by John Burke
Then she reached in and cut off the control switch inside the shattered panel.
She turned round once more and said: “Well?”
There was no reply. She had known there would not be any. Walter stood in the middle of the room, staring in front of him, motionless. His mildly protesting expression had frozen on his features and made him look puzzled and absurd. He did not speak.
Barbara said a rude word, knowing that the lifeless figure before her would not hear it.
The delivery chute clicked a warning and delivered two beautifully steaming cups of hot chocolate. Barbara sat down and drank both of them. Then she got up and walked round Walter to mix herself a cocktail—a fiery one.
She put the light out and sat in the darkness, waiting—waiting and fuming, stung by resentment.
How could he do this to her? How could he, how could he…?
She had to wait for half an hour, though it seemed more like several hours. At last she heard cautious movements near the back door. She kept silent until footsteps approached the door of the room in which she was sitting, and then she said, “All right, you can come in.”
There was a pause.
“Come along in,” she said, angrily. “It’s no good hanging about out there.”
The door opened, and Walter came in. He switched on the light, and looked sheepishly at himself standing in the middle of the room. Barbara said: “Aren’t you going to say anything? Don’t just goggle at me like a…a robot.”
“I suppose it’s hard for you to understand,” he said, tentatively.
“Hard?” She exploded from her chair, almost launching herself at him as though she intended to knock him over. “It’s certainly not easy to understand why a man should sneak off out without explaining to his wife where he’s going, and leaving a robot to entertain her. I never thought you could do such a thing to me.”
They were both standing close to the silent version of Walter. His presence irritated both of them at the same moment. Barbara said, ridiculously: “Oh, do go away.” And her husband went to the cupboard and switched on.
His other self rocked slightly, then blinked and looked self-consciously at Walter.
“Good evening, sir. You’re back early.”
“I am not back early,” said Walter, frostily. “I am back at the time I arranged—and what do I find? I find you asleep on the job.”
“I fear that Mrs. Desmond must have switched me off.”
“Well, just go and stow yourself away for the night,” said Walter vindictively, “and I’ll switch you off again.”
He watched the robot walk gracefully across the room and out into the hall. There was a gentle click as the door of the storage closet snapped shut. Walter switched off.
“Well?” said Barbara, quietly. She was still waiting. “I think you owe me an explanation.”
“It was a matter of business, dear….”
“Funny business,” said Barbara.
“Please don’t be crude about it, darling. It was just that I had to go to this conference, and after what you’d said about us never having an evening at home together nowadays, I felt you wouldn’t be too pleased.”
“But the whole point of having those robots made,” protested Barbara, “was to enable us to stay at home. It’s him,” she went on, with ungrammatical fervour, “who ought to have gone to your precious conference. That’s what he’s for.”
“But this was rather a special one. I needed to make decisions—important ones concerning future policy on robot construction for the Government. I simply had to be there. It wasn’t just a routine matter that I could leave to Wally.”
Barbara pouted. She was not going to be soothed. She said: “But even if it’s true—and I’m not sure it is—even if it’s time, how could you leave Wally with me like that? To leave a robot to entertain your wife…that’s too much, Walter.”
“I didn’t want you to be upset.”
“You didn’t want me to be upset? Suppose you hadn’t come home—suppose you’d left it with me all night, would it…that is, how far were you prepared for it to…er….”
“Barbara!” Walter was indignant. “Nothing like that could have happened. In any case, there was no question of my not getting back. I had set it to nip out into the garden when I brought the gravicop down into the garage. When I got back and Wally didn’t appear, I guessed something had gone wrong.”
“I still don’t see why you had to play such a trick on me. I don’t see why you couldn’t have sent Wally to the meeting.”
He sighed. “I’ve told you. We had to make decisions about new developments. The Government’s check on robot construction is hopelessly out of date, and we want to let some of the higher-ups know just what possibilities there are—we want a freer hand in design and so on.”
“It’ll spoil things if everyone has robots like ours.”
“I don’t mean to go that far. The authorities would have a fit if they knew we’d been able to produce humanoids like this. They still won’t give permission for anything but the most obviously mechanical, box-like contrivances. That’s what we want to get cleared up. That’s why I had to go to this meeting tonight and discuss future policy, and what weight we could bring to bear on the Government. And I knew you’d been counting on us having a nice quiet evening together, so….” He shrugged apologetically.
Barbara tried to continue with her resentful expression, but her original anger was fading.
She said: “Oh, all right. But don’t think I’m not cross. And this had better be the last time.”
“It will be, darling.”
“Mind it is.”
“Of course. It won’t happen again.”
She studied him reflectively. “It is the first time, this one, I suppose? You haven’t ever done it before?”
“You’d have noticed,” said Walter, glibly, “just as you noticed this time. I ought to have known I couldn’t fool you with Wally.”
“No, that’s true,” said Barbara. “But—you’re quite sure you haven’t ever…?”
“Quite sure,” lied Walter.
