What was he seeing? Alfred looking at him, in a way he thought no one could look. A naked look, full of need. A look that made him feel stripped before CER and Lady Thea. It passed. Embarrassed, they dropped back into the boat and squeezed the water from their clothes.
“I’ve been an ass, haven’t I?” Alfred mumbled. “Storming off, dragging you along to play silly buggers.”
“Yes. But you’re my ass.”
“You’re my favourite robot.” Alfred raised his hand as though to touch Josh’s hair, only to think better of it. “Damn,” Josh heard him mumble. Somehow he couldn’t look him in the eye, so he buried his face in his shoulder.
“What did you say?” Alfred asked.
“We need to go back. Come on.”
Josh couldn’t sleep. Alfred had no such problem, lying with his arm flung out, a smile playing on his lips. He wondered what he was dreaming about.
He tried to empty his mind. He was transported to the campsite, the archaeologists working themselves into a frenzy. He’d been shocked and more than a little disgusted, but couldn’t deny it had been exciting. To let yourself go, do something with no purpose other than pleasure -
Telling himself it was in a spirit of scientific inquiry, he slid his hand inside his sleeping bag. He pulled the drawstring on his pyjamas, brought himself out. He ran a finger along the ridge. That felt nice. Remembering the back and forth motions of Sir Bart, he kneaded it with his thumb.
Alfred rolled over in his sleeping bag. For a dreadful moment he thought he’d been caught red handed. How would he react? Mortification, dragging his bag outside? Indulgent chuckles, comments his lad was turning into a man? What if he wanted to join in?
Before he’d been playing. Now, a phantom Alfred encouraging him, he felt as though the top of his head had been ripped off, letting the sky in. His cock stood to attention. He moaned, rubbed harder -
His eyes opened wide. A muzzle was nudging the tent flap.
“Alfred!”
“Hmm?”
“There’s a wolf outside.”
He snapped from sleepiness to action in three seconds flat. “Where?”
A low growl, pointy and unpleasant. “There!”
“Where’s the gun - don’t tell me I lost it in the river -”
“You can’t kill it!”
“What should we do? Let it eat us like canvas wrapped canapés?”
“It’s a living thing!”
“I’ll be a dead thing if I don’t find the gun.”
Alfred lay a hand on it, blasting a hole in the canvas, then sent a more reliable bullet between the creature’s eyes. He prodded the limp body with his foot.
“Solves the problem of tomorrow’s dinner. We can get a decent price for the pelt.”
Josh was acutely conscious of his cock sticking out of his pyjamas. He tried to stuff it back in without Alfred noticing.
“C’mon, trouble. Time for shut eye.”
“Night, Alfred.”
Talos
The girl was in her twenties, a typical backpacker. Black hair streamed from the paper bag, mercifully concealing what had happened to her.
“Bad way to go,” Captain Archos said.
Her hand was stamped with one of the Mood signs. Alfred squinted. “Melancholy? Why would you want a hit of melancholy?”
The captain shrugged. “At least with melancholy they only harm themselves. Anger or lust, they take others with them. Collateral damage.”
Collateral damage. A phrase the authorities hide behind when something could have been avoided. “Any leads?”
Archos lowered the sheet. “That’s where you come in.”
It had been a distraction to begin with. Why the Kyran islands, usually bucolic paradises, had had a spate of drug related deaths. The authorities claimed they were a string of tragic coincidences. The victims weren’t local so they were outside their jurisdiction.
The picture was hazy, but it bore the hallmarks of the continent’s most notorious crime boss, the Fixer. Alfred had never seen the man - he doubted he even existed - but any blow to his activities would be a bonus. Six deaths later, he was finding it hard keeping a professional distance. The Fixer didn’t have to meet bereaved relatives or listen to angry denials.
He missed Josh. His recalibration would only take a fortnight, but it grew harder with each absence. He remembered dropping him off at the drome, Fisk’s scowl. “Enough mauling,” she said after they hugged. Gods, she was a miserable bint.
