Unpopular Science

“There were a number of Victorian-era fakes like Ironhand,” Smith said. “They were sort of a rage for a while. Some were electromechanical, some were steam powered. Remember Metropolis?”

“I’m sure Superman fought robots,” Remo said, “and that was later than Victorian era, wasn’t it?”

“The silent-era film, Metropolis in 1919,” Smith said. “Regardless, there were many fake robots before anyone created anything like a true automaton,” Smith insisted. “Ironhand was turned into pulp fiction.”

“Worth checking out, though,” Remo said.

“Do not heed his ramblings. Emperor,” Chiun called. Smith could picture him sitting far away from Mark and Remo, his eyes locked on the wing out the window. “He is as delusional as the poor hermit who died alone in the deserts of Newer Mexico.”

“What’s the harm in looking?” Remo asked.

“Remo, think about it,” Smith said. “Ironhand was supposed to be more than seven feet tall and made out of steel. Not a likely configuration if you want to get into a highly secure military base, is it?”

“Why not? One of them was good enough to work for Cote. Chiun, cough up the iron robot head.”

“It is of no consequence,” Chiun answered dismissively.

“Chiun! Give me the effing head!”

There was a muttering, then Smith heard the sound of something hard hitting something else hard.

“What was that?” Smith asked.

“It’s a robot head, Smitty,” Remo said. “It was made of iron, by a blacksmith, and I bet that makes it pretty damn old.”

“Mark?” Smith asked.

“Mark?” Remo added.

“It is an iron skull. Dr. Smith,” Mark Howard reported. “It looks like a doll’s head.”

“It tried to kill us.”

‘We’ll look into it,” Smith said dismissively. “Mark, send me some photos and specifications.”

Remo sulked. Nobody cared, but that was okay because he was sulking for his own benefit, not theirs.

Mark Howard didn’t seem to notice that Remo was no longer a part of the conversation until he cut the connection with Dr. Smith.

“Well, we’re going back to Folcroft while we figure out the iron head. What’s the matter with you?”

“Only that I am so old as to be on death’s door,” bemoaned Chiun, who was also sulking, but without a good reason. He was miffed Remo made him give up his iron robot head.

“He was talking to me,” Remo said.

“Yes, it is just as well that I should be ignored.”

“Okay, fine.”

“If I see any icebergs below us, I shall ask the pilot to descend so that you may drop me off.”

“Sounds good,” Remo said. “Junior, look something up for me, will you?”

“In the dictionary?”

“The internet. Wherever it is you’re always going to look things up.”

“I’m always going everywhere to look things up, and the last time I looked something up for you I got my behind in a sling with Dr. Smith,” Mark said. “What in particular are you interested in knowing about?”

“Ironhand.”

There was a loud snort.

“I thought we agreed you were going to stay quiet,” Remo accused.

“That was my death rattle,” Chiun retorted.

“Keep it to yourself. Go, Junior.”

Junior glared at him. “You know, Remo, most eight-year-olds can look up stuff on the internet these days.”

“There are no eight-year-olds on this flight, so it’s up to you.”

“I could show you some computer basics,” Mark insisted.

“Honestly, do you want me touching your computer?”

Mark couldn’t help but agree that he did not. His fingers flew and he rotated his computer to show Remo what happened.

“What’s a Google?” Remo asked.

“Search engine. See this. It knows of 346 pages on the World Wide Web that make mention of the word ‘Ironhand.’ Some of them look like they’re rock band websites. This one’s porn. This is porn. Porn, porn, porn. But here’s some that look like they’re about the robot from the 1904 World’s Fair and the pulp fiction books—maybe a third of them.”

“That many?”

“Sure. This one looks promising.”

Mark clicked, and his computer screen filled with a new window displaying a busty nude woman in an extraordinarily lewd posture who mewled, “I want to feel that iron hand of yours.”

“She’s from 1904?” Remo asked.

“Sorry,” Mark said, clicking the window closed in a hurry. “I guess that one was porn, too.” He tried another link and said, “Okay, here we go.”

Remo saw a small line drawing of a crude metal head, alongside a list of book titles. Ironhand Defeats the Savages, Ironhand and the City of Gold, Ironhand’s Polar Quest.

“The books’s copyrights are expired, so they have them online now for anybody to read,” Mark explained.

“Criminy, there’s almost a hundred and forty of them.”

“Trash,” Chiun interjected.

“All written between 1902 and 1931. They must have been mass producing these suckers,” Mark noted.

“Penny-a-word hacks can be prolific.”

‘This is not what I want,” Remo interrupted. “Show me about the real Ironhand.”