* * * *
Walter loved his wife. There was no doubt about that. In his own way he loved her as devotedly as she loved him; but his way was not quite as demonstrative as hers. There were times when her intensity proved just a little bit overpowering—Walter found it hard to keep pace with her eager chatter; he knew that his inability to cope with her affectionate and effusiveness often made it seem that he was cold and unresponsive. And that wasn’t true. But it was true that he liked, now and then, to get away and have a breathing space. He found an evening meeting of his colleagues at the research centre a relaxation, rather than an arduous duty.
He was sorry that Barbara had detected Wally this time. The robot had served a similar purpose two or three times before, and Walter had thought that all was now well. But even the most convincing humanoid developments—and Wally was one of the finest models they had ever created—could not be entirely reliable. He would have to be careful in future. Barbara could be quite exhausting when she really lost her temper, and Walter was all in favour of a quiet life. It was, in fact, his desire to make life less arduous that had resulted in the construction of Wally, and Wally’s companion model, Babs.
The Robot Research Foundation, and its associated manufacturing and exploiting companies, had been brought into being by Walter’s father. Working under Government supervision because of the alarm that was felt in certain quarters about the development of pseudo-intelligent beings, the Foundation had produced robots for every conceivable purpose.
From the humblest of new labour-saving devices to the most complicated electronic brains, R.R.F. had a virtual monopoly of the field. Smooth-running mechanical servants were provided. Robot traffic controllers were installed in all the major cities, and robots took over many police duties. No warehouse needed to employ a human watchman; no monorail express needed a driver; no restaurant required the services of more than
two or three human beings to keep cooking and waiting up to the highest possible standard.
But there were stringent regulations. Strides in robot manufacture had been so enormous in twenty years that a great many people felt uneasy. Religious bodies in particular voiced energetic protests about the construction of humanoid beings—mechanical creatures so life-like that they could be mistaken for human beings. Laws were passed forbidding the construction of such highly advanced models. A machine was to be kept recognisably a machine. The grafting of skin and the introduction of natural mobility were forbidden.
Wally and Babs were very special…and their existence was undoubtedly a breach of the law.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful,” Barbara had once said to her husband, “if there could be two of each of us, so that when there was some boring party on, we could send our other selves along. And when you had some silly old meeting, you could let your Number Two trot along, while you stayed at home with me.”
“Mm,” was all that Walter had said; but the remark fermented in his mind, and before long a few of his most trusted workmen began to experiment with a new hush-hush design.
When they were finished, Wally and Babs looked perfect—as perfect, that is, as one would expect a normal human being to look. In deportment they were graceful, and their conversation was flawless. Their electronic minds, stored with appropriate memories, and fed from time to time with such information as their owners thought they ought to possess, coped neatly and efficiently with any question that was put to them. From a basis of known facts and routine data they could extrapolate in a way that even Walter Desmond had to admire—their conversation was much smoother and far less grudging than his own tended to be. Indeed, there were times when he found himself looking with some affection at Babs. Babs was always more affable and less argumentative than Barbara. He could talk to Babs—in fact, he had once or twice caught himself talking the most utter nonsense to Babs, and receiving neatly phrased, unembarrassed replies that eventually brought him to his senses.
They were a useful pair. No one would have suspected their essential unreality—no one, that is, who didn’t know of their existence—and there were very few people who did, and they could all be trusted to keep the secret.
It was a pity, thought Walter again, that his wife had guessed that she had been fobbed off with the substitute for an evening. Next time he must try to ensure that she couldn’t get at the switch—it made him wince when he looked at the shattered horror of that beautiful cupboard door.
Next time….
* * * *
As it happened, the next occasion on which he planned to go out with the boys for a pleasant evening gave him the chance of an interesting experiment.
“You haven’t forgotten that Simon is coming in tonight, have you, darling?” said Barbara.
In point of fact he had completely forgotten, but he said: “No, of course not.” Then he thought about it for a moment, and added: “Though I don’t see why he keeps hanging around.”
“Don’t you, darling?”
That exaggerated archness of hers annoyed him intensely. It was so stupid. There was no question of his being jealous of Simon—after all, Simon hadn’t married Barbara, and he himself had, and that was that. But it irritated him to see the silly idiot posturing and hovering around Barbara, saying meaning, ironical things that he thought Walter was too dense to understand. And although Barbara agreed that Simon was an utter fool, she did seem to get a kick out of that sort of pretentious nonsense.
He said: “It’s time Simon grew up and found himself a wife.”
“I’m afraid he has lost the only ideal woman in his life,” Barbara said smugly.
“Well, a fat lot of good it’ll do him to brood over it,” said Walter.
It was not until later in the day that he realized what an opportunity was being offered to him. He wanted to go out and play a game of Martian slides with a few of the boys, and this time it would surely be safe to let Wally take over at home. Barbara was always too busy mopping up Simon’s florid compliments and simpering at his jokes to pay much attention to her husband. Walter could have a couple of hours out and then return, work an unobtrusive switch with Wally, and take over in time to usher Simon out of the house and silently wish him good riddance.
