Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  After that, a letter from the Anti Android League barely earned a snort. ‘We would be honoured if you were to lend us your support ...’ Nothing doing. They could go around smashing up bots all they liked, but he wasn’t about to join them in jail. People responded best to considered arguments and logic.

  He’d had enough idiocy for one day. A cup of cocoa, that’d hit the spot. Swinging from his armchair, he set off for the kitchen. He could hear the girls bickering down the corridor.

  “What’s my sign today?”

  “Honestly, Nanny. It’s some woman in an office. She doesn’t know.”

  “Tommyrot. One day it said ‘Expect a windfall’. I bet on the horses and won twenty Q.”

  “Did it give you the winning horse?”

  “It guided me to the bookie.”

  “Guided you my foot.”

  He opened the door and grinned when he saw his two favourite women. “What’s in the stars today?”

  Nanny’s veebox twittered in the corner, playing The Crispin Clay Show. Alfred had a dim view of veebox at the best of times, but Clay was everything queasy about the medium in an oily, objectionable package. “Off,” Gwyn hissed. “Off!”

  Clay stood as though he’d forgotten how to sit down. Three guests sat in a semi circle: a sloppy blonde, a furtive man and a gruesome excuse for femininity. Big blank eyes, breasts like granite, a plump red mouth like a baboon’s bum. Then Alfred noticed the bolts in her neck.

  “So,” Clay said with velvety concern, “you came home to find your husband passionately kissin’ this robot?”

  “Here I am, workin’ every hour Thea sends, and he’s buyin’ bots off the Storm!” the woman raged.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, Wayne?” Clay asked.

  The man held the robot’s hand. “Roxy and I are in love -”

  “I love Master Wayne with all my heart,” she chirruped.

  “You fancy two sacks of silicon! A crotch made of metal!” His wife poked the robot’s eyes out. They dangled down her cheeks like fairy lights. “That’s what you’re screwin’. Take a look!”

  “Off,” Alfred said. The veebox obeyed. Nanny couldn’t look at him. Gwyn muttered, “I’ll wax the vix,” and disappeared.

  “I didn’t mean -”

  “Why do they give these people airtime?” Alfred shook his head. “Freaks, the lot of them.”

  Nanny frowned over her puzzle. “Bit judgemental, Alfie.”

  “You just know he goes around saying he’s not a loser with a dolly, his feelings are special. If you want me, I’ll be working on the machine.”

  The machine didn’t need a name. Alfred let himself into his workshop and gazed at it: the knight, the strangling vines, the cannon, the rolling logs, the hornets and - saving the best till last - the dragon. It gave you a work out and tested your problem solving skills at the same time.

  He tugged the lever. The knight lurched forwards. One slash, two - gods, that was close. He pulled a candelabra from the side and fended her off, knocking the helmet to the floor. The knight continued to hack away, headless. He ducked to avoid a wicked thrust and plunged into the vines. They nearly ripped his beard out. Sighing, he switched it off.

  As he leant against the wall to get his breath back, he glimpsed a figure in the shadows. They came forward, staring at the machine.

  “What is this? Did you make it?” The stranger picked up the helmet and slotted it onto the knight’s shoulders.

  “Who said you could come in here?” Alfred struggled to keep control of his temper. The machine was his baby - he’d been working on it for two years. Nobody came in here without permission. And now this nosy bastard had snuck in!

  “Lord Langton?” The stranger sounded surprised. “It’s too dark in here. Let’s sort that.” He snapped on the light.

  Before Alfred had thought his unwelcome guest was a teenager; now he saw he must be in his late twenties. A journalist? He imagined the gloats ringing around the offices: the Earl of Langton had finally cracked, choosing to spend his retirement with clockwork toys. He wished the stranger would stop staring at him. It had an oddly focused quality, as though it was searing through his skin.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you,” the stranger said. “My name’s Josh Foster -”

  “You’re the artie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has Bill put you up to this?”

  “I don’t know what you mean -”

  “Listen, pretty boy. I don’t know how you got in, but you’re going straight out again.”

