Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  Not this. Not with Josh listening. He was irked by how she spoke as though the artificial had no ears to hear, that he had no more standing than a shelf. For all her kindness, that was how she would always see him.

  “Boo, I’m touched, but -” He could only manage a vague shrug.

  Pain flared in her eyes. “It’s okay. I understand. Goodnight.”

  ***

  If Boo had been anyone else she would have chucked him out. But she valued friendship more than love, and certainly more than hurt feelings. She said he could stay for as long as he liked and to put yesterday’s talk out of his mind.

  He didn’t need to. The days following that followed had enough incident to last a lifetime.

  The peculiar events began when Manny asked Josh to go to the beach with him. The artificial had noticed a mutual wariness between Alfred and the bartender and not known what to make of it. It hadn’t been helped by a warning from Boo.

  “I like Manny but he’s a window shopper. If he comes on too strong, kick him in the nuts.”

  “That’s against the Code,” Josh protested.

  “I’m sure the Code can turn a blind eye. His trousers don’t seem to’ve realised you’re an artie.”

  He frowned but Boo was very old fashioned. Like many people over a certain age her idea of a robot was a tin can. “Be careful,” she finished.

  He wondered about his host. She and Alfred had this great friendship going back years but he’d never mentioned her before they arrived in Los. When Josh tried asking simple questions, like how she and Alfred met, or why she thought they had been friends for so long, she grew flustered and changed the subject.

  There were only two pictures of Alfred in the house. One was a faded postcard, like you might get free in a magazine, and one showed him with a young man in uniform. The man had the same expressive eyes and sunny smile as Boo. Alfred looked ridiculously young, his hand on his friend’s shoulder. When Josh asked Boo who the man in the picture was, she remembered she had left the oven on.

  So when Manny asked him to come swimming, Josh agreed. Living on top of each other the way they did, they should dispel any awkwardness. At first it went well. They strolled along the harbour wall, eating ice creams and chatting. Manny had hopes that his band would get a record deal, though Josh privately thought it unlikely.

  “Let’s go for a dip,” Manny said.

  The beach was crowded for that time of day, with tourists sprawling on mats and hawkers touting goods. As there weren’t any huts they undressed in the open air. Josh put on a pair of black trunks without a trace of self consciousness. Half the women on the beach turned his way.

  Once Manny had pulled on his trunks, Josh wondered how he could breathe. They were so slick and tight they might have been painted on. When the bartender executed a twirl in the sand he realised he was supposed to admire him. He didn’t know what to say. He supposed Manny was attractive, with his broad shoulders and well defined torso; he obviously looked after himself. But it didn’t make any more sense than a tree asking him.

  “Nice,” he said.

  Manny grinned like a jackal. “Let’s go in.”

  As they wandered towards the water, Manny slung an arm around his waist. Josh shook himself loose.

  “What’s wrong?”

  It felt alien having a hand there. He wasn’t sure he liked it. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Manny began a fast crawl through the water. Josh floated on his back, watched the clouds and the boats drift past. The stresses of the last few days flowed out of him.

  Manny was soon back. Sleek dark hair trailed behind him; he gleamed with sweat and salt. “What are you thinking about?”

  Josh was tempted to tell him to mind his own business. “I don’t swim very often. It makes a nice change.”

  He used the word ‘nice’ too much. It was a nothing word, papering over what you wanted to say.

  “We could come here regularly if you like.”

  “Alfred doesn’t like swimming.”

  Manny jerked out of his float. “Why the fuck are we talking about Alfred?”

  “Nothing - I was saying - ”

  Manny’s smile had been stripped clean. Without it his face was lopsided and ugly. “I’m sick of you going on about Alfred and how fantastic you think he is. It’s boring.”

  “He is fantastic,” Josh said hotly, “and more interesting than you could ever be.”

  “The guy’s nuts. He’s woken me up three nights in a row screaming.”

  “If I sleep with him and don’t mind, neither should you.”

