Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  Alfred had to stall him. “Let’s catch up.”

  “Told you. Divorced, deposed and so on. While you stew in your castle, pretend to be a country squire. I know you, Fredo. So very well.”

  Alfred had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but the situation was desperate. “What makes you so sure?” He laid a hand on Ramon’s thigh.

  The ex president purred. “I knew I’d win you round.”

  All Alfred could see was hair, sticking out of his collar like a curious skunk. And the tattoos! How had he found this attractive? He’d forgotten how much his stubble grated -

  An explosion at the side of his face. Alfred put his hand to his ear and felt blood. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

  “It’s only a graze.” Over his shoulder, “On. Darling, you’re so transparent.”

  Alfred sank onto the panel. The instant the story appeared, the gig was up. It was his fault for forgetting Ramon’s peccadillo. Even in the old days he’d shot him for minor infractions, like forgetting to pick up the milk.

  Floods in Lin. A bombing in Kumai. “Terrorists?” Ramon slung things at the screen. “That’s not news!”

  “Temper.”

  “Shut up or I’ll shoot you again.”

  “In breaking news,” the announcer said, “the skyhub Georgiana II has been hijacked. This was the craft carrying celebrity artificial Josh Foster -”

  Of course they flashed a picture up on the screen. Ramon tapped a bulb in his ear. “Change of plan. It’s been identified - and it’s a guy. Small, blond, friggin’ gorgeous. You’d only kick him out of bed to fuck him on the floor -”

  Alfred punched him across the room. He wrenched out the bulb and flushed it down the disposal unit.

  “You’re forgetting I have a gun,” Ramon growled.

  Alfred trained his revolver on his chin. “How interesting. So do I.”

  “Which of us is the better shot?”

  “Me, I recall. Not that it matters at this range.”

  “Wanna find out?”

  “Put it down and get out. There’s nothing for you here.”

  “A cute little boy toy’s waiting for my stamp.”

  Alfred put his finger to the trigger. “Leave him alone!”

  Ramon was so startled he lowered his gun. “Carrying on big sister’s work?”

  “Wouldn’t know how. I’m his -” Travelling companion? Infatuated goon who trails around after him? “He’s my friend.”

  “Now I see what’s really going on. Nice.”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “Seeing as I’m selling him, it’s totally my business. Can you reprogram him?”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “If I remember rightly, it took three hours for you to talk me round.”

  “There was a revolution on.”

  “You didn’t let me shoot that prick Martinez.”

  “Bloodless means exactly that. Besides,” Alfred couldn’t help but smile, “I’ve always had a weakness for presidential desks.”

  “Jokes aside, nothing? You and him haven’t -” Ramon made obscene gestures.

  “Of course not.”

  “All toil, no reward? I’d’ve given up.”

  “Having him in my life is enough.”

  “Ever the masochist, huh?”

  “Why’d you think I put up with you for nine months?”

  Ramon laughed. “Alright, butch. I’ll let your chicken go. If I run into you again, you keep your side of the bargain.”

  “Shake on it.”

  Ramon looked predatory, cigar clamped in his jaws. Alfred wore his supercilious face. A hot sharp pain stung his elbow.

  “Could you warn me when you’re going to do that?”

  “Have to make it look authentic.”

  “You asked for it, big boy.” Chasing him around the control room, firing and deliberately missing, he imagined the postcard he’d write to Gwyn: ‘Remember your Uncle Ramon? I ran into him in unexpected circumstances ...’ Maybe not.

  “Out of bullets. Hope I don’t see you, you jackass.”

  “Ditto, Zizi.”

  Alfred wove his way to their suite, gun in hand. Doors opened only to close when they saw him. He heard passengers clocking into the networks, reassuring anxious relatives. The captain’s voice came over the airwaves: “The hijackers have backed down. You’re free to go.”

  He stopped by the window. He rolled his eyes as he saw the Brethren slide down the side. The last blew him a kiss. Pressing his belt buckle, Ramon stepped away from the hub and leaped out. “So long, cocksuckers!” The others followed suit.

