Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  “When you ran off -”

  Josh shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Let me explain -”

  “There’s nothing to explain.”

  “I had a bit to drink -”

  “What a shock!”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “And you were wasting my ice.”

  “We put it back.” He’d meant it as a joke but Josh took it literally. “I thought you liked Boo.”

  “I do. But, you know.”

  “Imagine I don’t.”

  Josh twisted the flower’s head off. “I’ve known you two years. I thought -”

  “I’m a man like the rest.”

  “No. You drink, you snore and you’re impossible, but you’re my human and -”

  He couldn’t go on. Before Alfred knew what was happening, Josh took his face in his hands and kissed him.

  After the first shock, Josh drew him deeper into the kiss, as though he was breathing him in. Alfred couldn’t help it. He kissed back. Hair against skin, skin against fabric, up against the bark of the seat. Josh closed his eyes and put his hand on the back of Alfred’s neck.

  Alfred was ragingly hard. His leg nudged between Josh’s thighs. The artificial whimpered and parted his robe. One of Alfred’s hands slid to his waist. Josh laid his hand over his heart, kissed him again –

  He might have been watching a stranger. A dirty old man clasping a delectable young body, sweating with lust. Nauseated, he let go. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Even if I was interested, there’s no way.”

  “You don’t want me?” He looked so crushed.

  “I’m sorry, Josh.”

  When Alfred looked up he was alone. He’d made it a thousand times worse.

  Josh was on the bed in the guest room, rocking. Stupid, stupid, stupid. His lips still tingled. He could have sworn Alfred was enjoying it. Hands ranging over his waist, down his back. He’d grown excited, was sure Alfred had. Warm and wet, his tongue pushing against his -

  There was too much to do. Bandages to dress, suitcases to pack. Trails Alfred scattered as he’d undressed. Cravat, socks, handkerchiefs. His hat. Josh held it and sniffed, then realised what he was doing and returned it to the stand.

  The drawers. That’d keep him occupied. He retrieved his clothes and folded them, piled them into the case. Now Alfred’s turn. Good grief, had he never heard of a filing system? Perhaps he needed a wife -

  Push back the useless thought. Alfred had gone with Boo even though he liked men, wouldn’t have Josh in spite of. Must be because he wasn’t human. He could like him, pity him, but nothing more.

  A soft knock at the door. “Josh?” Boo glided into the room.

  “Did Alfred send you?” he asked.

  “I’m my own person.”

  He folded his arms. “I’ve nothing to say to you.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not what you think. Alfred and I -”

  His suspicions hit a new low. “You’re not getting married?”

  “You don’t marry a man like that.”

  “Why not? Isn’t he good enough?”

  She turned as though something pained her. “We have a history. I thought we could revive it but -” She shrugged. “That’s what you saw.”

  “Come where I can see you.”

  She moved into the sunbeam, offered him her face. “I read up on you. Test me.”

  He laid his hands on her forehead. There was passion, oceanic sadness and above all, something complicated. He let go.

  “I believe you.” Frowning, he asked, “Why did you read about me?”

  “My mum used to say that if you want to keep a man, you make his interests your interests.”

  “Alfred doesn’t like robots. He only likes me.”

  “I know.” She raised his hand to her lips. “Look after him. Make him happy.”

  They quit Boo’s at midday. It was short staffed - the new boy wasn’t as good as Manny. Josh grew bored and went out to the courtyard to summon a fly.

  It was the same surly driver who’d brought them there. He tried to reverse when he recognised Josh but the artificial planted himself in front of the vix. The driver took the cases and plonked them in the hold, muttering away. Alfred and Boo wandered outside at last.

  “It’s a fortune! I can’t!” she protested.

  “I insist.”

  “I can’t -” She embraced him, eyes moist. He took off his hat and bowed. “Till next time!”

  “Don’t leave it too long, you pest.”

  She stood beneath the eucalyptus, waving. Alfred acknowledged the driver - “Hello, smiler”- and put up the gauze screen.

