Love' came out in 'sixty-seven, the year after Dan was drafted."

Rabbit let loose a tiny smile.

"Yeah. I remember that too. W-W-We used ta sing it to the guys in our platoon. Just for, uh, j-j-j-just for fun."

Connie looked up at him, trying to take it all in. She finally had to ask.

"Sweetie … just how old are you?"

Rabbit gave a tic'ing grin and tried to be cheerful. "Oh, we were built back in 1896. Y-Y-Y-You know … back when it was still illegal for women to read an' write an' all the men dressed like Mister Peanut!"

"Good grief!" Connie did the calculations. "You … you're 116 years old." She shook her head in wonderment. "It never occurred ta me that y'all were as old as that."

"I'm the oldest," Rabbit explained. "Then The Spine, an' then The Jon. He's our baby brother." Rabbit looked weary and worn. "We were all at Khe Sanh. An' Omaha Beach. But that was jus' me. Spine was in th' Navy, an' Jon flew with the Air Force in 1941. A-A-An' we went to help out in the Argonne forest in 1918." Rabbit trembled. "Th-That was a tough one."

Connie eased herself to her feet. Her boys. Her deeply-loved boys had seen – and probably done – terrible, unspeakable things in the name of human kind, and they had paid for it. Over a century of warfare, and they had seen it all. No wonder Rabbit yelled with terror in the night.

She slipped her arm around Rabbit's belted waist and squeezed, trying to comfort him. Rabbit draped his arm over her shoulders and she leaned in to rest her head against his chest, listening to the clockwork hum of his existence.

"My Dan … " she said quietly, "My Dan an' his buddies died two days after that picture was taken. He never got to meet his daughter."

"I'm s-s-s-sorry, Miz Connie. I'm so … " Rabbit's voice broke. "We couldn't …"

"Shhhhh … " Connie silenced him gently. "Not your fault, son. Never your fault. It's just … it's just sometimes … life is crap. That's it. Nothin' ya can do. So stop blamin' yourself, y'hear?"

Rabbit didn't answer. But they stood together in silence and looked at the five young men whose lives ended so abruptly and so violently so long ago in a faraway land. They looked, and they grieved, and finally began to let their shared pain heal the raw wounds of loss.

TBC