Life without him was colourless. Dispatches. Drink. Sightseeing. More drink. When Josh was around he didn’t drink. When he wasn’t he had no reason not to. Especially when he’d had to scrape up some poor kid’s remains.
“It’s spread to Talos,” Archos said. “Are you familiar with the area?”
“You could say that.”
Talos, third largest of the Kyran islands. Famous for its wine, its ports and sex tourism. Site of a once proud robotics centre, now forgotten in the mountains. In fact, most of Talos was like that. Buildings crumbled by roadsides, weeds thrust through cracks in the pavement. The main town was even worse: bored strippers peeling off their clothes, thriving pawn shops, bars where haunted men drank themselves horizontal.
His second day he received two letters. The first he’d expected since his arrival. The second was pure Josh.
My dear,
The girls in the lab have finished tinkering. Who knows what they’ve done, I don’t feel any different. Dr Sugar says he’s going to escort me to Talos. Apparently he spent his honeymoon there. We dock at 16.30 the day after tomorrow.
There’s been a lot in the papers about you. ‘Have a Go Hero Fights Drug Crime’, that sort of thing. Bet Nanny’s getting her scissors out. Pip and the rest send their love.
I miss you.
Josh
The other letter was no less evocative.
Dear Freddie,
A little bird told me you were in town.
You can find us at 1 Elyria Close, Los. Nice to know you’ve slipped the leash.
Boo X
He might have guessed that past and present would collide, though he wished he could have received more warning. What would Boo make of Josh?
He scrawled, ‘See you on the tenth’, and shoved it in the dispatch box.
“It’s heaven to be back,” Josh said, shovelling into a prawn cocktail.
They were taking a late lunch by the harbour. They’d raised a few eyebrows at the drome, Josh knocking over a group of women with placards. “Alfred!” he exclaimed, leaving Sugar with his luggage. Now the good doctor was boring them stupid about the island’s history.
“The first mechanical man appears in Kyran myth,” he enthused. “Have you heard of Miramis?”
“Kyra’s greatest inventor?” Alfred asked, while Josh said, “Dr Ozols called you a modern day Miramis.”
Sugar blushed. “I wouldn’t presume -”
Alfred suffered from robotics related deafness until a phrase caught his attention. “When the Centre opened -”
“There’s a Centre here?” Josh exclaimed.
Alfred coughed. Sugar drained his wine, beaming. Alfred coughed again. Just when he thought he would have to fake a fatal prawn allergy, Sugar twigged. “Closed ten years ago.”
“Oh.”
Sugar left two hours later. Alfred feared he’d glanced at his watch more than was polite; Josh assured him the doctor had been too enraptured to notice. “Moira’s coming tomorrow. They’re having a second honeymoon.”
“How long have they been married?”
“Thirty years. He says if he’d killed her he’d be out by now.”
They let themselves into the apartment. Alfred found the sofa and lay down. Josh never tired of investigating new places: looking in the fridge, playing with the lights, seeing whether the doors were manual or automatic.
“There’s a veebox!” Josh stood on tiptoe. “On.”
“Must we?”
“Why do you hate it so m
uch?”
“It’s a dull man who can’t make his own entertainment.” As a newsreader twittered in Kyran, “And we haven’t a clue what’s going on.”
“I thought you knew twenty languages.”
“You can forget.”
“Maybe there’s something on the other stations. Plus one,” Josh said. Now they were looking at an old film, Kyrans carousing to a bouncy soundtrack. “What’s happened to the picture?”
“Old films used to be that colour.”
“I wonder what they’re saying.”
It was the sort of comedy that was dated when Alfred was a boy, all winks and innuendo trumpets.
“She’s solving crimes with her dog.”
“She’s in love with her dog.”
“Are people normally that musical when they’re crying?”
“He’s not crying, he’s singing his shopping list.”
“I’ve missed this,” Josh said, slipping beneath his arm.