  Crazy bastards. A faked suicide here, a few heists there, and they’d make up the capital to depose Martinez. No, Martinez was dead. Vega? He’d lost touch with Arthro politics.

  He reached the last tier. Three hundred and eleven, three hundred and thirteen. He swiped the key card and fell into the passage.

  “Alfred?” Josh hurried over. “Let’s get you inside.” He gasped as the lights came on. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “I’ll get you some water.”

  Alfred felt like a fraud. He wished he could tell Josh he’d never been in danger, the underhand methods he’d employed.

  “I take back what I said. You are a hero.” Josh tended to him with a flannel. “Look at your ear!”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  The door flew open. Derkins slouched in, hair on end. “Have you heard? Pirates, in this day and age! I missed everything!”

  The other two groaned.

  Voyage

  Pirates aside, the voyage passed peacefully. Josh developed an obsession with The Gay Gallants, a wheezing historical saga written when ‘gay’ meant something else, and adorned his speech with anachronisms. Alfred rather liked being called “My dear”, and noticed this epithet was never attached to Derkins. Josh insisted they went as the Gallants to the fancy dress ball, making Alfred dance on the podium even though he didn’t dance.

  The only fly in the ointment was the women passengers. Alfred had never considered how an artificial might appeal to mothers and daughters alike. Robotic love had gone from a kinky “what if?” to a full on aspiration. Women made blatant passes at Josh, stopping short of groping but employing every other tactic. Tinkling laughs, cleavages that scooped lower as the evening went on, purrs of “How fascinating.” Alfred was forced to watch these disgusting displays, gritting his teeth till his jaw ached.

  There was a particular mother and daughter who made him wary. Lois Putnam was a blowsy Arkan who might once have been attractive; she still snared catches with alcohol and a wall of talk. You’d see the poor fellows trailing in her wake, dazed by the tornado that had hit them. If there was one thing Lois valued, it was her daughter Abigail. To be fair, she was a beauty, with her neat glowing head and bright blue eyes. A nice kid despite nurture. But Lois’s campaign was relentless. In an unguarded moment she laid bare her designs.

  “Her brothers caused me no end of heartache. At least with a bot you know he’ll never boff the boss, take drugs -”

  Alfred yawned. “What if she wants children?”

  “She’ll go down the baby bank! No Putnam’s popped one out for generations.”

  “She might fail the psych tests.”

  “No loopy birds in my family tree.”

  They were sitting at the outdoor bar. The more she talked, the more Alfred drank. Josh and Abigail paced the deck below. While he wore his normal expression of stunned good manners, the girl showed every sign of being infatuated.

  “Momma!” Abigail waved them over.

  Lois gave Alfred a coquettish wink. “Lovely day for a stroll, don’t you think?”

  “I need a lie down.” Sometimes he wished he could come out to the world and be done with it.

  Lois wobbled down the steps, haloed by gin. Alfred relieved his feelings with a rude hand gesture. It didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Someone�
�s wound up,” Derkins remarked. He was either going to or coming from the cinema. “What’s that? ‘Begone, foul strumpet’?”

  ‘“May you be excreted by a thousand sea serpents,’” Alfred corrected.

  “Why don’t you tell him how you feel?”

  They leant against the rail, trying not to watch the two pronged assault going on below.

  “I’m scared to,” Alfred admitted.

  “Tch. I thought you were the man without fear.”

  “If it gets out, they’d never let me see him again.”

  Derkins eyed the gunk he was drinking. “My room, a Dead Kidney Special. Now.”

  Derkins’s cabin looked like every room he’d occupied since uni. A suitcase brimming with dress ups, a straw hat, a weird musical instrument and a sink full of dirty dishes. A picture of his family was pride of place on the bedside table. He took it everywhere he went.

  He pulled up a pair of chairs, searched through his locker and put the Dead Kidney Special together. Serving up cocktails at a moment’s notice was one of his many talents. He splashed it into a tooth mug. “Well? What d’you think?”