  “We’ll need a holiday after that.” He unwrapped a sweetbread, passed Josh one. “Did you patch up with Boo?”

  “We talked. I don’t understand. Is it because she isn’t a man?”

  Alfred explained. Josh was shocked, though not as much as a human would have been. Animals could change gender, why mightn’t humans?

  “I thought you only went with people if you love them.”

  “In an ideal world. But - I used to love somebody else, and now -” He grimaced. “Life isn’t clear cut, okay?”

  This was well over Josh’s head, but he decided not to pry. “Where shall we go next?”

  “Your choice, my liege.”

  “Why not you?”

  Alfred rolled his eyes. “You know I can’t make decisions without a globe.”

  “Dr Sugar said something about Arkan -”

  “Good idea. Haven’t been there in years.”

  “Let’s give it a go.”

  They raised their eyebrows as the driver bumped into yet another bollard. He kept swearing, which Alfred translated.

  Sleepy with the scent of lilac and the heat, Josh laid his head on his friend’s shoulder. His feelings remained unrequited. But companionship would do - for now.

  Mayhem on the Mariana

  It was six days into a fortnight long voyage and Alfred was bored. No, that was too mild a word. Profoundly, mind bogglingly - did such a word exist? That’s what he was.

  He didn’t like cruises. Why take a boat, one of the finest structures there was, and cram it with the worst features of the tourist trap? Casinos, night clubs, brothels – well, he didn’t know if there was one, but he wouldn’t be surprised.

  He’d spent the morning as he had every morning on this crate. Josh rose indecently early. The lack of warm artificial was hardly conducive to sleep so he’d get up too. A wash, a near fatal shave from the ship’s robots, time on the treadmill. That done, he’d write Dispatches, or try to. He’d never suffered from block before. He’d always assumed it was an excuse made by lousy writers.

  Still no Josh. While the falseness of the cruise grated on him, his friend loved it. Certainly he’d never seen so many robots outside CER. Waiters picking their pigeon toed way across the food hall, scuttlebots collecting litter. He’d learned not to mind, though he wished more of them had eyes. He didn’t like dealing with somebody whose thoughts he couldn’t read.

  Passing the mirror, he frowned. Was he growing soft around the middle? No point living the high life if it gave you a fat arse. He put the order in the comtec: ‘ One hour’s squash.’ It came back in an instant: ‘Gym 74, 12:50 - 13:50.”

  An hour away. What would he do till then? Nanny had sent plans for the new water gardens - should he have a look? Give Derkins a call? For the first time in his life he’d been putting it off. He would immediately ask after Josh –

  The night after the kiss, Josh had gone into the smaller cabin and started to unpack. “Hey, what’s this?” Alfred asked.

  “I thought it’d be better.”

  What could he say? “I can’t sleep without you?” While the truth, it would give him the wrong idea - the right one - oh, it was hopeless!

  “If you’d honour me with your company -”

  Josh hurried his cases through to the other room.


  Sometimes Alfred wished he wasn’t burdened with a conscience. One night when they’d both had too much to drink, he could just do it to him. But Josh would never settle for that. He’d gleaned his ideas from silly books; to him it must be all or nothing. To be honest, it was all or nothing for him too.

  At first his squash game was like any other session. He bowed to his opponent. They warmed up with a few passes, sidled into a game. They’d reached a draw, Alfred stopping for a drink, when the robot creased up and slid into the wall.

  “What the -”

  Now he listened, hadn’t the sound been sucked out of the atmosphere? Life on the Mariana was a montage of noise: syrupy music, the bounce of tennis balls, the ratchet and crank of rides. The silence spread and quivered, then hubbub broke out. He poked the robot with his racquet. The head flopped but there were no signs of life. He put a towel around his shoulders and ventured onto the landing.

  One of the Mariana’s “innovations”- or so the brochure gushed - was its “tranquil transparency”. Simply phrased, it meant the indoors was see through. Bedrooms, bathrooms and gyms were shielded to spare people’s blushes, but the rest was gloriously visible. He could see several hundred clusters of people, squabbling and hitting the alarms. The biggest was on the floor directly below. He took the lift and waded into the centre.

