Unpopular Science

“Your grandfather told one of his men to aim the cannon at a small dirigible hovering a mile from the battlefield. Whoever was controlling the mechanical man was in the cockpit of that aircraft. If the controller was knocked out of the sky, then the mechanical man would no longer be a danger and the Germans could gain the upper hand in the battle. The gunner protested, but my father assured him the gun was strong enough to fire a few rounds, even without its structural reinforcement. My father, however, threw himself into a deep gully at the moment his gunner obeyed the order and fired the cannon.”

The elder Fastbinder smiled sardonically.

“The gun burst apart,” his son stated.

“Yes, of course, but amazingly enough it managed to lob its shell with enough accuracy to punch a hole in the dirigible. Father saw it spiral to the ground when he emerged from the gully. He was surrounded by dead men, American and German. The mechanical man was flat on its back and not moving, but it was still functional! The creature knew it had toppled and was trying to right itself, even without remotely issued commands! But it was damaged, and it could not stand, and my father spent the rest of the night digging a hole for it.”

“Why?” the younger Fastbinder asked.

His father held up a hand. “He put in oilcloth to line the grave, then used a strong metal bar to lever the mechanical man down into it He covered it with oilcloth and only just had it buried again when German reinforcements arrived. My father threw himself to the ground, pretending to be unconscious until he was found and revived and hailed as the only surviving hero of the Americans’ savage attack.”

His father chuckled. Jacob Fastbinder III frowned. “What happened then?” he demanded.

“The handler of the mechanical man came in search of him. It was one night later, and my father had expected it. He had done enough of a quick study of the mechanical man’s batteries to know that a rescue attempt must come very soon, and it did. As he stood watch on the burial site, he saw it move. A hand came up from the soil. The mechanical man was being ordered to disinter itself.”

The elder Fastbinder was amused, imitating the gesture with one bent arm clutching at the empty air above his head.

“It was another dirigible he saw in the night sky, only a mile away. My father alerted the German army and they went gunning for the aircraft. The dirigible descended and my father buried again the hand of the mechanical man, then left France. After the war, in secret, with just a few hired Frenchmen whose labor and silence could be bought, he came again to the battlefield and unearthed the mechanical man. They loaded the rusted thing into a hired truck and then my father shot the Frenchmen in the back for their trouble, burying them in the hole.

“The mechanical man had not corroded too badly, due to the oilcloth Jacob Fastbinder wrapped him in, but repairing it was a long and tedious process. My father learned more about advanced engineering in the next thirty months than in all his years of school and internship and military field work. The mechanical man was more advanced than anything he had ever seen or heard of, and my father saw his future. He began to patent and produce the new technology, and that is how Fastbinder Machine Werks was founded. Do you believe me, Jacob?”

The younger man was stunned, but he nodded. “I suppose I do. You’re not much of a practical joker. Father.”

“True enough. Soon, my father learned the identity of the mechanical man.” With that, his father went to his office desk and took out a small, faded book, putting it on top of the Fastbinder history book.

It was a ratty old paperback novel from America, with a prominent “100” displayed in the upper right corner. The ridiculous illustration showed a flamboyant robot standing head and shoulders above cowering German soldiers in the uniforms of World War I.

“Ironhand Smites the Kaiser?” Fastbinder III read. His father nodded. ‘“Ironhand joins the heroic American troops in the Great War, fighting for freedom against the vicious, cowardly Germans.’”

Again his father nodded and said, “And now, my son, you must think I am truly mad.”

“This is just cheap paperback trash.”

“Fiction was a clever disguise for a genuine phenomena. Ironhand was exposed to the world by its creator, even promoted, before it was taken under the control of the U.S. government. The dime novels and a few public appearances by a shoddy imitation Ironhand convinced the world there had never been a genuine article. This secrecy made it easy for Jacob Fastbinder to patent the secrets of Ironhand and, indeed, found the Fastbinder Machine Werks.”

The younger man looked his father square in the eyes. “I guess I don’t believe you, after all.”

“Why would I make it up?”

“I do not know. But this?” The younger man tapped the face of the robot on the paperback. “This is preposterous.”