  Alfred took a sip and choked. “No one could accuse you of false advertising.”

  “Now: your situation.”

  “It’s ludicrous. Enough said.”

  “Have you tried other, er, distractions?”

  Alfred rolled his eyes. “Have I shagged other people, do you mean? No. Doesn’t interest me.”

  “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

  “Do you fancy other women?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, then. I’m reminded they’re not Josh and don’t care.” He stared into the glass. “Do I have to drink this?”

  “Alfie’s got it bad.” Derkins tried to blow a tune on whatever it was and doubled up coughing. “In love for the first time at fifty one.”

  “Don’t say it like that. It sounds tragic.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  They fell into the old routine, spanning decades. “Worst chat up line you’ve ever been given?” Alfred asked.

  Derkins racked his memory. “I dated classy girls, me. Wait, here’s one. ‘You remind me of my dog.’”

  “Did you see it?”

  “It was a pug. I was slightly offended, to be honest. Yours?”

  “You don’t want to know -”

  “Don’t be soft. Who was it?”

  Alfred cringed. “King Leopold of Melita, after I’d given him his sceptre back.”

  “Wahey!”

  “He had a leg in each corner, but he talked. ‘Fire bird’ and ‘exquisite bloom’ I can cope with, but ‘Let me slay you with my sword of love’?”

  “Well? Did you?”

  “I yawned and said, ‘Fuck me already, Your Majesty!’”

  They were still giggling when they heard somebody fumbling with the door at the end of the corridor. Either someone was trying to break in or Josh was back. He got in on the third attempt and knocked on Alfred’s door.

  “We’re in here,” Alfred called.

  The door swung open. Josh came in, off balance and upset. He picked up what remained of the Dead Kidney Special and downed it.

  “You’re in for a rough time,” Derkins said.

  “I don’t care,” Josh said. Since there wasn’t a third chair he perched on the suitcase. “Why don’t girls want to be just friends?”

  The men shared an uneasy glance. “What happened?” Alfred asked.

  Josh rubbed his forehead. “I like her, but not that way -”

  “That’s starting at the end,” Derkins said.

  “We’ve been seeing each other most days. I was teaching her to play tennis. Ms Putnam comes along - she’s a bit loud but she’s Abby’s mother, you can’t ask her to go away. Anyway, we’d managed to shake her off and Abby said she wanted to go to the courts to practice some more. I can’t say I fancied it but I didn’t want to be rude.

  We’d been playing for half an hour. Her mind wasn’t on it, she kept missing. I was going to ask if she was alright when she cried out - her foot had turned over. I had a look and couldn’t see anything wrong. She threw her arms around my legs –”

  “Little hussy,” Alfred growled. “Ssh!” Derkins said.

  “- saying crazy things, like she loved me and Ms Putnam could fix it. I panicked. She chased after me, shouted we belonged together. Alfred, what did she mean?”

  Damn it, CER hadn’t told him. What was the bet Fisk would accuse him of putting ideas into Josh’s head? “Sometimes, if a woman and robot fall in love -”

  “I’m not in love. It was just tennis.”

  “Your feelings don’t come into it.”

  “What about my rights?”

  “D’you want to hear this or not? When a human lo - wants a robot -”

  A knock at the door. “Langton!” Lois Putnam barked.

  “You brought her to your room?” Derkins was agog.

  “She must’ve asked at Reception. Yes?”

  Lois sailed in, pointing a scarlet taloned finger. “Abby’s sobbing her heart out. That wicked bot of yours –”

  “He’s not mine” and “I’m not wicked” came from different sides of the room. Lois bore down on Josh, ready to strike.

  Alfred was on his feet. “If you’re here to abuse my friends, please leave.”

  Lois revolved on the spot. “Abby says he’s agreed to go for psych tests.” She produced her cashtot book. “Name the figure, I’ll write it.”

  “He’s not for sale.”

  Josh walked towards her. She scuttled behind Derkins for protection. “Keep back!”