  “I promised CER -”

  “You’re a lousy actor, whoever you are. If you don’t mind buggering off, I have work to do.”

  “I can’t believe you said that -”

  “See? A real robot would say ‘Certainly, whatever you say.’ Whoever heard of one going anywhere on its own? They need backup to cross the road!”

  “I’m going.”

  “Good!”

  “I wanted to give you a chance, but you’re the most horrible person I’ve ever met. No wonder nobody likes you.” The stranger went to open the door, intending to slam it, but couldn’t grip the handle. His hand kept slipping.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never used a door handle!” Alfred went over, irritated. “It’s not love or robotics. Take it and turn -”

  “What do you think I’m doing, dancing?”

  They glared at each other. To Alfred’s surprise he really was pretty: small and slender with fair wavy hair and porcelain skin. He had the kind of noble, delineated features that belong on a coin. His eyes were astonishing: unbroken, untarnished green.

  “Nobody’s this stupid. Look!” The stranger lifted his fringe. A button protruded from his hair line. “Now do you believe me?”

  At last he forced the door open. Somehow he tripped against the skirting board, wrenching his foot out of alignment.

  Alfred ran over, wincing. “I’m sorry. I’ve been an ass. Does it hurt?”

  “Nothing I can’t cope with.”

  “Lean on me.” Alfred slid his arm through his; he felt him flinch. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Josh Foster.”

  Alfred supported him as he limped down the corridor. He didn’t whine or betray pain. At last they found a stool and he sat down. He watched in horror and admiration as, foot crossed over his knee, Josh snapped it into place.

  “Do you do that whenever you - break?”

  “You get used to it.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Every time.”

  He realised he still had a hand on Josh’s shoulder and let go. “I’ve been abominably rude. There’s no excuse.”

  “I’m sorry too. Can we start again?”

  “I’m stymied. I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about showing me your machine?”

  “But - you’re a robot -”

  “I want to see it. Really.”

  Alfred smiled. It felt, and undoubtedly looked, peculiar. “You’re on.”

  It was the first time Josh had expected one thing and ended up with another. Female men, lions, clockwork knights, and now Lord Langton.

  The way Sugar had described him, he’d expected a crazy old duffer. Although weathered and too thin for his build, it wasn’t anything a few dinners couldn’t fix. It was his eyes: the look of a man with too many pasts, all harrowing. The eyes themselves had a queer fault - piercing blue with a splash of orange like a supernova. While his features were strong and on the long side, you couldn’t call him ugly. His hair and beard were a rich auburn sprinkled with grey, obviously the source of his nickname.

  Something about him screamed loneliness. He provoked a stronger feeling than Josh had had about anyone. He couldn’t place it.

  “Okay,” Langton said, cranking up the machine. “We’ll put it on beginner’s settings.”

  Josh crashed against the knight and felled he
r with a swipe. He wriggled free of the vines and somersaulted past the cannon balls. Langton gave an admiring whistle. “You’re good!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You’re not even tired. - Look out!”

  Something scorched his forehead. Before he had time to react, he’d had his head stuck in the sink.

  “Are you alright?” Langton bent over him, concerned.

  “A bit singed. That’s enough for now.”

  “Agreed. Let’s get lunch.”

  Langton was embarrassed when he learned Josh couldn’t eat. “Sure you don’t mind? It feels heartless, scoffing this in front of you.”

  “If you’re hungry, eat.”

  “You’re not at all what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?” Josh waved his arms, did the clichéd metallic voice. ‘“I am Josh, I am a robot -”’

  “Should’ve realised times have changed. Science marches on.”

  “You’re not what I expected either.”

  A wry grin. “Let me guess. Barmy old codger?”

  Josh squirmed. “I’ve heard stories -”

  “Some true, some not. I was never popular at CER. There’s a whole world out there that doesn’t involve jargon, something I don’t think they’ve realised.”