  Manny’s face contorted in disgust.“What are you doing? He’s ancient! When the band makes it big – ”

  “Manny, nobody’s going to sign Voices in My Head. If everyone on the planet died, you’d still be the worst guitarist. I’m sorry.”

  He front crawled to the shore. Manny roared at him to apologise but he’d meant it. He went back the long way, only relaxing when he knew he wasn’t being followed.

  He walked through the bar and out into the garden. Alfred sat on the swing seat, scouring a map of Talos.

  “Another victim?” Josh asked.

  “Uh - huh.” His face was grave. “We’ve got to stop whoever’s doing this.” He folded up the map so Josh could sit down. “Are you alright?”

  “You were right about Manny. He’s a – ” No word presented itself.

  “Slimy dick?”

  “Yes, that sounds about right.”

  A few days later Josh had to get out for the day. He wasn’t fussy about where he went, merely that he did. Alfred was practically living at the station, only coming back to sleep. Boo had gone to the Licensee’s Fair. This meant he was alone in the house with Manny, something he didn’t want to be.

  Since Manny had let his mask slip, Josh had a horror of being near him. He put on his old act when anyone else was around but it seemed insultingly thin: too many winks, too many vacuous smiles. He wondered how he had been taken in. Maybe he was wearing out. Maybe he had a bug. Whatever the reason, nobody could know.

  Manny seemed to think intimidation would work: rude stares, bristling silences. He didn’t touch him again, but one time he trapped him in the pantry and wouldn’t let him pass.

  “I know I can make you happy. Old guy like him probably can’t do it –”

  “Let me out before I knock you down,” Josh cried.

  “Prick tease.” But he’d been shamed into moving aside.

  Josh thought he’d take a boat to Cadmus. It was a tiny island two hours away; he’d heard it was good for walking and views. He packed sketching materials and planned to make a day of it.

  He enjoyed the boat ride. He chatted with the passengers, ran up to the deck and felt the tart air on his face. They passed rock formations like cathedrals, a nudist beach, a family of turtles. At one point they stopped to take a dip. He unwound in the warm turquoise water, astonished he could see the sea floor.

  After this, Cadmus was a disappointment. Whoever had hymned its beauty must have been talking about somewhere else. They landed at a shabby jetty and followed it onto coarse rock. The settlement hadn’t come about naturally but sprouted upwards like a cancerous growth. The buildings had a faceless, homogenous quality, blinding white unalleviated by shadow.

  None of the humans shared his misgivings. They immediately started taking pictures. Everything seemed to have been built at an angle, with murderously smooth steps and no handrails. Since the passages and alleyways were so narrow, vehicles were barred; the only mode of transport allowed were donkeys. Josh had no very high opinion of them. Trapped behind one as it sprayed the street with manure, it plummeted further.

  The views were as breathtaking as promised, but he couldn’t enjoy them. Black whips of graffiti cropped up everywhere - the poverty of the area caused many to embrace extreme politics. If that wasn’t unsettling enough, a notice proclaimed that ‘robotic life forms’ were prohibited. Anyone found in violation of this law would be fined and
their ‘property’ confiscated.

  Josh felt his knees buckle. What if somebody from the boat saw it? He had never been so conscious of his difference. Looking at the tourists he could see they were beginning to redden and peel. They were damp around the arms and neck, giving off a musky scent. He was pale and pristine, untroubled by flies.

  He saw a queue forming nearby. Pretending to fan himself with his hat, he joined it. They were going to look at a church. He’d never understood the mania for them - when you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all - but it served as camouflage. After what seemed an age they shuffled inside. He suffered from the inevitable sense of anticlimax: musty interior, poxy sculptures. Its saving grace was the stained glass window, showing a hairy monster devouring people. He spun it out for as long as he could but sensed the others growing impatient. He wandered outside, tried to stretch –

  He needed ice. Now. He reached for his water bottle, hoping to stave off his symptoms. It was empty. Something ground to a halt inside him. He couldn’t speak, could barely move. He tried to find something to prop himself up against. Arm wrapped around a bollard, his eye fell on the alley opposite.