  “I don’t know what Abby’s said, but it isn’t true.”

  “You’re making a big mistake. I’ll go to the papers. I expect -” she played her ace card - “CER will have second thoughts. You’re proving quite a handful.”

  Josh’s thoughts were plain. The - 5 level at CER, the tiers of dormant robots. Being dismantled, his consciousness snuffed. A stranger with his face, carrying out his duties –

  If he hadn’t seen Lois’s face, Alfred might have behaved. It was obscene, a toadlike gloat of triumph. It goaded him past endurance. “Josh has an understanding with me.”

  She recovered quickly. “Prove it.”

  “What?”

  “Gimme evidence. Kiss him.”

  He had imagined this moment so many times. Now it was here, it was a ruse, a fake, Lois gawping and Derkins squirming in the background. He hated himself for forcing this on Josh, for not giving him the choice –

  The gentlest pressure on his forehead, stilling his thoughts. Josh had kissed him. It might not have been the clash of tongue and teeth Lois expected, but it was soothing and caring, unfeigned.

  “Are we alright?” Josh asked, cupping Alfred’s face.

  He could only swallow and gaze at him, his heart deafening in his ears. The door closed quietly. Lois was gone.

  “Phew!” Derkins spoke for them all.

  “It’ll be all over the hub by teatime,” Alfred sighed.

  The Putnams must have taken advantage of the next stop. They didn’t see them again. It didn’t matter. A day and a night later it was their turn to disembark.

  “It’s been super.” Derkins hugged Alfred and shook Josh’s hand. “Next time you need me, give us a buzz.”

  They watched him drive into the dawn, waving until he disappeared around the bend.

  “What now?” Josh asked.

  “Whatever we feel like.”

  ***

  It was a year Josh would never forget. He stored impressions for future use: sunsets seen through suspension bridges, butterflies landing on branches, ruins rising from swamps. He remembered how they travelled: crotchety camels, the jog of a trap, winding downriver in a spectral canoe.

  He liked the ships best. Full bellied sails, the screech of gulls, icebergs winking like diamonds. He sat in the riggings with his sketchpad. The nights the sea rolled and heaved, Alfred was impatient
to be out. They’d put on raincoats and venture outside, relish buffeting winds and drenching waves. There was an irresistible mingle of scents: tarry rope, the tang of brine, the wild singing wind.

  Back on land, they preferred to be outside, sleeping beneath canvas whatever the weather. Josh loved these nights without end. They might be beside a waterfall or in the middle of the desert, play chess by lamplight. They’d talk for hours and never get bored, study cultures and learn languages. Alfred liked the music best, Josh the stories.

  Josh didn’t think about CER. He filled out the odd report but it didn’t feel real. Life was new horizons, new dreams. Lying in a mud hut with a rock for a pillow, tramping dusty tracks down gorsy hillsides.

  They were so close. A glance and they smiled, a touch and they didn’t need to speak. When he first reached for Alfred’s hand, his friend leapt out of his skin; before long he initiated it. It made him feel so cared for and safe.

  Sometimes Josh caught people pointing and whispering. They would never have what he and Alfred had. Let them.

  Trials

  The first months of the tour, Alfred stashed his feelings at the back of his mind. If you pretended something hard enough, you became it. No swallowing when Josh held your hand. No hanging around his doorway, inventing excuses to be there. Probably he wasn’t fooling anyone.

  When he relaxed, he enjoyed himself. It was a joy to travel with somebody who was open to every experience, jumping into the new day with his eyes open. They laughed at the same things. Outlandish window displays - Josh snapped them and pasted them into his scrapbook. Nonsensical phrases in guide books, rehearsed in every accent - “I like it with the belt,” “This pineapple is mine”- they’d work them into conversation. Sights you’d never find anywhere else: a fire eater with hiccups, fighting kites, a salamander stalking its shadow. They’d look out for a funny postcard for Gwyn, outré tat for Nanny. Josh collected talismans but insisted he wasn’t superstitious.

  “What are they for, then?” Alfred asked.