Love and Robotics (13 page)

“He’s got a sensible head on his shoulders. He’ll adapt.” Ozols patted his arm.

“If not, we can bring him back,” Malik said. With her unerring ability to scent blood, “You’re very quiet, Julia.”

The handler crushed her cup in her fist. “Can I get some fresh air?”

“Sure,” “Let’s get some brews,” “We’ll wrap up soon.”

As the door closed, Fisk heard Sugar stage whisper, “It’ll hit her hardest, being his handler.” Worse, the mirthless ‘Nurrr’ that passed for Malik’s laugh.

She visited the interface most days, trying to work out where she had gone wrong. Josh seemed no fonder of her, despite her efforts; if anything, he actively pushed her away. He was always running off to spend time with
Langton
. Even saying his name made her want to smash the arrogant, ravaged face.

She played back their interactions, tried to learn his secret.
She
could take Josh out, play silly games, share new experiences. But when she haltingly asked if he would like to go to a museum or help with a crossword, there’d appear a look of such
outrage
, as though she had profaned a sacrament.

Now she was crying: ugly wrenching sobs that stained her face and made her eyes bloodshot. She couldn’t go down like this. Everyone would know.

Why can’t you love me?
Why is it so hard?

***

From the day Alfred signed the deeds to the day Josh collected the keys, there was a fortnight’s hectic activity. Josh loved it. He’d wake at eight in the morning, Alfred joining him for breakfast. They tried something new every day, the nadir being when a functional ran off with their first perfect pancake.

Early on they realised such a huge task was beyond them. Despite her loathing of the metropolis, Nanny took over. She might have been an oddity - people snickered at her pointed hat and croc skin bag - but she knew everything there was to know about homemaking.

Picking paints with pretentious names. Whittling fabric into curtains and cushions. Turning up curios in junk shops. Bickering that swelled into rows (“Nanny, he won’t
need
it.” “It’s expected!” “It’s expe
nsive
.” “I didn’t raise you to be a tightwad.”) After an epidemic of sulking, one of them - usually Alfred - caved and treated the victor to a cream tea.

They’d cart it all up to the flat, Montagu growing paler as time went on. Alfred feared he’d pull out but he never did, even when he learned Josh wanted to paint a mural.

“What of?” the landlord asked.

“It’s going to be
brilliant
,” Josh enthused. “There’ll be the sky, the planets and the sea. I’ll put Lady Thea in if there’s room.”

“I need to lie down,” Montagu murmured.

Nanny wouldn’t let Alfred near her sewing machine and shooed away any robot who wasn’t Josh. They needed his help with the mural, however.

“I can’t draw!” he protested.

“You can colour in.”

He took the brush and did as Josh directed. “A block of colour here. A hazy wash there.” The artificial followed in his wake, filling in sugar spun clouds or tinsel stars. After three days’ intensive work it was complete.

“To the flat!” Nanny said. She held the teapot aloft, pinky out.

“The flat,” Alfred and Josh chorused, clinking mugs. 

The morning of the move they had an early start. Nanny boasted she never had more than four hours’ sleep. She was disgusted by Gwyn’s yawns - “Cover your gob, we don’t want to see your tonsils!”

Alfred let himself into CER, taking the stairs two at a time. Josh was up and dressed, leaning out into the dawn. “It’s the first time I’ve seen the sunrise,” he said. “Isn’t it lovely?”

Even in Lux. No, especially in Lux - you could follow its progress through the sky, lighting the dark and making the ugly beautiful . The Forum, the Ira, the streets - all were transformed. As the sun came over the horizon, the towers wavered then snapped to attention.

“It makes you wonder if there’s something more.” As Alfred raised an eyebrow, “But not quite.”

“Thank goodness. I thought you’d gone religious on me.”

They couldn’t stand dreaming all day. Josh went around the suite, singling out some things, dismissing others. He only filled half a suitcase.

“Are you sure that’s all?” Alfred asked.

“Hardly any of this is mine. Can you see me in this room?”

Josh had a point. The furniture had been foraged from a hundred different rooms. Now he’d plucked the dressing gown from the back of the door and put away his paints, it reverted to anonymity.

