“Maybe you should tone it down,” Alfred said.
“I’m Aubrey Higginbottom,” Derkins drawled. The only accent Derkins could assume with any conviction was his own. So they’d have an eccentric Arkan billionaire with a Fells accent you could cut cheese with.
Alfred drew his chair nearer to where ‘Aubrey’ strutted. “We need to get you word perfect.”
“Fire away, boss.”
“Don’t call me boss! Act like everyone’s your minion.”
“Okay, b - Alfie.”
“Better. When did you decide to donate your body to technology?”
“I have a wealth of knowledge and experience that shouldn’t die with me,” Derkins intoned. “Why should you be hindered by something as feeble as a body?”
“There’s a risk it might go wrong. How do you feel about that?”
“I’ll be satisfied I’ve aided Progress.”
Alfred quizzed him for another hour, filling in items of autobiography, his politics and stance on the Robot Question. They ditched the moustache as it looked like a horrible hairy growth. He clapped Derkins on the shoulder.
“Marvellous. You can see him on Wednesday.”
Getting hold of Nick was no easy feat. Alfred dusted off his Arkan accent and tried all the numbers associated with the Father of the New Order. They were disused, he was referred to somebody else, that somebody else was powerless to assist. By the time he spoke to the tenth breezy voiced robot, he could recite the script with her.
“Don’t take this personally,” he said. “All I want is to talk to Nick Cole, His Worthiness etc. I hope you’re recording this, because I’d like him to know -”
A gurgling noise on the other end. A human voice came on the line. “Whatever you want to say, make it worth it.”
Alfred was so stunned he nearly forgot his accent. “Am I speaking to Nick Cole?”
“It is he.”
“My name is Magnus Sharpe. My employer has a proposition for you.”
He outlined Aubrey’s fake biography. It was impossible to tell if Cole was convinced.
“Your program has made such an impression,” he wound up. “Even if you can’t help him, he’d be thrilled to meet you.”
He heard what sounded like a purr. Hadn’t Cora stressed the man’s vanity? “It’s a pleasure to meet a pioneer. I can be found at the Tripitaka at these times ...”
***
The Tripitaka was a hotel of eye watering exclusivity in the heart of the capital. There were no dim corners, no shadows or clutter.
“Which one is he?” Derkins hissed. He felt so conspicuous, waiting for Nick with his fake portfolio.
Alfred had taken a room above the lobby. He’d bored a hole in the floor, through which a tiny robotic eye hovered. He communicated with Derkins via a bug in his ear.
“You’ll know him when you see him. He looks even more soulless than your average Arkan. Ah! There he is!”
Derkins shuffled over to a youngish man watching veebox. He changed the stations at dizzying speed, face a mask of bland boredom. A long lock of colourless hair fell into his eyes.
“Mr Cole?”
The man inclined his head. Derkins saw what Alfred meant. It was as though he had received only the sketchiest manual for impersonating a human being. His left eye kept twitching. You struggled not to twitch in sympathy. “Mr Higginbottom?”
“Pleased to meet you!” Derkins stuck out his hand. Nick looked at it until he withdrew in embarrassment.
“I don’t discuss business in the open. Could we go somewhere private?”
“Uh, sure!”
“There’s a discreet function area down this corridor. I’ve booked it for the hour.”
Derkins limped down the slippery floor, reminding himself the bad leg was the left one. A securibot stood sentry outside the door.
“I know it’s a bore,” Nick said, “but I ask all my guests to undergo a security clearance.”
Derkins glanced helplessly at the robotic eye in the ceiling. At the same time the securibot emitted a beam of fluorescent light. It made a noise like a child jeering, “Telling on you,” and inserted a drill-like claw in his ear.
He couldn’t decide what was more frightening: the featureless white machine or its master. All he could hear was the blood roaring in his ears.
The noise stopped. The robot dropped the bug into his hand and shook a claw at him. Derkins could have fainted with relief.
“That wasn’t very polite,” Nick said. “But at least you mean business.”
