“I came off the hub an hour ago.”
“We can try his control room - there might be some of his thoughts up there -”
He followed as she beetled down the corridor. “You watch his thoughts? How is that ethical?”
“We’ve got to know what he’s doing.”
Nothing in Josh’s life was private, not even his memory drive. Was this what Gussy and Ken had slaved for? “You call it the ‘control room’. Who controls it?”
She stared at him as though he was stupid. “Dr Fisk.” As though it explained everything. And it did.
Alfred knew the field attracted unstable personalities, but never had one seemed so tangibly wrong as Fisk. Something about the woman made his hackles rise. Who knew what intimate moments she had spied on? The lapses in Josh’s memory, the mood swings - no wonder. The moment she saw something she didn’t like, she deleted it.
After a moment’s fumbling with the key card, Mandy let him in. He was disappointed to find a spare white room, six screens dotted about. All the panels were touch sensitive, she explained; some responded to Fisk alone.
She looked baffled. “It’s off. They can’t switch him off, it’s illegal -”
“I’ve got to find him.”
“You’ll be arrested as soon as you step outside!”
“There are worse things.” He clambered down the fire escape.
What would Josh do? Given the choice, the artificial picked flight over fight every time. When he got into difficulties, he’d find Alfred -
Once informed of a fact, Josh never forgot it. Alfred consulted his watch. Wednesday. He knew where he’d go.
Wednesday afternoons, come what may, Alfred met Derkins at the Bustopher Club. ‘The best gentleman’s club in Lux’, it counted scores of Wildings amongst its past members. Alfred was at a loss to understand why. Perhaps it had been created for men nostalgic for school dinners. Or men impatient to chat in condescending tones over the tops of newspapers. There was a saucier gentleman’s club a few doors down, but he was too old for that sort of thing.
It seems implausible he could walk the mile from CER to the club unmolested, but it’s true. In the same way Josh was camouflaged by Kevin’s hat, people didn’t expect to see him after he’d been outed as a Deviant. He strode down the street as though he had every right to be there.
He reached the club’s grimy columns and spiky railings. A window flapped open and Derkins stuck his head out. It would be misleading to suggest the man of business was wearing a false beard. The beard annexed his face, leaving only his eyes and a twitch of mouth visible.
“Get in! I don’t think they’ve seen the news, but when they have -”
Alfred slipped into the room. Derkins grabbed him and hurried along.
“Our best chance is to barricade ourselves in,” he said, talking out of the corner of his mouth. Alfred wondered why he went to such trouble with disguises yet didn’t change his accent.
Like many townhouses it suffered from an excess of doors. This led to embarrassing clashes with broom cupboards, lavatories and a peer claiming he’d lost his contact lens and this valet’s groin got in the way. Finally they found the veebox area and double locked it. Alfred sat down and started to smoke, filling the room with pungent clouds.
“Oh, that’s nice. We’re walled up and you’re puffin’ away like a cross little dragon.”
“First time I’ve been called little. Is there anything to read?”
Derkins tipped out the book tree. “Reactionary newspapers, blood books - oh, gods!”
“What is it?”
“I thought vix magazines were pornographic, but this is the most disgustin’ thing I’ve ever seen.” He waved something called Bolts. It would have resembled a third rate wank mag if it hadn’t been for the model pushing back her thong to reveal whirring cogs.
“‘Does your mechanical honey need oiling?’” Alfred read. “I feel unclean.”
“Let’s get a signal.” While Alfred trebled the carbon monoxide ratio, Derkins thumped the veebox with the fake beard. The picture was on the fuzzy side but the Bustopher Club preferred the retro look.
“Shock developments in Claire and Josh: The Next Chapter,” an artificial newsreader burbled. “The presence of a spy was rumbled earlier today, raising questions about security clearing in CER. Then, in a speech that has stunned millions, Josh Foster declared his love for long time friend Lord Langton.”
A clip of Josh in the Spotlight Suite. The more incendiary comments had been cut, making it seem like an impromptu confession.
“He looks awful,” Derkins exclaimed. He looked over to see Alfred rapt. They’d kept dramatic footage of the escape.
“That’s my boy,” he said softly.