  A man was walking down the street. Olive skinned, a beard, hair slicked back - Manny. What was he doing in Cadmus when he was supposed to be minding the bar? Like some trick of the light, a door appeared in the side of a wall. Somebody shook hands with him and it swallowed him up.

  Josh tried to stand. Better. He could hear voices and glasses clinking down the street; he’d try there. Where you had drinks, you had ice.

  When he first stepped into the bar it made no impression. High rafters, the menu chalked on blackboards, trestle tables. On second glance he saw the owners had made it a home from home for Lilans. All the beers were Lilan, exorbitantly priced; they sold nuts and pig trotters. The twangy guitar and poor diction could only belong to a Lilan artist.

  He ordered a lemon and lime with ice. When he took his glass to an unoccupied table, it had a murky lipstick shadow. Making sure no one was watching, he put one ice cube down his shirt, followed by another. They slid down his scorching skin, cooled him.

  He noticed a number of things, all at once. Everybody in the bar had a greasy, unpleasant look. Fat or thin, young or old, they had piggy eyes and coarse faces without a shred of sensitivity. Hanging over the bar was the symbol he’d seen across the island, two black whips like lightning bolts. Everybody was staring at him, their eyes shining with hate. The bartender lumbered towards him. “Think you’d better go.”

  Spit hissed through the air and landed on Josh’s hand. Somehow he reached the door.

  The heat was visceral. The tracks left by the ice evaporated, his throat chafed. A fierce humming sounded in his ears. He could feel his faculties failing one by one. If this is death, he found himself thinking, it doesn’t hurt.

  He wondered why Manny was in Cadmus. He thought about Boo, so nice but so hard to pin down. And Alfred, always Alfred. Looking at him in affection, in exasperation, in that thing he almost had a name for.

  ***

  Alfred and Boo had run into one another in the marketplace. They walked back to the bar together.

  Manny was sitting at the piano, hands slithering up and down the keys. He claimed to have been inside all day but looked like a freshly varnished coffee table. If he wanted to bunk off it was his business.

  Boo showed off her purchases. A spice rack, a barrel of strawberry beer, a painting. It showed a woman standing at the edge of a cliff, breathing in the sea. She and Alfred bickered about it.

  “Doesn’t it make you feel uplifted?” she asked.

  “She certainly looks like she’s about to take off.”

  “You’re a barbarian! Manny, what do you think?”

  Before Manny could perjure himself the doorbell jangled. “Funny,” Boo said, “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  She came back a few minutes later, accompanied by a stout, motherly lady in her sixties. Alfred had never seen her before but had no trouble placing the owlish, wild haired man with her.

  “Dr Sugar?” Then, “Good god, Josh! I thought he was upstairs!”

  Josh looked dreadful. His skin, so reliably rosy, was off grey; he seemed sapped of strength. Alfred steered him into the nearest chair. “Where did you find him?”

  Sugar was too distracted to speak. The lady took charge. “I’m Moira, this one’s better half. We’d never been to Cadmus so thought we’d take a look -”

  “What an armpit,” Sugar interjected.

  “Anyhow, we were going to leave, but Noah wanted one for the road. We stuck our heads into the nearest bar. Hellish, full of loonies. We gave it up as a bad ‘un and set off down the street - ”

  You could tell they were a old married couple. The glances, the tangible connection. This wasn’t a love that had cooled with time.

  “And there he was.” Sugar picked up where she had left off. “Mo thought he was one of those druggie kids, but he recognised me.” He drew himself up to his full height. “I take a very dim view of this, Langton. If I’d known -”

  “I’m as shocked as you are. We thought he was helping behind the bar.”

  “The most advanced artificial in existence is waiting tables like a spiv?”

  “Hang on!” Manny protested. Though he did look spivvy with his oiled hair and a cigarette behind his ear.

  “There’s clearly been all sorts going on. When we go home, Josh goes with us. His lordship couldn’t look after a fart in a jam jar!”