When Alfred learned their rendezvous was at the Tripitaka, he wasted no time learning everything he could. He got hold of a blueprint, plotted for a dozen scenarios. He reasoned they would meet on neutral ground but go elsewhere for the interview. The bar was out; someone as guarded as Nick wouldn’t take a stranger to their room. He would want somewhere with minimal risk of being overheard. The farthest function room would serve admirably.
He held his breath as Nick’s securibot did its scan, knowing the bug would be detected. His enemy was unpredictable, but he’d hardly murder in broad daylight. The most dangerous moment was when they went through into the function room. If Nick had been suspicious, he would have acted. Alfred counted, praying to the goddess he only half believed in.
They passed through the blind spot to sit beside the room’s talking point, an artistically lit fish tank. Like many high class establishments, the Tripitaka hadn’t housed live fish for decades. They only used the latest model of robotic catfish, which suited Alfred’s purposes just fine.
He’d booked in under a pseudonym, saying he had no wish to be disturbed. While Derkins fretted at his hotel, he’d set about making all the conversions that would change it from the cheapest room to an eyrie. Since he would be working late into the night, he ordered poached eggs and a flask of black coffee.
This was when he’d had his stroke of luck. While Lilans clung to the idea that human hospitality was superior, Arkan prided itself on its service robots. When he answered the door a youth with glossy dark curls and olive skin was waiting.
“Your meal, sir?”
Alfred took the plate of golden yolks and steaming coffee. “This looks terrific!”
Such artistry deserved a tip. As he pulled out a crisp note, the robot remarked, “That’s a wonderful surveillance system, sir.”
Alfred didn’t know what to do. Treacherous thoughts reminded him there was a spanner in his kit bag, all he had to do was knock him out. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“You’re going to have to come inside.” He couldn’t have felt worse if he had offered a dog a steak only to put it to sleep.
The robot showed no surprise. “As you wish.” He watched Alfred slide the door to. “Should I shut myself down? It’d save you the trouble.”
“No!” Alfred blurted. “Don’t do that.”
The robot blinked. “I don’t follow you.”
It was this colloquialism, rather than the universal “I don’t understand,” that made Alfred take a chance.
“You see, I have this friend ...”
The robot listened gravely, making no comment. As Alfred wound up he said, “The man is a menace. He must be stopped.”
“I like you. What’s your name?”
“Esteban at your service, sir.”
Esteban let Alfred in on the Tripitaka’s secrets. He granted him access to the utility closets, chipped one of the catfish and reorganised the rota so he would be concierge that afternoon. He even helped with a test run while the rest of the hotel was sleeping.
“Why are you doing this?” Alfred asked as they shared a stack of toast at four in the morning.
“This Cole, he claims to bring humans and robots together, but it’s all lies. Change should be from inside out, not outside in.”
“I’ll be damned. Two revolutionary arties.”
Esteban smiled. “Enough to start a movement.”
Alfred watched proceedings in the function room from his
crow’s nest. Esteban kept going to check on the securibot, but its rigid programming meant it wouldn’t countenance leaving its post. He finally managed it by offering it a jug of Formula 40. Witnessing this, Alfred thought he should give the robot a job when this was over. He was too good to be a concierge.
Nick was poring over the portfolio of assets. Alfred had gone to considerable lengths to make it convincing; he saw the greed in the pale eyes. If he wanted to check his facts, Pip had spent the past few days knocking up a profile on the Storm. She had entered the conspiracy on the condition she didn’t tell Gwyn.
Poor Derkins was visibly sweating. Alfred hoped he wouldn’t mop his forehead and wipe off Aubrey’s face.
“You’re quite the polymath, Mr Higginbottom. Would tomorrow suit you?”
“Tomorrow?” Derkins echoed. “Yes, if you think it best -”
“Payment will be upfront, naturally.” Nick rose from his chair and unlocked the doors. “Mace? Where’s that piece of scrap got to?”
The securibot finished its conversation - filling a sympathetic Esteban in with Nick’s eccentricities - and spun over. It chirped innocently.