  Josh thought of Lady Augusta’s most celebrated quote: ‘The only reality is intellectual’. This was really bothering him. “Why did you and Lady Augusta get married, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Langton choked. “You’ve got the wrong end of the stick. Gussy was my sister.”

  “The lady outside -”

  “Gwyn. My niece.” He giggled, a strange sound coming from such a large man. “There’s no Lady Langton. I’m a ‘confirmed bachelor’, whatever that means.”

  “So your inventions -?”

  “I tinker with stuff but it’s only a hobby.”

  “What did you do? Dr Sugar said you’d retired.”

  “Sounds silly in cold blood, but what the hell. I used to be an anthropologist.” As Josh shrugged, “An explorer. Sounds more dashing.”

  “An explorer? That must have been -”

  “ Daft? Pointless? I’ve heard them all.”

  “I was going to say: exciting. I never go anywhere. This is the first interesting thing that’s happened to me.”

  Langton smiled over his tea cup. The effect was startling: everything long and irregular in his face vanished. “It’s an honour.”

  Josh left at seventeen thirty. Langton said he’d pop by the Centre in the next few days. He wasn’t sure about the launch, though perhaps he should remind people he was alive. This was entirely his own fault; he held a death sale whenever he fancied a clear out. Perhaps four times had been pushing his luck.

  As they reached the front door, he held out his hand. Josh stared.

  “It’s called a handshake. All civilised people do it.” Langton took Josh’s hand in his, demonstrating. His hand was warm, rough and ink stained. “You’re meant to let go.”

  “Oh.” Josh put his hand in his pocket. “Thank you for having me.”

  “Thanks for putting up with me.”

  Josh savoured the memory on the way home. Funny to think he’d seen places the others hadn’t. Did Langton feel him thinking about him? He had to be lonely, rattling around that tomb of a house, only his sulky niece for company.

  Would he see him again? He hoped so.

  The Tour

  “I know it seems scary,” Madge Biggerstaff said to the newbie, “but it’s amazing how quickly you pick things up. If I take this call, d’you want to listen?”

  It was a typical afternoon at CER’s service desk, better known as the Pond. Madge’s team had been decimated by the usual causes - holidays, flu, nana’s funerals - and consisted of her, Dean Skillern, Ravi Thakkar and now this mouse. She’d passed the test with Josh so she must be okay, but so far Madge hadn’t heard a peep from her.

  “Will somebody take that call? Ravi?”

  “I’m having a break.”

  “What’s this, an executive lunch? Get in Available!”

  Ravi rolled his eyes. “Hello, you’re through to CER. Sorry? Your functional did what?”

  Dean came back to their pod and dumped six cups of cocoa. “Anyone want these? How can we tell people how to fix their robots if ours don’t work?”

  “Have you reported it?” Madge asked.

  “They say it’s not a matter of ‘immediate concern’. If a bot gobbing out chicken soup when you want coffee isn’t concerning, I don’t know what is.”

  “C’mon you lot, back to work. Tina -”

  “Tatum,” the new girl corrected. “Tatum Wong.”

  “I’m taking a call, if you want to take notes. Hello, you’re through to CER, how can I help?” Madge pulled out her ear bulb. “Sorry - if you could speak slowly and clearly -”

  “You try speaking slowly and clearly when - ow!” The bloodcurdling shriek could be heard across the Pond. Sixty workers tried to look as though they weren’t eavesdropping.

  “Are you alright, sir?”

  “Of course I’m not! I want your gals to get this thing off me!”

  “What’s the nature of your difficulty?”

  “My brother bought me a pleasurecom for a joke. I came across it in the garage -”

  “Too much information,” Dean muttered. Ravi stifled his laughter.

  “My wife’ll be home any minute -”

  “Sir, you do realise this is CER?”

  “And?”

  “We don’t manufacture pleasurecoms. You need to speak to PassionPlay.”

  “You build bots, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Company policy.”

  “Don’t you dare drop out!”

  “Goodbye, sir.” She played with her earrings. “‘Switched on by itself’, eh?”

