Love and Robotics (39 page)

It could only be a robot. Since an artie on its own showed freakish independence, he moved towards it. He wasn’t surprised to find it was Cora.

She’d tried to see him after Josh first left but he hadn’t been in the mood. Now he gazed at her guiltily. All was not well with her, and it was his fault. Remembering Josh’s suicidal tendencies in times past, he drew her back from the edge.

“Thanks,” she said. “But I was just looking, not jumping. How are you?”

It seemed so long since he had heard a sympathetic voice, tears came to his eyes. He would have been ashamed to break down in front of a human, but somehow knew Cora wouldn’t judge. She soothed him as Nanny might have. With that simple act, any remaining prejudice again robots crumbled. A friend was a friend, whether they were organic or mechanical.

“I must’ve needed that.”

“No problem, big fella.”

“What about you? How’s everything?”

“I’m a social pariah. The other arties guessed I was behind what happened to Nick. Sam organised an intervention.”

Cora had gone out to her own poolside to find twenty robots sitting there. Glen was on her favourite lounger, stinking of booze. Finn hovered sheepishly in the background.

Sam rapped for attention.“Cora. We need to talk.”

“I don’t need to listen. Can y’all get off my property?”

She tried to leave but Sam’s fingers closed on her arm like a vice. “You’re not going anywhere till you hear what we’ve got to say. It concerns the whole community.”

Cora decided that if she was going to be harangued, she might as well be comfortable, and shoved Glen from her lounger. He giggled inanely, unable to get up. “Make it snappy.”

A few of the robots seemed unhappy, as though they didn’t care for their errand. Sam knew no such shame. “Don’t play innocent with us. We know you set your handler up.”

“You need proof before you make allegations like that.”

“Believe me, we’ll find it.”

Cora wouldn’t be intimidated. “Where’s Darce, Sam? Shouldn’t you be waiting on him?”

Sam pretended she hadn’t heard. “He let you go, didn’t he?” Cora persisted. “Before you lecture me, why don’t you sort out your own life?”

Some of the robots sidled away, as though Sam’s luck was contagious. “She’s got a point,” one said, in that special robotic whisper that carried.

Sam had fallen so far in the past few weeks, she didn’t fear consequences. Her pompadour was dull and flat, her skin looked tarnished. She straightened her spine. You could hear it creak. “This is a compound for law abiding,
loyal
robots. You no longer have the right to be here.”

Cora was enraged. “I own this goddamn place!”

Sam aimed a book at her chest. “Clockwork City Council sees it differently. Check page two hundred, paragraph four.”

It was true. Cora read the paragraph again but its meaning remained the same. “A robot that betrays its creator/s is an unperson with no right to residency ...”

“If you’re lucky,” Sam went on, “you could stand under a lamppost till some bum picks you up.  As a matter of fact - Glen. You had a thing for her once, didn’t you?”

“Don’t go with traitors,” Glen mumbled. Eyes shutting, he rolled into the pool. The robots glanced at him, saw he was floating and returned to their conference.

Cora saw there was no hope. Finn mouthed, “I’m sorry,” at her, signalled he’d keep in touch, but such cowardly friendship meant nothing. She hadn’t seen the point of going up and collecting her things.

“So there you are,” she sighed. “All I own are the clothes I’m standing up in. What goes around comes around, huh?”

“You could stay with me.” Alfred hadn’t known he was going to say it but saw it was the only solution.

“The Langton Home for Hopeless Cases?” she teased. She gave his arm a playful thump. Like most robots she didn’t know her own strength.

“Careful. I might change my mind.”

“I’ll be the best roomie ever! I’ll cook, help you find Josh -”

“If he wants to be found.”

“Gee, how dumb are you? He’s waiting for you to go get him, you dope!”

Cora proved as invaluable a “roomie” as she had promised. She tidied up (“You fellas! You want your socks to walk off by themselves!”), cooked within a limited range, understood when he needed his space and chipped in when he didn’t. Nick must have been hard to please.

