Mermaid Pirate Dispatch

I crouched down behind a toppled pillar, holding my breath just in case it could hear.

“This is spectacular! Amy cried, staring at the moss covered relief carvings in the stone.

“Shhh!” I hissed. “That thing is hunting us!”

“Please, it obviously can’t see, and I have no idea how something like that could possibly detect sound.” She stood back and admired the massive column, which even on its side stood taller than either of us. I guessed it was seven or eight feet in diameter. Like everything else in the ancient ruins, it wasn’t just covered in moss, but there were vines, rogue trees, and a smattering of random flowers everywhere. Most of the flowers were completely new to me, not resembling anything I’d ever seen on the surface.

“Well you also didn’t think it’d try to kill us!” I yelled, momentarily forgetting my impulse to remain silent. My heart jumped and a peered out from behind the broken base of the stone column. The machine was holding very still, as though listening. I returned to a vicious whisper. “It’s definitely hunting us!”

Calling it a machine was generous, though calling it a “clockwork automaton” was a gross understatement, even if it was technically more accurate. When we’d come across the first unit, Amy had completely lost her mind. She went on an on about the intricately tiny gears and mechanisms and how densely packed in they were. She claimed the complexity of such an elaborate and dense collection of gears could, theoretically, exhibit complexity rivaling the emergent behaviors of modern computer programs.

She was so entirely enthralled by that dead unit, that she had completely forgotten her initial excitement upon finally locating the fabled Floating Island of Mimbu. And her enthusiasm for exploring it had nearly caused me to forget the terror I’d felt as I navigated our small aircraft in to land on the island, which was shrouded in a perpetual mist and propelled by horribly turbulent winds. I still felt as though my heart was in overdrive from that harrowing landing, and no matter how marvelous and wonderful the mechanical humanoid was, its apparent intention to destroy us overshadowed any possible intrigue it may have inspired in my mind under more favorable circumstances.

Of course, if Amy had been ecstatic to find an inoperable clockwork automaton, the moving one had sent her over the moon, even when it began to pursue us.

Amy had wandered away from our hiding spot into the open where she was gazing at the automaton. She looked up, her eyes wide with curiosity, and pointed at a great windmill slowly circling overhead, its massive sails worn ragged with time. “I bet those windmills are powering the system that winds the clockwork on our friend!” she exclaimed.

“Friend?” I cried in disbelief. “You’re out of your mind!”

“It’s just a bunch of gears,” she said. “I want to get closer again and learn more about it!”

Before I could say a word she had dashed off in the direction of the mechanical monstrosity. It was no longer holding still. Instead it was ambling along, placing each footstep with deliberation and purpose, pausing before lifting the other foot, as though it had to register that the step had been a success before it could execute another.

“Hey Mike, come here!” she yelled. “It’s totally safe, I think I figured it out!”

I watched from a distance, peering out from the cracked but worn surface of the toppled stone pillar. The exposed stone was smooth, yet it retained its rough, cracked form. After a moment I decided that the gearhead wasn’t going to maul Amy and it was probably safe to approach.

“Check it out!” she said, pointing down at its feet. “Every step has two sensing elements involved. The first is just a plate in the foot that compresses mechanically as weight is transferred. The second is more subtle!” She got on her knees and bent over, pressing her cheek against the dirty stone path. “If you look deep in the mechanism you can see an array of smaller plates that move when the foot touches the ground. It took me a minute, but then I realized that there are magnets embedded in the floor! Can you believe that? Magnets! And the foot has a way of interpreting different arrangements of magnets. I can only guess, but I’m assuming it gets navigation information that way!”

I didn’t get on the ground. I wanted to remain on me feet, ready to run if the need should arise. “Fascinating,” I said uncomfortably. “How about if we go back, get a larger plane, more people, better supplies… we can come back later, more prepared. How does that sound?”

She looked up at me and scowled. “Are you kidding?” She got to her feet and brushed her knees off. “No way! Look at this thing!” She indicated in the general direction of the lumbering copper and steel humanoid. “I figured out why it was pursuing us earlier too!” She searched around her and found a rock, stooped to grab it, then lobbed it at a nearby stone wall. The rock smashed against the stone with a sharp crack and the automaton froze, quickly orienting itself in the direction of the sound.

“Wait, so it can hear?” I asked, taking a step back.

“Not exactly,” she sad, grinning. “It has a series of tiny copper fibers and strips that are tuned to respond to sudden, sharp sounds. I bet if we clapped, fired a gun, or snapped it might notice. But even snapping might not trigger the response unless it’s close and loud.”

I watched as the clockwork man, blind, dumb, and mostly deaf, quickened its deliberate pace. The awkward gait reminded me of old dolls, manipulated from above with a series of sticks and strings, the puppeteer carefully lifting each foot in turn to give the illusion of walking.

“What’s it supposed to be doing up here?” I asked.

“Let’s follow it and find out!” she said, instantly making me regret the question.

Over the next half hour we followed the intricate device around. It patrolled aimlessly for a while, then it came to a control station of sorts where it placed both hands into recesses in the surface, interfacing with the machinery. Gears whirred and internal levers clunked, until finally the station opened up and presented the automaton with a watering can and some kind of spraying device.

Within moments, it was a short distance from the console, blindly watering and spraying a patch of overgrown plants where crumbled stone may have once been part of a planter.

“It’s a gardener!” Amy exclaimed, almost squealing. “I wonder what the spray is! Maybe some kind of ancient insecticide!”

I looked around, noting the absence of any bugs, and I shrugged.

Soon the automaton had tended to the ancient memory of several long-lost planters, its water splashing on wild plants and flowerbeds, then it returned the equipment to the console station and left the area. We followed it to a small recess in a large stone wall. The space was just large enough for the device, which stood a little over five feet tall, to stand inside. It took several steps in place, slowly facing its back to the wall, and backed inside. A pressure plate dropped and the screech of ancient metal rubbing on metal rang through the ruins. A rhythmic clanking reverberated through the walls, and the clockwork automaton began to wind up its main spring, powered by on of the tattered and faded windmills turning slowly over the ancient lost island of Mimbu.

“Mike,” Amy said, her eyes glued to the winding station. “We can go now, but we have got to come back with better equipment.” She turned to face me, her eyes wide and full of childlike wonder. Her face was glowing, actually beaming with a kind of radiant energy that warmed my soul. “Promise me we can come back tomorrow.”

“Sure,” I said, smiling.

She threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and squeezing me tight. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked, her face pressed into my neck. “This place is amazing!”

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