Before Tomorrowland (31 page)

“For what?”

“For killing you,” he said.

Lee started to chuckle. Earhart shot him the face of death, but it soon turned to a smile. She couldn’t help it. The two of them laughed like a couple of idiots on either side of Henry,
who couldn’t smile or laugh. He just swayed back and forth.

“I’m glad you like my joke. I’ve been working on it a long time,” said Henry. “Seriously, though, it is beautiful here. Beautiful but lonely.”

“Henry,” said Earhart, “where are all the other robots?”

He raised his hand, higher than seemed natural, but that was the only way he could point straight with his loose joints. “They’re out in that beautiful water. Out there with the
scraps of Plus Ultra’s jet and the other trash.”

Earhart felt her blood rise. “Still at war with technology—”

“No,” he said. “I made it better.” He swept his pointing finger in a flat, efficient arc away from the ocean and across Earhart. Her eyes followed it to the edge of the
rise. She glanced back at Lee, and they rose together, walking the five or six paces to the bluff.

From where they stood, they saw a long valley extending below them, all the way to the foot of a mountain two miles away. At the bottom of the valley there was a shining structure unlike
anything Earhart remembered from her travels. Arched pathways, platforms, and every surface they could see was choked tight with robots. Thousands upon thousands of robots, each unique in its size
and shape, and each glowing in the sun brighter than any normal metal could glow. They shimmered, laboring together in the construction of towers, ships, and more of themselves.

Lee’s face was full of wonder, but Earhart could tell he wasn’t just amazed by the robot city. The young man dug into his backpack and pulled out his mother’s sketchbook,
flipping through its pages until he reached one near the middle. He stared at the book, then at the view, then at the book again. He held the sketchbook out to Earhart, and she took it. The drawing
was a watercolor, and though some of the details were rough and impressionistic, when Earhart lowered the book, she saw the same thing as Lee; a kind of representation of Clara’s vision come
to life at a different angle, perhaps with different materials, but a replica all the same. It was incredible.

They turned back to Henry. He was enjoying the ocean view, but the light was fading from his eyes.

“I was inspired,” he said. “Build your future, boy. Make her proud.”

Then he was gone.

Henry sat just the same as he had when they came up the hillside. Still as a statue carved from the rock he leaned against. Lee tucked Clara’s sketchbook back into his pack, slung the pack
over his shoulder, and turned to their crew.

“You heard the man,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”