“You were careless, Mace. Don’t disappoint me again.”
Derkins was aghast at the sum but knew it would be recovered. He input the details, fingers shaking. “This has been a very interesting afternoon,” he wheezed.
Nick eyed his watch. “I booked this room for the hour. Till the Celph tomorrow.” No handshake, no smile. What was the matter with him?
A drained Derkins forced himself up to room 14. Alfred was waiting with whisky on the rocks. “You’re a prince amongst men, Michael.”
“I feel like I’ve aged twenty years.” The ice tinkled against the glass. “What happens now?”
“The hard part’s over. All we have to do is turn up.”
“Are we the maddest dufflepuds since time began, Alfie?”
“That’s doubt talking. Another glass should fix that.”
The message went across the world by means unknown. ‘The most important announcement in history will be made at fourteen hours at the Celph tomorrow.’
It seared on screens, beebos, the Storm. It programmed every robot so they could say nothing else. Robot owners in every country took their property to be fixed. Fisk muted all the machines at CER, her brow troubled. Cora reeled and had to be caught by Josh.
“What is it?” he asked, after assuring everyone at the roller rink there was nothing to see.
Cora pulled him into a booth. “Don’t you see? It’s him. Only he could hack into everything like that.”
He held her hand, feeling helpless. “I wish Alfred was here.”
Cora had only received one message from her co-conspirator: “Got him.” So why was Nick at liberty to broadcast to the world? Something didn’t smell right.
The Celph was the largest, most advanced stadium in Astaria. Shaped like a mushroom, visible from space, it was a natural choice for the most important announcement in history.
The crowds started turning up at twelve, their only ticket a command on their beebos: ‘Be there.’ Every news network cleared its schedule and sent a representative. Millions of employees truanted from work. For those who were unable to attend in person, screens were erected in parks and squares throughout the country. This was mimicked all over the world.
Derkins watched Nick transform himself into his public persona: intense, radiating wisdom. It seemed palpably dishonest, but what did he know? He bit his nails in the wings, worrying about Alfred. He’d insisted on showing up.
“You’re barmy. He’ll recognise you!”
“Not if I hide amongst the journos. I’ll be pretty next to most of them.” He had a point. Derkins had never seen so many bullet wounds and robotic limbs in his life.
As time passed the throng grew restless. They speculated in discontented murmurs, tossed wrappers, shifted in their seats. Derkins thought Nick was milking it. No one would wait two hours for a date, no matter whom –
The giant readout clicked to fourteen. Nick strode onto the stage, dressed in turquoise robes. He made the two horned hand gesture that was the symbol of the movement. “Good afternoon, friends. I have vital news.”
The faithful swayed. The media watched in detached amusement. What was going on?
“ I am Nick Cole, CEO of Capricorn Industries. For years it has been my dream to combine human and robotic life. That day has come. I’d like you to meet a rare, brave man: Sir Aubrey Higginbottom!”
Derkins forced his wobbly legs into the spotlight. Without his glasses the crowd was a many headed blur. Nick clasped his hand and raised it into the air.
(Gwyn sprayed coffee over the kitchen table. “Isn’t that Derkins?” Nanny dropped her knitting. “Alfie, what are you up to?”)
He blinked and wetted his lips. Nick came alive talking about science, you’d almost think he was normal. This extraordinary spirit was going to submit himself as a test subject, become both machine and man. He would -
A screen behind them lit up. A face appeared, prompting gasps of shock and disgust. It was a middle aged woman close to death, telling her story. A voice off screen questioned her gently. (Gwyn stepped on Puss’s tail when she heard that voice). It was intercut with new discoveries: limbs growing toxic, remains flung into pits, organs burned. The followers shrieked, betrayed. The journos leapt down from their stands.
“Get him!”
As the masses swarmed the stage, Derkins heard a voice in his ear. “Mission accomplished. Let’s make a run for it.”
The tide parted. Nick caught sight of Alfred. Derkins had never seen such loathing on a human face.