It was with the search for Josh she showed her worth. “You’ve been doing this wrong. Josh hasn’t stuck around, that’s for sure. I bet he got the first nought out of here.”

“He could be anywhere!” Alfred groaned.

“What did he say the night he left?” Not waiting for an answer, “He was willing to sit it out till you went home. He can’t be far from a hub base.”

“But he doesn’t like cities. He’d choose somewhere quiet where he can keep his head down.” Alfred pulled on his jacket and started looking for the bag of tokens all residents used as currency.

“Where are you going?”

“To buy a map!”

The kitchen table became their campaign headquarters. They bought a map of North Arkan and honed in on the likeliest areas. Josh couldn’t have gone farther than four hours’ drive if he wanted to access a hub base. Cora was able to break into her old garage and steal her Comet, the one possession Sam hadn’t seized. “Comets obey one owner,” she beamed. “Way more faithful than arties.”

They would spend the first few hours of each morning reading the newspapers, trawling them for suspicious stories. “Josh gets himself noticed,” Alfred explained. “He doesn’t mean to but it’ll happen eventually. He likes people too much.”

“Rather him than me,” Cora said.

The rest of the day they followed leads. These invariably ended in disappointment: a lookalike would be human, an act with Josh written all over it was an arbitrary piece of heroism. Alfred tried Josh’s beebo but he had let it run out.

“What about CER?” Cora suggested. “Might he have told them?”

Alfred was so desperate, he made the call, but was defeated by their switchboard. Whatever number he chose kicked him out. Sugar seemed to have dematerialised.

“Shit fuck wank bollocks
.
” Alfred banged his head on the Comet’s control panel.

“Will you stop beating up my vix? Home, methinks.”

That evening they were held up by an accident. Alfred argued with a securibot for ten minutes before he was allowed into the city, Cora crouching on the floor of the vix. It was so long since he had driven, he wobbled to the wrong side of the road before instinct took over. He’d never seen a securibot gawp before. “That was close,” he sighed.

“Move over.” Cora somersaulted into the front. “You really think I’d let you drive her?”

They were comparing impressions, agreeing that Josh wasn’t on a ranch somewhere, when Cora whistled. “Got some consolation, buddy?”

A slender young man was standing outside the apartment, caught in the act of pressing the bell. Alfred’s heart gave a painful leap but it wasn’t Josh.

“What do you take me for? I don’t go ordering floozies -”

The man shielded his eyes against the vix lights. Within seconds he was running towards them.

“Sure you don’t want him? I’ll take him off your hands.”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “Of course!” He got out and slammed the door. “Esteban! What are you doing here?”

The robot gave a small, precise shrug. “The Tripitaka became too hot for me. You said something about a job, so I thought I’d seek you out.”

The door closed quietly the other side. Alfred didn’t need to follow Esteban’s line of vision to know what he was looking at or why he was reacting like this. It was how he had felt the first time he saw Josh. That heightened awareness, as though a voice in your ear has murmured, “Yes.” You know this person would mean something to you, you know your life has been leading up to this moment.

“Cora, this is Esteban. Esteban, Cora.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she beamed. He said the equivalent in his language.

Esteban was an asset to the investigation. Whereas Alfred jumped to conclusions and Cora was slapdash, he was logical and meticulous. They saved a great deal of engine oil and heartache by listening to him.

Cora was smitten. If it had been someone like Glen she would have snapped him up, but she sensed ordinary tactics wouldn’t work. “You guys, eh?” Alfred prompted on the rare occasion he was elsewhere.

She pretended to bash her head against the table. “He’s really making me work!” But he’d given her something she had never dared hope for: a reason to live.

They practised shooting while he was away. Revolutionary ideals aside, she didn’t think Esteban would approve. In time a dummy Nick was festooned with bullet holes.