  Alfred didn’t think he was a snob. But the people hemming him in, swarming, jostling, weren’t his kind of people. He resisted the temptation to swat them with his racquet. “What’s going on?”

  They looked at him with contempt. He put on his vaguest look, what Gwyn called his Stupid Camouflage, and nudged through. It was one of the perks of being taller than most of the population. You had automatic elbowing rights. Still they chuntered - “Gimmee my money,” “Thinks he’s all that”, probably a “Rhubarb, rhubarb” for good measure.

  He found himself in a room draped with livid satin. A man sat hunched in the corner, shaking and mumbling. He’d have thought he’d found the brothel’s owner if pimps weren’t flasher. He had a faded wing of hair over each ear, a tacky suit and jaundiced tan.

  “Is everything alright?” Alfred asked.

  A bloodhound staring into hell would have looked cheerier. “I’m ruined!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They’re out there, you know. Baying for blood. How am I s’posed to tell them the bots are on strike?”

  Alfred froze mid ‘there, there’. “On strike?”

  “See for yourself!”

  What he’d mistaken for bulges in the fabric were a dozen robots. They were what you’d call old school, though he doubted the early models had looked this shabby. Big blundering ones, cunning little ones. Remembering Josh’s tips for speaking to low ranking robots, he got down to their level. “Uh, gentlemen?”

  One twitched a mace of a tail. “I’m a lady, if you don’t mind.”

  “No offence meant, madam. Why aren’t you doing what you’re supposed to? You’re putting your handler in a tight spot.”

  The biggest robot shrugged. “Better than fighting for scummy humans.”

  Alfred turned to the man. “Is this true?”

  “It’s giving ‘em what they want!” he whined.

  “Listen, human.” Another robot, a cross between a scorpion and a tooth puller, lurched over. “We fight three times a day until we break down or fall apart. We don’t get oiled, don’t have holidays, the aftercare is shocking -”

  “And there’s no pay,” the female cut in.

  The others thought this was going too far.

  “Ssh, Olympia!”

  “Don’t want to set ‘em against us!”

  “A robot getting paid? The idea!”

  Alfred eased up from his crouch. “Have you considered their requests?”

  “I’d be a laughing stock!”

  He was bored with the pimp. “Oh, woman up.” He saluted the robots. “I’m in room eighty five if you fancy a chat.”

  The scorpion rolled its eyes. Olympia touched him with her feelers.

  The mob was still simmering when he stepped outside. “Where’s Luigi?” a woman screeched. “Who’re you?”

  “His voice coach. He’s all yours.” He hurried away.

  His opponent shutting down, riots breaking out. Alfred didn’t believe in coincidences. Not on this big a scale.

  He was bored and lonely. Unless he was mistaken, the cure would be on the deck round about now.

  Josh had become a sun worshipper over the past few days. For a sizable chunk of the day - thirteen to sixteen, an optimistic burst between eighteen and twenty - he’d be in his favourite spot by the helm, bum in the sun.

  Sure enough, there he was. Lying on his stomach, rubbing ice cubes into his back. He grinned up at Alfred. “Hello, you.”

  “Hello yourself. Good book?”

  “It’s about Clockwork City. Borrow it if you like.”

  “I’ll let you finish it.” He settled on the couch Josh had reserved for him.

  “Nice day?”

  “So-so. A bit odd.”

  “Oh? Look at this! A garden with all the seasons. You should get one.”

  “I like the year as it is, thanks.”

  Alfred couldn’t get comfortable. He tried his front but there was a ridge on the couch, lay on his back and his shoulder twinged. He looked for something to do with his hands but his tobacco was upstairs. A robot would come by with a paper any minute –

  Ah. Would they? “This deck’s very quiet,” he said.

  “It’s the middle of the day. Everyone’s napping or having lunch.”

  “Even the robots?”