  Alfred felt desperate. Realising it would be for the last time, he took Josh’s hand. He would know it in the dark. As he let go he realised something. The hand was warm, as though someone had breathed upon it. Colour flooded into the wan skin. How could this be happening?

  Sugar was in the middle of the room, looking daggers. Manny tinkled at the piano. The women stood together in mute sympathy.

  “No,” Sugar said, “this ends now. No more gallivanting, shutting your eyes while you canoodle with floozies -”

  “You’re overstepping the mark, doctor,” Alfred snapped.

  “I’m flattered,” Boo said.

  Moira touched her husband’s arm. “We’ve taken up enough of Lord Langton’s time. What did you say your name was, dear?”

  “Boo.”

  “Boo wants to open up. Come along.” A tug at Sugar’s elbow.

  “I don’t want to go.”

  The words could only have come from Josh. Sugar glanced at Alfred as though he suspected him of ventriloquism.

  “Alfred didn’t do anything wrong. I went off because I was -” he avoided looking at Manny - “bored. I didn’t know Cadmus would be horrible. If you blame anyone, blame me.”

  Sugar gaped. Boo looked as though a cat had started to talk. Manny was downright bitter. Moira broke the silence.

  “Sounds good to me. Let them be, snuki.”

  Doting spouse that he was, Sugar had no choice but to give way.

  Josh was shattered by the experience, taking a few days to recover. Alfred told Archos there had been a family crisis.

  They’d sit in the bar or the garden, talking and laughing. Out in the garden they people watched. One man, a silver fox with a procession of younger girlfriends, gave them hours of amusement. Alfred invented outrageous lies for him while Josh snorted lemonade up his nose. They were sure another man was a spy. He was handsome but forgettable, as though he inked himself out. When the ageing heart throb glared back, they took refuge in books.

  Sugar hadn’t exaggerated. Alfred was hardly literary, but at least the books he liked were readable. Josh liked fantasy and romance in a saccharine gloop. Sometimes there were robots, sometimes there weren’t.

  “Not another fucking dragon!”

  “I thought you liked them.”

  “Not big pink ones with sob stories. They should be toasting towns or eating princesses.”

  “They’re rehabilitated.”

  The third afternoon they were playing cards on the terrace. Since
Josh mastered games so quickly, they introduced variations. This one had its origins in a game called Shithead. You attached complex rules to each card, making it impossible to remember.

  Josh laid down a three with an apologetic expression. Alfred raised his eyes to heaven and picked up all the cards used so far. Nothing in his hand was any good. “What’ve you got?” Josh asked.

  “Telling you defeats the object.”

  The artificial cast his memory back. “Two of spades, ten of clubs, a Jack -”

  The garden gate slammed. It was Captain Archos, bug eyed and sweating. “Langton. Got to go down the baths.”

  “Can’t somebody else -”

  “I know you’re playing happy families -” Josh returned the copper’s scornful look - “but there are real people in this town with real problems.”

  “Take your beebo.” Josh pressed it into Alfred’s hands. He never remembered it otherwise.

  The Los baths were springs, rumoured to have healing properties. They were one of the region’s beauty spots with their scented bushes and elegant marble. That day the most appropriate description would have been ‘blood bath’. The piping hot waters ran crimson.

  A man in a bathrobe bent over a supine figure. “Can we help you?”Alfred asked. The man looked up. Archos retched into the grass.

  Their target was pale, clammy and staring. His pallor only drew attention to the gore smeared across his mouth. He had gnawed away half his victim’s face.

  Alfred moved carefully. He’d seen the symbol on the man’s hand and taken a few seconds to identify it: greed. He unpinned his police badge and put the needle to the moodfreak’s ear.

  “Have you gone crazy?” Archos demanded.

  “Trust me.”

  A drop of blood slid down the man’s ear lobe. He drew away from the victim and tore at his clothes. He didn’t notice when Archos snapped cuffs onto his wrists.

  “Owe you a beer, Langton,” the cop grunted.

  “Any time.”

  A medivan arrived to take the body. Alfred waited for Archos to make his statement to the press and tried to slip away.