The only light burning was Fisk’s office, but if she watched them go, they couldn’t tell. Out into the morning, where Gwyn struggled to stay awake and Nanny pleaded to drive.

“You’ll do that a quarter after never,” Alfred said. “C’mon Gwynnie, can’t have you snoozing on the controls.”

“We could fetch a coffee robot,” Josh volunteered. He emitted a whistle that scraped the limits of human endurance. A functional skated over.

“This is Frank. Actually, I don’t know what his name is, but he looks like a Frank, doesn’t he? Don’t ask for anything complicated, he’s not very bright. And don’t be mean, it’ll hurt his feelings.”

Gwyn choked down her cold lumpy offering, Alfred knocked back his battery acid. Fortunately Nanny
liked
coffee so sweet it limped from the cup.

Gwyn returned to the controls while Nanny hogged the passenger seat, feigning travel sickness. Alfred and Josh squeezed into the back amidst lamps, folding bookcases and a fish tank. Josh knelt on the seat and watched CER recede in the rear view window.

“I thought you didn’t care,” Alfred said quietly.

“I’ve lived there since my creation. I don’t know anything else.”

“You’re not having second thoughts?”

“Oh, no!” He sounded surprised. “I’ll miss the bots, though.”

Nanny came into her own that day. Looping her fox fur over the coat rack, she set to work. First she commanded from a needlepoint stool, pointing with her umbrella; next she beat the rugs, waxed the floors and denuded the beams of cobwebs.

“Call this clean?” she demanded as she wiped her finger along the skirting board. “Get that old woof to knock a hundred off!”

Montagu did little more than hover, though he was worth seeing for his night cap and stripy gown. “He looks like a nursery rhyme,” Gwyn said. He couldn’t help with the heavy lifting - he had a “murmur on the old apparatus.”

“You should get someone to look at it,” Josh said. “Maybe my creator, Dr Sugar -”

Alfred and Gwyn smacked their foreheads on opposite sides of the room. 

Nine hours of elbow grease, rewiring and picture hanging later, they crashed. Gwyn snored on the settee, Nanny found herself odd jobs. Josh pattered around the flat with enchanted eyes. Alfred joined him.

“You don’t think we’ve overdone it?” Josh asked. The walls were a fabulous bestiary, gods and monsters crowding the available space.

“It’s marvellous,” Alfred said. Josh smiled. He knew his friend wasn’t extravagant with praise.

“Good.” He sat at a corner table stacked with envelopes. “Can you think of anyone else to invite to my housewarming?”

“Housewarming?”

“Everyone has them, the magazines say. I can introduce myself to the other people in the house.”

All the time they had been moving they hadn’t seen the neighbours. An eye had appeared in the crack of number ten’s door, hastily withdrawn.

“D’you think that’s a good idea?” They’d forgotten Nanny, rustling up doilies.

“I don’t see why not.” Josh addressed an envelope, licked it shut. “You can’t be an island all your life.”

They arrived an hour before the time on the invitation. Nanny had baked a cake; Alfred brought a plant that doubled as a burglar alarm. Gwyn had bought some truly horrible plonk. After one gulp everybody dived for Nanny’s cake.

Josh jerked from table to window to front door. He was the only one drinking Gwyn’s wine. “Where
is
everyone?”

Alfred sloshed the piano keys. Gwyn set out the spread. In the absence of guests she found herself eating most of it.

“I thought Mr Montagu would come,” Josh said.

“Maybe he’s busy.” Alfred tried to reassure him.

“Too busy to come upstairs?” Three invitations had been returned unopened. Josh tried not to show he was upset but robots can’t lie.

A tinkle of bells. Gwyn forgot she wasn’t on duty and went down to open the front door.

“Hey there.” Pip stood on the doorstep, wearing a dress woven from cogs.

Gwyn flushed, opened her mouth but no sound came out. It had never occurred to her that Josh might invite Pip. She had worked so hard to keep her home and private lives separate.

Pip put her head on one side, puzzled. “Can I come in?”

“I - ” Gwyn twisted her fingers. “How are you?”

“Champion.” 