“If he gets out, you’re dead,” he said as they waded towards the exit.
“What’s new?”
Humans weren’t the only audience that day. Clockwork City had organised viewings; Cora paid extra to have a screen set up at her poolside.
Glen was there, knocking back spirits. He’d come on the condition Sam wouldn’t be there. Kiki and Brad spoke baby talk to each other. Finn told anyone who would listen about his screenplay. “Then they point a gun at the bad guy’s head and the screen runs with goo. He’s got another head underneath it. It’s a twist, you see.”
Josh forced a smile, but it was Cora he was thinking about. He had spent the night on her sofa, guarding her.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” she said. “I promised Alfred I’d look after you.”
“You’re still Cora. You’re indomitable.” All he could think was how easily Nick could break her.
“Ssh!” Glen waved for attention. “It’s starting.”
They turned their eyes towards the canvas. The dot in the centre spread to encompass the screen. The lovers stopped cooing, Finn took a bite out of his pencil. Cora made a noise as though a pin had been driven into her.
Nick was on the stage, talking in a deep, sonorous voice. Josh thought he had heard that style of delivery before, and recently. It was when the gowned figure raised his hand he knew. This was how the Hierophant greeted her worshippers; Nick was tapping into the same sensibility. He was so struck by the imposture, he didn’t listen to the speech.
On screen Nick announced somebody’s name, gestured towards the wings. A man stumbled onstage, wretched in the floodlights. Josh knew him immediately. “Derkins!”
“Who?”
“Alfred’s assistant.” As soon as he said it he realised how implausible it was. Cora moved in her seat, but not fast enough for him to miss the flash of awareness. “You knew.”
“I needed help. He was the only person I could think of.”
Glen sshed them. Nick was letting go, growing impassioned, but something unscripted was happening. The wall behind him filled with a crabbed, dying face. The robots yelled. Old age was unknown in Arkan; surgery and supplements kept the population young. You might achieve distinguished white hair, the odd line to denote character, but wrinkling and liver spots were extinct. They had never seen mortality up close, didn’
t know flesh could rot and faculties fail.
Josh had guessed that if Derkins was there, Alfred must be too, but hearing his voice was still upsetting. He and Cora had hatched this scheme behind his back. They professed to be his friends but clearly that didn’t count for much.
“I have to go.”
Cora tried to stop him. “I’d feel safer -”
“You should’ve thought about that.”
He walked across the city that night, shutting his eyes against the images on the screens, closing his ears to the networks. He wanted to see and feel something real. He couldn’t live like this anymore.
***
Alfred took a robotic vix to where the city lights gave way to scrubland, said he would walk the rest. The vix made a baffled chirp. He didn’t care what it thought.
He walked thirty dusty, barren miles, only pausing to top up the sun oil or quench his thirst. He’d done and thought so much over the past few days, he needed a mindless task. He didn’t want to think of the airless room where Carmen died, her dry lips brushing his cheek. “Thank you for what you did for me.” He felt like a fraud. It hadn’t been for her at all.
This tour might have been stimulating and an eye opener, but it was time to go home. Running to the other side of the world hadn’t changed a thing. He was in love with a man he couldn’t have and the joke was on him.
Leaving Carmen’s room, he had gone to buy a news sheet. He’d taken two daily while he’d been away - one for the country he was visiting, the other for Lila. He chucked the first aside, it was nothing but parentheses about Nick (‘The Man Who Seduced a Nation’) and adverts. Typically the Lilan paper ignored the major story and headlined with a home grown one. ‘Robot Love Under Threat?’
Blood pounding in his ears, he read that “recent revelations” had hardened the public’s attitudes. Sex with robots, once a harmless pursuit indulged by hobbyists, was considered a menace to society. There would be a session in the Forum –
He hadn’t the least doubt this had originated with the Prime Minister. If she couldn’t switch robots off for economic reasons, she’d engender a moral panic instead. And if he objected? “I had no idea this affected you, Langton.” Which it couldn’t. Not now.
Love and Robotics Page 33