  Josh didn’t deny it. “I was trying to help -”

  “There’s a grown man sobbing because his robots won’t fight.”

  “Should think so too! Treating us like a freak show.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “It hurts if somebody wallops me. Besides, it’s not about pain. It’s a question of dignity.”

  Sprawling in wispy trunks and flip flops, Josh looked anything but dignified, but it was best not to say so. “How many robots are there on this ship?”

  “Ernest down the hall -”

  “Thought he was just anti social.”

  “He’s a memo.” As Alfred shrugged, “A memory machine. Companies send him to spy on their rivals.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “They’ll wipe him. Which is legal, though it shouldn’t be. Other than me, Ernest and Trini, there’s a thousand functionals.”

  “You’ve got to all of them?”

  “I have a lot of spare time.”

  Alfred sighed. “I see what you’re trying to do, but it’s not the right way. You’ll only piss people off.”

  “But it’s a time honoured strategy! In times of siege they starve the populace out - not that I’ll do that,” Josh added hastily.

  “How long have you planned for?”

  A modest shrug. “Two days?”

  “They’re not going to like it.”

  “Isn’t that the point of a strike?”

  Watching Josh emerge from his chrysalis was wonderful. Alfred had assumed his friend had come into his own; now he saw how far he still had to go.

  He critiqued Josh’s speeches, watched him rehearse. They hit upon a way of sending messages without getting caught: they’d record them on the spurgle, sneak it into the dumbwaiter and dispatch it at various drop off points.

  The robots visited after hours. They hadn’t been pleased to see Alfred. “He’s a human,” a waiter objected. “He’ll spill the cogs.”

  Mutters, mutiny in the air. “I’ll go if you want,” Alfred offered.

  “No,” Josh hissed. Standing on the bed, he declared, “Alfred’s on our side, he’s my human. If you don’t want him, you don’t want me. Anyone who thinks differently can shut up.”

  Only two robots didn’t fall under his sway - the two non functionals, funnily enough. The more he tried to get Ernest and Trini to see
they could be their own masters, the more they balked.

  Ernest wiped his glasses and clicked his tongue. “No, no, no.” He sounded like a hornet trapped in a biscuit tin. “I’m too valuable.”

  “That’s why you should be your own person.”

  “Listen -” slowly, pedantically - “it doesn’t matter what you do. You can be blond and pouty -”

  Josh drew in his breath. Alfred touched his foot in warning.

  “- and you’ll be fine, but these functionals and I, we have to perform or get shut down. The only future this lot’ll have is the squelcher.” He adjusted his tie and left.

  So it didn’t come as a shock when, returning from a stroll, Alfred found Trini sitting at their bar. She’d passed up the cocktails and gone for the dirty, pulpy ice, drinking it with every appearance of enjoyment.

  He’d only seen her from a distance. Sideways on she was sensational: lustrous mauve hair, violet eyes, a pornographic mouth. Close to you noticed flaws. Her breasts were too large for her skinny frame, making her walk off kilter. She stuttered and started, eyes never blinking. Thinking wasn’t her strong point. She’d go on and on whether you were listening or not, the most tenuous link between one statement and the next. You’d ask what the time was and she responded, “I watch goldfish!” She tried to suck up the ice long after the glass was empty.

  Josh took it away and turned to Alfred. “Another perspective?”

  “If you think it’ll help.” There wasn’t anywhere to sit. He wondered how she would get down from her stool.

  “Hello.” Each word sounded as though it’d had a bite taken out of it. “Are you Josh’s master?”

  “Just a friend. Are you happy with your life, Trini?”

  Big brainless eyes scrambled. “It’s super! Master Timothy gives me whatever I want -”

  “Like what?”

  “His heart. His soul.”

  Josh asked before he could: “Do you know what a heart and soul are?”

  “I know they’re important. And he gives me lots and lots of sex.”

  Alfred felt ill. “If you could choose a different life, what would it be?”

  “I love my life. I love Master Timothy.”

  Josh made an exasperated noise. “This is all she’s said for the past hour. I don’t think we can count on her.”