Pip followed Gwyn upstairs, her grinning flirtatious self. She crossed the flat’s threshold and spotted Josh - “There’s the homie!” She gave him his present, a pop up moving house manual. “Made it meself. When’s this party startin’?”

“This is it,” he admitted.

“No way! We can do better than this.”                                                       

Pip saved the evening. When Sugar arrived an hour later, bearing a robotic toaster, she put on music and organised games. Josh’s frown vanished, Alfred forgot his allergy to gatherings. Even Sugar let down the little hair he had, displaying an unexpected talent for Charades.

“I’m glad more people didn’t show up,” Josh said. “There wouldn’t’ve been room.”

It broke up at twenty three. Gwyn and Pip found an excuse to sneak off. Sugar left, a fusspot to the last. Nanny went to measure the bathroom window.

“Will you be alright?” Alfred asked.

“I think so. It’s an adventure, isn’t it? Besides,” Josh grinned, “there’s always Dr Sugar’s toaster if I get homesick.”

Nanny returned, rambling about the blinds she intended to make. Gwyn reappeared, tousled and blushing. After a hundred and one pieces of advice, the Chimera party took their leave.

“Pip’s nice,” Alfred said.

“A right bonny lass,” Nanny agreed.

Gwyn said nothing, but drove home with a lighter heart.

Civil Unrest

Josh settled into his new life gradually, luxuriously. There was the wonderful moment when he woke each morning, expecting to see the cold lines and glassy shimmer of his old suite. Instead his flat fell cosily into place. He’d go around opening cupboards and tinkering with gadgets, unable to believe his luck.

It felt like he was on holiday, wherever he went: to buy milk from the supermart, to see if anything new had arrived at the library. He ignored the girls who followed him around the stacks and made eyes at him over the cat food. Some of these nuggets turned up in the tabloids: ‘Josh Buys Semi Skinned’ or ‘Robot Heartthrob Likes Historical Romance.’

It made CER easier to bear. If you knew you were going to see a film with Pip or had an evening with a book ahead, you didn’t mind demos and intrusive questions. Your afternoons with Alfred were even sweeter knowing Fisk wouldn’t be lying in wait, demanding to know every detail.

Discouraged from buying a paper or watching the news, he had no idea the human-robot relationship was about to blow.

The morning of the riots, the kitchen at Chimera was as hot as hell. Nanny threw the windows open and bustled in rolled up sleeves. Gwyn helped her make the season’s favourite pursuit, hartleberry jam. The veebox was on, some kind of breakfast show. As Nanny snaffled another hartleberry, they heard a familiar footstep coming down the hall.

Alfred ducked into the room. “Any toast need a home?”

Nanny tossed two slices over and he caught them. He joined her at the table. “What are you two up to today?”

“I’m helping Estelle do an Open Day,” Gwyn muttered through a mouthful of toast.

“I’m going to Scarr with the girls,” Nanny said. “I don’t know what happens to linen in this house, but it’s gotten mucky again.”

“I’m judging the dog show. I don’t see how they expect me to tell them apart - hello Puss, how did you get in?” Alfred ripped his toast in half and slipped it beneath the table.

“No wonder she’s getting fat.”

“Ssh. Puss is always beautiful.” He tickled her ears.

It was extraordinary how he had mellowed. Once he hadn’t been able to see the veebox on without passing sardonic comment; now he was watching a feature about home perms. He smoked less, had fewer black moods. Nanny had her suspicions but until he confirmed them, wouldn’t pry.

“Thinking of getting a perm?” he teased.

“I make do with what Thea gave me,” she said. Gwyn tugged her own fiery mop and grimaced.

The show faded, to be replaced with the news. Artificial newsreader Kellie Peters appeared on the screen, looking, like many early models, perpetually startled.“Scenes of unrest as tension erupts over the Clockwork Question.” 

They saw a montage of destruction. Shops looted, robots smashed with hammers, marchers with placards (‘Down With Bots’; the symbol of the Wheelies, alias the Anti Artificial League), the Mayor harassed as he ate doughnuts on the Forum steps.

“Lord Mayor, would you comment on the recent disturbance?”

“How can you justify spending a thousand Q on robotics?”