The conversation on the river lay between them. Josh denied it but Alfred had distinctly heard him mumble, “My number is up,” as he burrowed into his chest. Hours later, the summons to CER.
The artificial snuggled closer till he fell asleep. Alfred couldn’t move without disturbing him and didn’t want to. He wished they weren’t going to Boo’s.
Josh wasn’t supposed to go out for the next few days. This suited Alfred fine. All leads in the case had dried up. The mortality rate hovered at five definite, one unconfirmed.
“It feels wrong,” he said as he paced the veranda. “I know the police would love to shelve it but there’s more to it. Most of these kids had connections.”
“Blackmail?” Josh suggested.
“Could be. Something doesn’t smell right.” He stopped on his fourth lap. “Are you listening?”
Josh tucked his foot behind his ear. “I can multi task.”
“More rugi?”
Since none of Malik’s occupational therapies were working, Ozols had recommended he start a new exercise regime.
“This is a cat. This,” he wriggled on his belly, “is a crocodile.”
“If you say so.”
“You should try it.”
“I’ve my own methods, thanks.” Alfred lit a cigarette and studied the case notes.
“Your lungs must be ebony by now.”
“Don’t you start.”
Josh cycled his legs in the air. “I can understand why they might, though.”
“Who? The kids?”
“You know that test your sister invented?”
“Which one?”
“The one where a machine convinces people it’s human.”
“Pretend I do. It’s quicker.”
“Only three artificials have passed it. I’m one. The thing is, what are they looking for? Is it meant to convince them it’s a clever human, and risk being too much like a machine, or a stupid one? What does it do, throw in spelling mistakes?”
“See what you mean. Though I must speak for everyone who can’t spell.”
“If a comtec can pass for human, doesn’t that mean a human might be mistaken for a comtec?”
“Uh -”
“What do people associate with humans? Emotions. What if these dead kids didn’t have them? They wanted to feel something -”
“And died.”
“They didn’t know they’d die, did they?”
“To some people it’s a rush.”
“You’re weird.”
“Surely you know that by now.”
Alfred only talked when necessary. There was a world of difference between his thoughts and the scrambled jigsaw that came out when he spoke. No wonder he’d been pegged as Gussy’s thick little brother: nice body, shame about the brain.
Josh drew him out of himself, made him want to talk. As they spun out cups of coffee, pored over maps and plotted their tour, they put the world to rights. Josh didn’t mock his opinions. He listened to Josh’s, whether it was founding a new religion, if you should always be honest (Josh thought so, he didn’t), or if souls existed.
He wanted to be marooned forever. But everyone has to go to the mainland eventually.
The tenth dawned with metallic heat. Alfred stuck to basics as they packed. “We’re staying with an old friend.”
They waited for the worst of the heat to pass before setting out. The fly wound past scrubby hills and roadside shrines. Their driver was mute with disapproval. They came out into the old town by evening. Alfred couldn’t blame Boo for settling in this part of the island. While the newer areas were seedy and dated, Old Los was an intricate maze of crooked alleys, markets and minarets.
“I go no further,” the driver said. He dumped their luggage and tore off without the fare.
“Same to you too,” Josh muttered.
“Don’t worry about arseholes like him. Where did I put that map?”
They found it at the bottom of Josh’s holdall and started to climb one of the town’s steeper streets. Sales people popped from every doorway, pressing talismans on Josh. The islanders were great believers in the evil eye. It flapped on shop fronts, adorned jewellery, decorated boats in the harbour.
“It’s like being stared at by a Dave,” Josh said. He smiled politely as he was given another charm. He had precisely the golden looks the spirits envied.
They stopped to watch glass blowers at work. Josh was fascinated by anything accomplished without modern technology. Alfred caught sight of his watch. “We ought to get a move on.”
The bar was on the next turning, a small rustic building dripping with acacias. Boo had made an effort with hanging baskets and water features, but the bar obviously felt the pinch of the recession. They ducked through the doorway into shade. They passed frescoes, the liquid notes of a piano.
