CHAPTER TEN

Outside in the expanse of yard in front of the motel rooms, Michael Reed was having some pain of his own. Bussie had, in her unfathomable wisdom, decided at some point during the night to suffer from not just one, but two flat tires.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Michael ranted. The band (minus Rabbit) had just spent the past hour loading Bussie up with bits and pieces of luggage, a whole batch of sandwiches for the journey (courtesy of Connie) and a couple of cases of bottled water for boilers and thirsty humans.

It was only when Michael decided to fill Bussie's tank that he discovered her devious plot to stay with Connie. And not only that, but Bussie had managed to arrange it so that it was the inner tires of the rear axle doubles that had failed.

Replacing them would take hours – especially as their two spares were stored at the back of the luggage space. Everything would have to be unloaded. Again.

Michael, Sam and The Spine set to and began hauling out luggage, but Steve had other plans. Something had been niggling him, and knowing that he would just be in the way during the tire-replacement operation (Sam was already getting under Michael and The Spine's feet), he decided to put his plan into action.

Digging around at the back of Connie's store, he found what he was looking for. He hauled out a long, aluminium ladder and dragged it around to the front of the canopy, leaning it against the edge. He then rummaged through his sound kit, now lying in a haphazard pile on the ground beside Bussie and three frustrated and argumentative members of Steam Powered Giraffe, and pulled out a large roll of silver duct tape. He added a pocket knife, a small pack of screwdrivers, some screws and a roll of fine wire. Loading them all into a small tool bag, he set off up the ladder, and in a few minutes was standing on top of the canopy, looking out over the desert and the distant hills.

He also looked at the plaster triceratops.

The triceratops looked back. It glowered at him silently.

Beside the triceratops was its broken horn, and it was this that had been bugging Steve.

Watching his step on the flat, dusty canopy, he carefully picked his way over to the plaster beast and retrieved the errant horn. Fitting the two broken ends together, he nodded, happy to discover that it would be a simple fix. He straightened up and looked the triceratops square in the eye.

"Now listen up, my friend. I'm gonna fix your horn back on so that you don't look such a dork. A triceratops with only two horns is dumb, okay? Don't mess with me while I do it, because I deal with dragons every damn' day, and you don't even come close to how tough that is, so just keep still and I'll have you as good as new in no time."

He didn't like to mention that the dragons were only inches-high models.

The triceratops seemed agreeable to the proposal, so Steve hunkered down and set to work.

The Jon was uneasy. He had felt … detached … since he had woken up, but he couldn't say why. The situation with Bussie's tires meant something, but no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't figure it out.

He had wanted to speak to The Spine about it, because he was the expert on just about everything, but his big brother was so very busy helping Michael with Bussie. He watched for a few minutes as Michael unpacked the tool kit and The Spine heaved the heavy tire jack out of its storage space.

The Spine spotted The Jon standing silently in the yard, and he stopped for a moment, the huge tire jack held effortlessly in one hand.

"You okay, sport?" he asked, a little concerned.

The Jon honestly didn't know if he was okay or not, so he shrugged wordlessly.

The Spine nodded. Sometimes the golden automaton could be more than a tad enigmatic.

"Well, you go have a think about it, and we'll talk when Michael and I have fixed the tires, alright? We have the whole trip home to figure it out, bud. It'll be fine, I'm sure."

The Jon thought about it some more, and then shrugged again. "Okay."

Sam ambled by and dropped a hand on The Jon's shoulder.

"I dropped my moustache comb in my room. Seein' as I'm not wanted here – " he glared dramatically at The Spine and Michael, "I'm just going to have a look around for it. Wanna help out?"

The Jon thought about it – a Moustache Comb Hunt sounded fun and certainly hanging out with Sam always ended up with mayhem, but he could feel his koi swimming nervously around the void in his chest.

"Um … no thanks, Sam. Gotta do some thinking. Spine said it would help."

"Oh. Okay. Help with what?"

For the third time in as many minutes, The Jon shrugged.

"Dunno," he replied.

Sam looked at The Spine who raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He had no idea what was going on in The Jon's head either.

"Right," Sam continued. " I'll go look for my comb. You go do some thinkin,' Jon. It'll make you feel better."

The Spine had already turned away to assist Michael who was struggling to loosen the lug nuts on the first set of tires. Michael was doing a lot of cursing under his breath.

"Let me do that Michael …" The Spine dropped the jack and crouched down beside his friend, taking hold of the tire iron and exerting a tiny amount of pressure. The lug nut broke free.

As Sam headed off to commence the Great Moustache Comb Adventure, The Jon made a decision. Turning on his heel, he headed past the canopy and unconsciously mimicking The Spine's foray the night before, he crossed the road and headed up the incline into the desert.