“Bugger off, I’m thinking.” Jerry looked decidedly hung over.

“The city is on full alert,” Kellie continued. Her face was blank but her hands trembled. “The ground floor of CER was broken into this morning. Robots are advised to stay within for their own safety.”

“Bloody hell,” Gwyn said.

Alfred turned grey. “
Josh
.”

“If he stays in, he’ll be alright -” Nanny began.

Alfred banged down the passage. He was gone for five minutes, during which time talking heads appeared saying it was about time, robots had ruled the roost for too long, why didn’t the Forum
do
something? He came back, dropping into his chair. “Can’t get through.”

“The lines are probably jammed -”

“I’m the one who insisted he moved. He’d have been safer at CER.”

“Not if people are smashing it up,” Gwyn pointed out.

“Try in half an hour,” Nanny said.

“It might be too late.” He stood up, knocking his head on a beam. “I’m going down.”

“You can’t, you’ve got the dog show -”

“Screw the dog show.”

“Everybody knows about you two. You could get attacked.”

He looked between them. “She’s right,” Gwyn said. “You’re too recognisable.”

“I hate sitting here doing nothing.”

Nanny and Gwyn carried on making jam. He tried to help but only got in the way. The veebox chuntered, showing further footage. Somebody set a billboard of Josh’s latest ad campaign alight. As flames licked the wavy hair, Alfred stood up.

“I’m not watching anymore.” Puss followed him out.

Kellie Peters must have been indisposed; a human had taken her place. She kept an unemotional commentary: copycat riots were breaking out, robotics manufacturers were in lockdown, membership of the AAL had swelled -

“Fucking Wheelies,” Gwyn muttered.

“I thought you didn’t like robots.”

“It’s not just bots. They think technology should’ve stopped with the tablet.”

“I never saw the point of the Storm. Just makes life complicated.”

“Hope you didn’t tell Mum that.”

“She wouldn’t’ve listened. Look at it this way: you can get a machine to make sandwiches, but the best sarnies are ones you make with your own hands.”

“I’d rather fix the vix than leave it to a bot.”

“There you go. Labour saving devices make more work.” Nanny nodded at the screen, where hooligans were stamping on a functional. It tried to stand, only to sink to the ground. “These kids want to wreak havoc. Any excuse will do.”

Alfred burst into the kitchen. “C’mon, Gwynnie. We’re going to Lux Met.”

“Alfie, what in Thea’s name -” Nanny began.

“Lulu, hold the fort. Do the show if you like; you know more about the critters than I do. Gwynnie, get a wiggle on.”

He wasn’t any more communicative on the way down. As they pulled up at the station he jumped out, not waiting for her to tether. She ran after him, cross and puzzled. It wasn’t a mystery for long. Turning the corner in the station, they heard a familiar voice breaking in exasperation.

“Let me go to CER -”

“You can’t, Mr Foster. They’re having a sit in.”

“One of my team, then.”

“You shouldn’t go out. You don’t realise -”

“I’ve had my living room windows blown in. I know it’s bad -”

“Causing trouble, Josh?” Alfred asked.

He looked up. “You came.” A collision as they embraced. “What happened?” Alfred demanded.

“I’ve already told it six times.”

“You haven’t told
me.
”

“I was having a boiled egg when the doorbell pinged. A voice came over the buzzer saying I had a package. I was going to tell them to take it away, I didn’t want it, when there was a whistling noise. I didn’t think twice, I went down the chute. I must’ve been just in time; my side of the building has a hole in it.”

“Was it intended for him?” Alfred asked.

“We found fragments of a parcel,” the sergeant said. “Nobody was hurt, thank gods.”

“You really are a danger magnet, aren’t you?”

“I’m more bothered I didn’t eat my second egg,” Josh said. “Now they’re saying I need to be under protection.”

“It’s for your own good.” The sergeant was losing patience. “With the climate the way it is -”

Alfred rubbed his chin. “Putting him under protection will be a lot of unnecessary expense.”

“What are you suggesting?”

As if she needed to ask. Josh was hopping about; Alfred grinned as though several birthdays had come at once. “He can stay with us. We’ve plenty of room.”