The main bar was deserted. A man with a pointed beard dried the same glass for two minutes. “Evening,” he said.
He was tall and tanned with an Arkan accent and ready smile. Boo’s beau? He looked Alfred over, sized up the worn but expensive clothes, the train of baggage. “First time in Talos?”
“Anything but.”
The bartender stopped dead when he glimpsed Josh. Alfred sighed, expecting to be turfed out. “No, no, no!” he chuckled. “As long as they pick up their tab, anyone’s welcome. Not everyone feels the same, mind.”
“I noticed.” Josh was still thinking about the driver. “Funny for a place with the first robot.”
“You’ve the Theists to thank for that. Name your poison, gents.”
A curtain towards the back clacked open. “A customer? One better than yesterday -”
Black hair billowing like hot glass, dress and shawls like butterfly wings. Dark, solemn eyes.
“Hello, Freddie.” So much had changed but the voice remained the same.
“Hello, Boo.”
Alfred had met Boo his first time in Talos. The story started, as did so many in his back catalogue, with Ken. The Robotics Research Centre was opening and they needed a scientist in residence. Gussy had just given birth and couldn’t be spared.
“The weather’s better than this bloody country. Besides -” Ken cackled - “it has other claims to fame.”
“I hope you’re going to behave yourself.”
“No intention, dearest. Though if you must be a bind, come with.”
They were granted the use of a villa in the mountains, a stone’s throw from the Centre. Alfred thought it was charming: blond wood, flagged floors, white washed walls. Ken hadn’t shared this opinion.
“Gods, what a hole.” He paced with his fists clenched.
“I like it.”
“‘World class facilities’ used to mean something. Would they put Suresh in this dump? Shimizu?”
“You’ve a long way to go before you’re either of those.”
“What are they going to name after you? A new strain of clap?”
It was best to stay out of Ken’s way when he was like this. Alfred picked up a guidebook and tried to
interest himself in the contents. Seconds later there was a howl of rage from the bathroom. Ken marched in, holding a lizard by its tail.
“This little fucker was swimming in my shaving mug. Ha bloody ha. Glad you find it funny.”
He left at noon. Alfred swam, dozed, wrote postcards. Free for the first time in months, he could be idle. He grilled lamb and peppers for supper. Ken didn’t show. He waited a few more hours and ate it himself. He wouldn’t worry. He’d probably been held up at the Centre.
The card clicked in the door at three in the morning. He sat up in bed.
“Hell-o, dearest!” Ken stumbled over a foot stool. He’d changed into a sports jacket and tight velvet trousers. Pulling clothes.
Alfred shook his head wearily. “Is that why I’ve let a good dinner go to waste? You getting your end away?”
“Ssh,” he tittered, “we’ve got company.”
A striking young man lingered by the door. He had brilliant eyes and a nervous smile.
“He’s a cop,” Ken whispered. “Do you think he’s brought his nightstick?”
Alfred knew what he had in mind, but he wasn’t in the mood. He pulled on his dressing gown and went into the courtyard. He tried to play solitaire, but the rude deck kept reminding him what was happening indoors. Grizzled lovers fondled youthful beloveds, coaxed out erections. A goat man who needed no help in this department, looking smug.
Half five. They must have finished by now. He let himself in, planned to do what he usually did. Sleep on the couch. Drink enough that when he woke and Ken’s pickup had gone, he could pretend it was a dream.
Only it didn’t work out like that. The stranger put his hand on the small of his back. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”
Ken surfaced from beneath the sheets. “Sorry for any twattishness.”
Before long he was grinding into Ken’s taut white buttocks, driving them further into the toned brown ones of their guest. “What’s his name?”
Ken shrugged. “Boo,” their visitor moaned. “Dan Boolaky.”
Alfred knocked into Ken and Ken into Boo, like a sweaty game of dominoes. Giggly and exhausted, they fell asleep.
Love and Robotics Page 24