He looked around for a Thinking Spot, and finally settled on a large rock beside a huge old Joshua tree. Sitting himself down, he looked out over the desert and the distant hills, and then his gaze turned to Connie's world … this little world of love disguised as an Emporium (The Jon loved that word – it sounded so improbable) and motel (with gas). He could see The Spine and Michael working away at Bussie's tires, The Spine rolling the first replacement wheel over to the mechanic.

He watched Steve as he knelt beside the triceratops, high above the ground on the v-shaped canopy, concentrating on making the dinosaur as presentable as he could. The Jon was very happy about that – Steve understood that the triceratops had hated having one of his horns broken for the longest time.

His optics turned towards the little store, and he thought about Rabbit and Connie, both hurting, but each helping the other to heal. The Jon knew that the wounds would never go away, and the scars would run deep, but in the end Connie and her Rabbit would face the world with less pain.

The Jon loved Connie. He loved her for her hugs and her care, and he loved her because she accepted life for what it was. He loved her because she loved him, and she loved both of his brothers. And she loved Michael, Steve and Sam just as much. He wasn't quite sure where she had kept all of this love for so long, but The Jon was absolutely convinced that for as long as Connie lived, she would have plenty of Love to give with more to spare.

Which was why he couldn't settle and his koi was upset. There was something coming, he knew, and he also knew it was going to be bad. Was this why Bussie's tires had thrown a conniption? Were they all supposed to stay with Connie? Was it not safe for them to continue their journey? He couldn't figure it out, no matter how hard he tried.

"Well, Mister Tree," he said to the Joshua tree beside him, "I suppose I'll just have to watch out for everyone."

The Joshua tree said nothing, but listened intently.

"Because, y'see, they don't know what's coming." The Jon sighed. "Actually, neither do I."

If the Joshua tree could have nodded in agreement it would have done so. But as Joshua trees were not known for their ability to speak, it stayed silent, waiting to see what this strange golden being was going to say next.

"I guess, Mister Tree, that I need to do some more thinking, huh."

The Jon shifted to sit cross-legged on the rock, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. He looked confused.

The Joshua tree settled its roots a tad deeper into the ground and waited to see what was going to happen next.

Rabbit was telling Connie all about Jenny.

"She was sooooo beautiful, Miz Connie! I-I-I-I could toast, like, six bagels at once." His face fell. "But I dropped her eight minutes after I bought her. Sh-Sh-Shoulda bought that warranty, huh."

Connie made sympathetic noises and gave him a gentle hug.

"Hurts, don't it? That first love."

Rabbit snuggled up to Connie as they sat together on the big packing case. He did so like the fuss Miz Connie made over him, and she understood. She knew that being in love was tough.

Connie chuckled. "My first love was a spotty little guy named Harold McCartney. He was the most borin,' self-important oaf in th' school … but I thought the world of him. He never looked at me once. I spent weeks in my room, feelin' sorry for myself."

Rabbit gave her his most piteous look, and Connie melted, although she knew very well what he was doing. But she couldn't resist. She cupped his cheek, patting it gently.

"Never mind, sweetheart. Ya still have the memories. Jenny lives on in here – " She moved her hand from his cheek to his chest, right over his Blue Matter core.

Rabbit placed his own hand over Connie's.

"You're in here too, Miz Connie. I-I-If I had a heart, you'd be part of it. Just like Pappy."

"Oh, Rabbit, sweetie – of course you have a heart! It don't have to be flesh an' blood. I know you have a heart just like mine – it's just made different, is all." She looked into those odd, mismatched optics and nodded. "Son, I'm honoured I have a place in there along with your Pappy an' Jenny. I couldn't think of a nicer place to be."

Rabbit beamed.

Connie gave him another quick hug, and then levered herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane.

"C'mon, boy – I guess we have to face the fact ya gotta go soon. Let's see how Spine and Michael are gettin' on with those tires."

Rabbit sighed noisily. He was secretly dreading the trip home. Although he loved living at Walter Manor with his brothers, he really didn't want to leave Connie. Having her near made him feel better. She loved him and coddled him and called him 'sweetheart,' and she really didn't mind if he was clumsy and glitchy and stammering. She soothed him if he had nightmares and had taken care of him when he was sick and hurt. In fact, Rabbit decided, he was still sick and hurt, and he needed her. He knew that she would sit with him, and tell him stories and feed him ice cream whenever he asked, because that's what Connie did. And when she wasn't taking care of him, she would take care of The Spine and The Jon too.

" … mumble … " he mumbled.

Connie saw his distress.

"I know, sweetie … I know. I'm gonna miss ya too. But you'll come back to see me, wontcha?"