There was hardly any risk to it at all. He slipped out that evening full of confidence.
And Wally strolled back into the room Walter had just left, accepted a drink from the cocktail mixer, and smiled placidly at Simon.
It was the placidity of that smile that eventually aroused Barbara’s suspicions.
She had been listening to Simon for almost an hour, and thinking how very sweet he was. It was all very well for Walter to sneer and say how damned silly and futile all that gush was—Walter was an undemonstrative type, and not much given to the paying of pretty compliments; but that didn’t mean that there was anything wrong with the paying of compliments. Walter just didn’t understand how a woman appreciated such things. A woman liked to be flattered and made a fuss of. She liked to be complimented delicately on her appearance; and how could you resist the yearning in the eyes of a man who obviously still loved you and longed for you?
There were even moments—she shivered at the disloyal thought, but it was rather a delicious shiver—when she wished she had married Simon instead of Walter.
No, perhaps that wasn’t altogether true. But it would be nice to have a little affair with Simon. Nothing too serious, of course. As long as she still loved Walter, you couldn’t say she was really being unfaithful. Not really.
She blushed and looked down at her hands, folded demurely in her lap.
Simon came and curled up at her feet. He was too adorable. He could do a thing like that without looking in the least self-conscious or awkward.
He murmured: “Come out with me tomorrow evening.”
“Oh, I don’t know...I mean....”
“Walter won’t mind,” said Simon in a louder voice. “After all, he doesn’t appreciate you as he ought to. I’ve always said you don’t appreciate her, haven’t I, Walter?
“Yes,” said Walter, placidly.
“And you don’t mind if I got out with Simon for the evening?” asked Barbara, staring at him.
He smiled at her. “I shall be torn apart with jealousy,” he said with a smooth gallantry that struck a chill to her heart, “but I know that right will triumph in the end. I shall be waiting for you when you return, sobbing and disillusioned.”
Even Simon looked mildly surprised. But he said: “I rejoice to hear it, old man.”
Barbara looked away. She was afraid that her expression would betray her. At the first opportunity she stole a glance at the cupboard. It had been repaired on the broken side, and both panels were now locked. And even if she could have got at it, she would not have dared to switch off with Simon here. If her suspicions were right and this was Wally in the room with them, she could not switch him off—she could not let the garrulous Simon into the secret.
Nevertheless, she felt an impulse to do so, to put an end to the whole thing, to show Walter up for the deceitful, wretched rogue he was. It was an impulse that she restrained.
But she would show him. Somehow or other, she would get her own back on him.
She went out into the hall. The door of Wally’s storage closet was locked. She opened the door of the compartment in which Babs stood, motionless, and studied her thoughtfully. Then she went back to join the men—or, rather, the man and the shadow—and said brightly to Simon:
“I really think it would be nice to come out with you, Simon.”
And the false face of Walter smiled without the trace of a sneer.
* * * *
When Walter himself returned, he changed places with Wally in the garden.
“Anything special I ought to know?” he asked.
“Mrs. Desmond has accepted an invitation to go out with Mr. Collings tomorrow evening,” Wally reported.
“Has s
he? Good heavens, she must be potty.”
Wally was too innately respectful to pass any judgment on this remark.
“All right,” said Walter, as they approached the house. “Wait until I’m well inside, and then stow yourself away. It may be ten minutes or so before I get an opportunity of switching you off, so don’t start fidgeting about.”
Then he strolled nonchalantly indoors and joined his wife and Simon. “Another drink?” he said.
“Not for me, old boy. It’s time I was running along.”
Walter did not press Simon to stay. He waited until Barbara had finished fussing over him at the front door, and then, as she was plumping up the cushions and whisking about the room in her usual erratic way, he said: “I suppose you’re serious about going out with Simon tomorrow?”
“Of course, darling. You don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “I just can’t imagine why you should want to spend an evening with that absurd bore. One evening of flattery ought to be enough for anyone.”
She laughed. “Yes, I don’t know that I really want another dose of Simon’s conversation. It’s so meaningless, isn’t it? If only it led to something—”
“To what?” said Walter, aggressively.
“Well, if there were any purpose in it…you know what I mean…but in the nature of things it can’t lead up to anything, can it? After all, I’m married to you, and Simon’s too late.”
“I should think so. I can’t understand why you should take such pleasure in leading him on.”
Barbara said, abruptly: “Don’t you want me to go, darling?”
“As we’ve had Simon’s company all evening, I thought we might have a quiet time together tomorrow.”
“How sweet of you, darling. Perhaps you’re even a little bit jealous?”
“Jealous be damned,” snorted Walter. “I know you’ve got too much sense to care a damn for anyone as thick-headed as Simon—”
“He’s not all that thick-headed. He says nice things to me.”
“Oh, all that bosh....”
She looked at him with her candid, thoughtful grey eyes. Then she said, softly: “You’re far too arrogant, Walter. But there’s nothing I can do about that now, is there? If you order me to stay in tomorrow evening, I’ll have to do as I’m told.”