  “Crispin Clay, here we come,” Dean said. Ravi bubbled into giggles, went to press ‘Available’ and dissolved again.

  “Stop larking about!” Madge scolded. “Top brass, five o’clock.”

  Mandy Cowan stumbled into the room, balancing a coffee on top of a stack of puzzle books. A short, plump girl with an air of abstraction, she worked upstairs but was as undervalued as the service desk. Somehow you knew she lived alone with a cat called Mr Tiddles.

  “Taking them books upstairs?” Madge asked.

  “Gives him something to do,” Mandy mumbled.

  It was the worst kept secret in the building: Mandy was in love with Josh. She’d had a talking to from Sugar and a public dressing down from Fisk, but nothing deterred her.

  “Oh. Right.”

  “He’s in a mood,” Mandy went on.

  “Why’s that?”

  “You know he visited Lord Langton?” They nodded. Nobody had talked about anything else for days. “Josh has got it into his head they’re friends. I’ve said he was being polite but he won’t listen.”

  “Surprised he didn’t shoot him on sight,” Dean said. “Maybe he’s gone senile.”

  “Or mellowed in his old age. Josh is really upset.”

  “Oi!” Madge said. “If he’s old, so’m I.”

  “You’re both loony.” Ravi made a face.

  “Thakkar, for the last time.” Dean adopted a worldly voice. “Normal people are loony, toffs are eccentric. Remember the disappearing angel?”

  A sculptor had carved a giant angel from scrap metal and plonked it on the green in Langton. The locals lobbied against it. The Earl joined the fray, giving the artist forty eight hours to cart her ‘unsightly jetsam’ elsewhere; it vanished that same night. The scrap merchants of Langton made a killing that year.

  “You don’t know he did that,” Madge said.

  “Everyone knows he’s barmy,” Ravi argued. “My mum says -”

  Nobody found out what Ravi’s mum said, for the team started to gesticulate wildly. Langton was standing in the doorway, big and bearded in gingery tweeds. Everyone rose.

  “No need for that. I fancie
d a look around, see what you’re getting up to.”

  Mandy held up an uncertain hand. “We run tours on Tuesdays -”

  “Is Josh in?” He lounged against the frame. “I’d like to see him.”

  “I - well. Alright.”

  “Thanks. Do you need a hand ?”

  Aware every pair of eyes followed them, Mandy led him from the room.

  Josh hadn’t meant to lose his temper. The first few days after the visit, he’d played it over in his head. He recalled details he hadn’t noticed at the time: the statue he’d climbed up was a naked man in pensive attitude, the pattern on the carpet. The nutty smell of Langton’s tobacco, how he rubbed his chin when he was thinking. Now he was impatient for something more to happen. The launch was two weeks away. How long was Langton planning to leave it? How could he promise one thing and do another?

  He even had a crazy idea of stealing a key card and sneaking out, though he doubted he’d get far. How humiliating if one of the security functionals marched him back. There was no incentive to make them realistic so sec functionals - nicknamed “Daves”- had chrome skin, bulging eyes and klaxons. Once they had hold of you they wouldn’t let go.

  Nothing interested him. No book, no puzzle, not even his sketches. He got out the glass ball and rolled it around.

  “You’ve got a visitor,” Mandy said.

  “Hmm?” Looking up, he let go of the ball. “Lord Langton!” It bounced onto the carpet and crashed into the wall. “It’s broken -”

  “We’ll say I did it,” Langton said. “Put the bits in this handkerchief.”

  They crawled on the carpet, picking up shards.

  “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “I keep my word. Mind you don’t cut yourself.”

  “I bleed engine fluid. Plenty more where it came from.”

  “Is that all of it?” Langton tipped it into the bin. “No harm done.”

  They remembered Mandy, hovering in the doorway. “I brought magazines,” she said.

  “Can I see you later? Somebody needs to show Lord Langton round -”

  “Fine.” She closed the door, effaced herself.

  “This is where I live. It’s nothing to Chimera, but it’s home.” Why was he babbling? He talked him through an average day, everything he did to stave off boredom.