The sergeant appealed to Gwyn, the only sane person in the room. She shrugged. The sergeant blew out her cheeks. “Have it your way. Sign these release forms.”

“You’re mental,” Gwyn hissed as they got into the vix.

“Very possibly,” Alfred said. “Get us back in time for the dog show, will you?”

Alfred and Josh flopped down in the library five hours later. It was their first peaceful moment all day.

“Knackered,” Alfred sighed. “You?”

“Near enough.”

“Thanks for helping. I don’t know one end of a dog from the other.”

“Are they always that bitey?”

“If they’re poodles, yes.”

“I don’t see the appeal. They should do lion shows instead.”

“I know who would win.” Alfred reached for Puss’s tail but she whisked it away. “Little trollop.”

“I hardly took it in at the time, but I keep seeing it happen.” Josh stared at the ceiling.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. I hope they’re getting paid at CER.”

“Last thing I heard, the army was involved.”

“Those poor functionals. Alright, they’re not like artificials, they can’t think, but people don’t differentiate. What if -”

Alfred shuffled him into a hug. He wasn’t a tactile person and it showed. “I’m looking after you. You’ll be alright.”

For all his professed calm, Josh felt the aftershock. Three nights in a row he woke up screaming. Alfred sat with him, snapping off the lamp once he had gone to sleep. Another time he was shaving when he looked out and saw Josh walking along the roof guttering. He shinned up the pipes.

“Josh? What the hell!” He realised he was only wearing his banyan. “It’s bloody freezing out here.”

“Nothing to worry about. Go inside.”

“My best friend’s prancing around on the roof, looking like he’s about to chuck himself off. I call that worrying.”

“
Am
I your best friend?”

“Of course, you mutt.”

They sat on the ledge. Alfred took his hand and was startled by how cold it was.

“I don’t pretend to know what goes on in your crazy phiz. It’s just - I care about you. If you’re having problems, I want to know.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t want to live anymore. - Let me finish. I won’t kill myself, I don’t think it’s possible. But I want to - stop.”

“Why? You’ve everything to live for.”

“Have I? Every day’s the same. I go to CER, run through my tricks. Seeing you is the only thing I look forward to.”

“If you stopped -” The thought was too horrible to contemplate. “My life hasn’t been all roses, you know. There’s been a few times when it would’ve been a relief to opt out. But there’s Gwyn, Nanny, my friends. I couldn’t leave them.”

“Nobody would miss me.”

“I would, you daft bugger. Let’s go in before everyone thinks this is a suicide pact. People think we’re weird already.”

Though he didn’t want to, and Josh would see it as treachery, Alfred called Dr Malik. She came the next evening, small and dour, glasses glinting - the sort of woman who only smiled when she farted. He remembered Josh’s sketch of her as a beetle and tried not to laugh.

“Where is he?” No hello, how are you.

“Out. He doesn’t know you’re here.” Alfred reached for the decanter. “Drink?”

“I don’t, thank you. What behaviours has he been displaying?”

He described the scene on the roof. “Other times he’s staring into space. You speak to him and he doesn’t hear.”

“What are you doing to take his mind off it?”

“He’s helping Gwyn build a rat run. Nanny’s teaching him to knit. I’m making sure he gets lots of fresh air.”

“As far as I can see, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“What? Talking about topping yourself -”

“Langton, I’m a psychologist. You’re -”

“His friend.”

“A friend.” She said the word as though it made her ill. “I’ve seen many robots, prototypes 10 through to 20.”

“I don’t understand.”

“His model is the S20.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Robots are very vain. Because they have sharper faculties than humans, they have overblown opinions of their abilities. This manifests itself as a belief they’re above the work they’re designed to do - in his case, being a celebrity.”

“He’s famous for being a famous robot. What happens when people get bored?”

She ignored the question. “What do humans do when they’re bored? They create a drama with themselves at the centre. He’s realised he can get your attention by crying and walking on the roof, so he does it. Notice he only behaves like this around you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Robots become attached to certain people. He and Fisk don’t get on, so he’s taken to you. Violently.”

He didn’t care for her manner, a mixture of innuendo and humbug. “What do you suggest? You’re the psychologist.”