Rabbit carefully arose from his seat, his gimpy hip protesting.

"A-As soon as we can, Miz Connie. I promise."

He was about to offer his arm to Connie to escort her from the building (Pappy had, after all, raised him to be a gentleman in these matters) when he stopped for a moment. Rabbit tilted his head to one side as though listening. He sensed … something.

"Rabbit?" Connie looked up at him, puzzled.

The copper automaton swayed on his feet, as though about to fall, and Connie reached out to steady him.

"Son? Son, what's – "

Rabbit shifted, his new gyros adjusting smoothly to compensate. He looked confused.

"D-D-D-Did ya feel that?"

Connie shook her head.

"Feel what?"

Rabbit turned suddenly and clasped Connie's shoulders, pulling her close.

"We gotta get out of here, Miz Connie!"

"Wha – "

Rabbit's photo-receptors widened.

"Ohmy gosh – no time! No time!"

The Jon's optics blinked open in a moment.

Leaping up from his Thinking Rock, he peered down at the gas station below him and the figures of friends and older brother.

It's started.

He began to run.

The Spine was crouched beside Michael, who at this moment in time was just a pair of legs sticking out from beneath Bussie. There was quite a bit of quiet muttering and a teensy bit of cussing going on, accompanied by the occasional banging of a hammer. Michael had found a tiny stone jammed in beside the return spring on one of Bussie's drum brakes and it just … wasn't … moving.

"How's it going, Michael?"

Michael's reply wasn't repeatable in respectable company.

The Spine was about to offer some sort of helpful comment when he felt the ground faintly vibrate. It was enough for him to lose his balance slightly and he put out a hand to stop himself falling flat on his rump onto the dusty ground.

"What the …?" His optics narrowed. "Michael – get out of there."

There was an irritated sigh from beneath the bus.

"Wait a sec, Spine. Al … almost got it …"

"Now, Michael!"

Without waiting for an answer, The Spine stood up, reached out and grabbed one of Michael's ankles and pulled. Hard.

The mechanic was hauled out from beneath Bussie, letting out a yelp as the rough ground bit into the skin of his back through his teeshirt. But he didn't have any time to protest as The Spine pulled him to his feet.

The Spine was already moving, dragging Michael away from Bussie and the motel rooms. Michael had no idea what was going on, but he knew that the tall automaton would not have reacted the way he did without good reason.

He heard a rumble. Turning, he saw Bussie swaying as the tire jack gave way underneath her, and she suddenly collapsed sideways and crashed to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.

"What – " he began, eyes widening in horror.

The Spine ignored him and looked towards the overhead canopy and the ladder leaning against its edge.

"Oh no." he said.

Steve Negrete was a happy bunny. He sat back on his heels, pleased with his work. The triceratops was now back to being a proper triceratops – a three-horned triceratops, as it should be. It hadn't taken much effort, to be honest, but the sound engineer was tickled that the operation had been a success.

Putting his tools away in their bag, he stood up and stretched, letting cramped muscles relax after spending time being crouched beside a tatty plaster dinosaur. He looked out over the desert once again, taking in the light and shadow, the golden hills and the subtle shades of the plants and Joshua trees dotted about the landscape.

"Pretty," he said to himself. Steve put on his sunglasses against the glare and turned his face to the warmth of the sun, closing his eyes and absorbing the peace and quiet.

His world revolved around sound. For him, joy was a balanced sound system and the creation of wonder through the endless realms of music and electronic atmosphere. He loved it. It was his life, and he wouldn't ever want to change that.

But sometimes … sometimes the silence called to him. It called now, and he let his body still and absorb the quietness. As his ears attuned to the desert and the world around him, he faintly heard The Spine and Michael discussing something. Steve smiled. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he caught the tone of their discussion, warm with friendship.

This sojourn with Connie had done them all a lot of good, despite the circumstances of their meeting. This small, fragile woman had taken them in, cared for them and fed them. Her trust in them was absolute – a situation that was almost unheard-of, considering it was a lot to ask of people when faced with three walking, talking (and singing) robots. Steve revelled in Connie's love and care, and knew he would return as soon as he could.

He hmmmm'd to himself, and then, with much reluctance, decided it was time to join his friends and make ready to travel home to San Diego. Picking up his tool bag, he paused for one more moment of stillness before he descended the ladder, and looked out over the desert along the road stretching into the distance.

Five hundred yards away, with nary a rumble, the road disappeared. It collapsed into itself, a huge rift took its place, and Steve felt the canopy shudder. Before the shock could even register, the canopy began to rock and the line of the rift ran along the road towards the canopy pillars, exploding and vaporising both tarmac and the desert floor. The noise was terrifying.