The breakthrough was on an ingratiatingly sunny day, exactly like the ones preceding it. They breakfasted, started on their stack of newspapers. Cora gasped. A puddle of Formula 40 spread across the table.

“What is it?” Esteban asked. She pushed the newspaper at Alfred. He took it from her indulgently, but when he had read halfway down the page, he too was excited. “This is it!”

A small artisan’s village was displaying surpassingly beautiful artworks on the green. It wasn’t so much the quality as the ingenuity that struck Alfred. The creator refused to be pictured or named. His landlord - a louche redhead called Trixie Kerrigan - did the talking. “I love watchin’ him work, I never know what he’s gonna do next,” she gushed.

“Do you think -” Esteban began. “
Yes
,” exclaimed the other two.

They cruised into Gill Forest at fourteen hours. “Gods, look at this place,” Alfred said. Tatty haired minstrels passed with lutes strung on their backs, women in flowing gowns danced on a grassy knoll. “It’s a wonder it doesn’t give Josh hairballs.”

“One woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure,” Esteban pointed out.

“You don’t get trashier than this.”

They slowed to a crawl as they reached the green. Alfred got out of the vix and looked over the hedge. “He’s here,” he said.

Cora assumed he must have seen Josh. Instead it was a dragon built from steel and glass, beating her spiny wings. A small voluptuous woman was at the controls. As they watched a tremendous fireball shot into the air. A straggle of sightseers applauded.

“Ms Kerrigan?” Alfred asked.

“Who wants to know?” She didn’t look around.

“Me, I suppose.”

She turned and her mouth fell open. If the dragon had come to life and started roasting everything in sight she wouldn’t have looked as astonished.

“Is Josh home?” he persisted.

She began an unconvincing denial but thought better of it. Cora and Esteban were glaring over the top of the hedge.

“He’s out for the day, but I can show you his studio.” As the tourists looked up hopefully, she shouted, “Friends only!”

Josh’s new home was a crumbling church, standing in a tangled graveyard. Since the invitation hadn’t extended to Cora and Esteban, they sat on one of the fancier graves. Ms Kerrigan gaped.

“No different than a switched off bot,” Cora said.

Ms Kerrigan made the sign of Thea and hurried into the church. Alfred followed her.

The building still had a ghostly scent of candles and ritual. His eyes took time to adjust to the light. His first instinct in any old building was to look at the ceiling - it was preferable to the tack beneath. He raised his eyes and gasped. Josh had painted him on the ceiling.

It was like a fairground mirror - or perhaps not, since they maximise your faults. The long face and its many carvings were there, but Josh had made them heroic. It was how a lover would see you. Alfred knew then that it was nonsense to pretend they could be anything else. He’d stay in this chocolate box village with its phony inhabitants, wait till his lad came home. He’d admit that he’d been an idiot, that he would never be scared to say the words Josh craved
–

Out in the graveyard Cora screamed.

Ms Kerrigan tried to stop him from leaving - “You haven’t had tea -” but she was drowned by his friend’s cries. He raced outside. She was convulsing on the ground, Esteban trying to bring her round, the tourists taking pictures. Alfred chucked a wreath at them.

Cora slumped at last. Somehow it was more dreadful than her fit. A thin, self satisfied voice spoke through her. “Watch out. I’m back.”

The four words were everywhere. On screens, on the airwaves, on machines. Printers produced it ad infinitum. Robots chanted it and had to be shut down.

Pip had gone to see Gwyn in halls. They were in bed, the network turned up to disguise any noise, when it began. Pip shuddered, sex driven from her mind.

“What is it?” Gwyn asked.

Pip tried the other stations. The voice grew clearer. “I’m back. I’m back.”

“What does it mean?”

“We’re in for some heavy shit,” Pip said.

Sound had bled from the afternoon. Not a cricket, not a twig snapping, not a tourist taking pictures the other side of the gate. The temperature had dropped.