“We’ll switch over -”
“No, it’s fine.”
The special following the broadcast was anything but fine. It charted their relationship, making all sorts of insinuations. It compared the case with other Transgressions. People in the street were asked for their opinions.
“Sickening - ought to be hanged -”
“Castrate the bugger -”
“Who wouldn’t want to shag Josh Foster?” (This was hastily cut).
“Isn’t it ironic - Lady Augusta’s brother doing a robot -”
“Makes you wonder -”
“Of course, he’ll get off with a slap on the wrist. Probably won’t even demolish the bot.”
“Give him five years. Make an example of him.”
“The man is an incorrigible Deviant. He deserves our pity.”
“You can switch off,” Alfred said. “I’m not having some god botherer pray for me.”
Derkins obeyed. They sat in silence for a time, breathing in the fug.
“Can I open a window? It’s beastly in here,” Derkins complained.
“Suit yourself.”
“How I endured this for two years, I’ll never know.”
“Wiggy.”
“Beardy.”
“Mummy’s boy.”
“Gaylord!”
“Can’t say fairer than that. Boys are the best cure for depression.”
“Not being funny, but isn’t that how you got into this pickle?”
“I don’t expect you to understand. You’ve got Ffion and the girls. You know what my track record’s like. Put me in a room full of men and I pick the biggest bastard. I used to see my parents - while they had their ups and downs, I’ve never known a more devoted couple. I want something like that.”
“You just need to find the right bloke.”
“You found the one early on. You see everyone pairing off and think, ‘When’s it my turn?’ I never dreamt it’d happen like this. Me and Josh - we just are.” He stopped, embarrassed. “I’m being maudlin. Sorry.”
“If you need help with papers, I can organise it.”
“You’re a friend in a million, Michael.”
“You soppy sod.”
Alfred stood up. “Josh.”
Derkins heard nothing but followed him as he ducked behind the sofa. They got there just in time; the room was alive with glass. Josh landed in the middle.
“Alfred!” He crawled across the carpet, threw his arms around his legs. “My dear -”
“Trouble -”
“They said you’d forgotten me.”
“Never in life. What have you been doing to yourself?”
“Fighting - ” He was close to shutting down but by an enormous effort of will stopped it. “Don’t leave me again.”
“I’ll try not to.” Alfred pulled him to his feet and kissed him as though he would never let go.
A roar came from downstairs, followed by a stampede. Somebody bludgeoned the doors. “Langton!” a voice bellowed. “We know you’re up there.”
Josh tried to steal another kiss. Derkins was having none of it. “Guys, this is all very romantic, but there’s a time and a place.”
“I haven’t seen him for months -”
“Michael’s right
,” Alfred said. “We’re under siege. Can you hold up?”
A mischievous gleam came into Josh’s eyes. “Quite like old times.”
“We’ll bash the door open on the count of three -”
“You two are crackers. I want no part in it,” Derkins protested.
"Don’t be a wuss! It’s fucking on.”
The Bustopher Club vs. Langton, Foster and Derkins became the stuff of legend. It’s impressive enough thirty squiffy toffs were trounced by three men; it was soon embellished to ninety.
When they blasted through the door they found themselves surrounded. Alfred had his stick, designed so a deadly array of weapons shot out when you touched a button. Michael had a ukulele and - unique in the field of combat - his fake beard. Josh couldn’t find anything until he spotted a Wet Floor sign by the lavatory. He knocked two of the weaker pugilists out.
“Can I borrow that?” Alfred asked.
“Why?”
He walloped Piers Cass, a snotty prig he’d never liked. “I’ve wanted to do that for twenty years,” he giggled.
The crashes and the clashes, the smashes and the screams! They knocked hecklers out with the chandelier; a grandfather clock was dropped on somebody else. Some idiot dug out a clockwork bomb and blew a hole in the side of the building.
“I’ve missed this,” Alfred sighed. He head butted one man and kicked another into a dinner service. “I love it.”
“So do I.” Josh found a stuffed heron and clobbered his opponent with it. It set off his asthma and he withdrew.
“Let’s do it more often,” Alfred agreed.
“How about our honeymoon?”