The canopy split in two.

The ladder collapsed.

Steve leaped towards the triceratops, his parkour skills kicking into gear, knowing the plaster beast was securely fixed to the canopy. It was his only chance – he couldn't jump the fourteen feet to the ground. The fall would kill him.

For a couple of seconds the canopy looked as though it would fall in two intact pieces, and Steve had a sudden irrational feeling of elation. He would make it.

His luck ran out.

The canopy disintegrated beneath him, and he fell, still clinging to the triceratops.

Sam was dancing.

Humming 'Ju Ju Magic,' he twirled around the motel room, picking up a cushion here, a pillow there. Still no Moustache Comb. He stopped humming for a second, and danced on the spot, thinking where he might have last used his comb. Bathroom. Yep. That was the spot. Resuming his twirling and humming, he made his way across the room and into the small bathroom.

Looking in the mirror for a moment, he broke off his humming to greet his reflection.

"Hey there, handsome!" he crowed, and did a bit of moustache-smoothing. And there, in front of him, lying on the edge of the sink, was his Moustache Comb.

"Gotcha!" he exclaimed, picking it up. "C'mere, you sly little comb, you!"

Giving his moustache a desultory combing, he then turned to head back outside to join the band. He sobered for a moment. Like the rest of Steam Powered Giraffe, he was reluctant to leave. For all of his cheerful, hyperactive exterior, Sam Luke had a sensitive soul. He worried about his friends, and cared deeply about the stresses and tribulations they all faced every day.

This break with Connie had been … extraordinary. For the first time in ages, Sam had woken up and felt at peace. Connie seemed to have that effect on people, and he loved her for it.

He stopped for a moment, feeling desperately sad. Although they would return to see her, Sam knew he would miss her terribly. He was so deep in thought, he didn't immediately notice the earth-shattering rumble, the noise almost too low to hear but sending out a gut-churning vibration that made him dizzy.

The roof collapsed.

Chunks of flying wood and red tiles flew through the air, one of them smacking right into the side of Sam's head. Sam slammed back into the wall, disorientated and in pain. Blood ran from the deep gash above his ear, but he had enough sense left to stagger towards the door, now bright against the sunlight pouring through the gaping hole where the roof had been. He knew he had to get out of the building before the rest of it collapsed.

He didn't quite make it.

Michael was knocked off his feet.

The ground heaved in a sickening roll, and Michael struggled to regain his feet as a hand grabbed his arm and wrenched him upwards. The Spine caught him around his waist and Michael felt himself being lifted off the ground and thrown – thrown – sideways as he caught a glimpse of the ground falling away to his right.

The noise was almost more than he could stand, and he couldn't get his bearings. Everything was shaking, heaving, vaporizing before his eyes, and he couldn't do a thing about it.

He hit the ground and rolled, and then managed to get onto his hands and knees, the ground pitching beneath him. Looking up, he saw The Spine staggering towards him. Behind the robot, Michael saw … his breath caught in his throat.

The canopy was falling. The huge, flat expanse of one side of the 'v' was keeling over, tilting, shuddering, disintegrating before his eyes.

Oh God.

Steve had been working on the triceratops right there. Right on top of the canopy.

The Spine was shouting, but Michael couldn't hear him above the din. He saw the tall automaton try to stay upright as the earth yawed, and then he was lost in a gout of dust and debris. Before Michael do a damn' thing, something heavy smashed into his side. He felt bones break, and then … nothing.

The Jon ran faster than he had ever run in his life.

As he ran the ground roiled beneath his feet, but nimble 'bot that he was, he kept going. He had to save them. He just had to.

And almost ran straight over the edge of an abyss. Before him, the road had gone and had been replaced by a six-feet wide crack in the earth that descended into unknown darkness.

He almost fell into the crack, but teetering on the brink, his arms flailing, he managed – just – to scramble backwards to safety.

As suddenly as it had begun, the shaking stopped.

The Jon found his feet and looked wildly around, trying to see what was happening. The koi in his chest flipped wildly in terror.

Although he couldn't see much through the thick dust cloud, he knew instinctively the gas station was completely destroyed. He had seen the canopy collapse, and the motel roof fall in. He had seen The Spine and Michael run for their lives. But now he couldn't see a thing.

Even as he watched, he heard and felt another deep rumble. At first he thought it was an aftershock from the earthquake, but no … through the slowly settling dust, he watched in horror as the small store imploded as the ground finally gave way to the stress and opened up beneath it.

Rabbit and Connie were in the store, he knew for certain. The Jon had not seen them leave the building.

His family was gone.

For the first time in his long life, The Jon was completely and utterly alone.

TBC