“If that’s a proposal -” punching somebody through the wall - “this is hardly the time!”
Anyone left sprinted to the pantry and bolted themselves in. Derkins ran over, staring at his fist.
“You know I’m totally opposed to violence, but I just punched a man in the face! It was absolutely exhilaratin’!”
“Well done, Michael. Now -” Josh reeled, Alfred caught him - “we need to go. Do you know a reliable getaway driver?”
“All part of the service.”
For a ghastly moment they worried Derkins’s vix had been stolen, but he’d only tethered it further down than he thought. He hopped into the front while Alfred settled Josh in the back. The artificial sat up, his head against Alfred’s chest. “Did we win?”
Alfred considered the odds. “We marmalised them.” Josh shut down, a contented smile on his face.
“Jerry’s not goin’ to let you have the freedom of the city for a while,” Derkins said.
“I believe the phrase is blackballed.”
Cradling Josh in his lap, Alfred watched Lux slip away behind them.
Recovery
Josh took two days to recover. Nanny kept the reporters at bay, taking pot shots with the gun she kept in her beehive. Gwyn scrubbed the graffiti that cropped up every few hours, ‘Widget Fucker’ the politest.
Alfred had been sleeping and having his meals in the guest room, talking to Josh during his forays into consciousness. Something had changed the artificial, and not for the better. He had a permanently harrowed look, falling silent at odd moments. The optimism that was once a core part of his personality had been snuffed out.
Alfred put together a tray of tea and biscuits, carrying it upstairs. As he opened the guest room door he did a double take. “What the hell are you doing?”
Josh was sitting at the dressing table, examining something with a screwdriver. This wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary if the front of his torso wasn’t open. He started guiltily.
“I’m dechipped now, so I’m seeing what else I can change.” It sparked at an enthusiastic prod.
“Is this safe?”
“We’ll know in a few minutes.”
“All your programming’s on there?” It was the shape and size of a cricket ball, pinkish grey metal. It buzzed against his fingers. “How come you’re still functioning?”
“I’m not sure. It’s what Dr Sugar used to do.”
“They let you watch?”
“I’m glad they did. I wouldn’t know what to do otherwise.” Josh pressed it into his chest and snapped it shut. He winced.
“Are you alright?”
“It always feels strange before it’s settled.”
“Nobody’s done this before, have they?”
“How did you know?”
“Just a hunch.”
Alfred joined him on the bed. Josh snuggled up but didn’t meet his eye.
“How’s the arm?”
It looked so pale with the sleeve pushed back. It had been scored down the middle. “Hurts.”
“We’re going to look like a self harming group.” Alfred held out his arm for comparison. “Like noughts and crosses.”
“Would you lend me a hand with something?”
“Depends what it is.”
Josh began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m a bit stiff. If you wouldn’t mind?”
“Don’t you need oil?”
“It’s on that chair over there.” Shirtless, he lay against the pillows. Alfred picked up the can and crossed the floor, wishing he could stop shaking.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” Alfred’s voice was a squeak. He knelt beside him and took the lid off. “Linseed. Not bad.”
“You might want to roll up your sleeves.”
Josh took his hand and guided it to the oil, sliding his fingers through his. He brought it over to his chest and rubbed it in slow, sensuous circles.
“Easy when you know how.”
Alfred sighed and stroked his back, alternating between kisses and massage. Josh clasped him between his thighs, beginning to moan.“It’s a two person job,” he gasped.
“Should put it in the Robot Handbook,” Alfred said.
“Is there one?”
“We can write it.”
Alfred lowered himself on top of him. As their hips moved together, he realised something wasn’t right. “Josh - are you -?”
“Oh, gods!” The artificial sounded close to tears. “I can’t have latched it properly.”
The front of his torso had swung open. He fumbled but it refused to shut.
“I’m sorry - it won’t -”
Once you’d recovered from the shock, it wasn’t that horrible. It was weirdly fascinating, knowing every thought Josh had ever had was housed there.
“Can I touch -?”
“Why?”
“I want to feel close to you.”
“Aren’t you already?”
As Josh relaxed, Alfred put his hand inside him and pushed against his memory bank. It pulsed against his hand. He ran the other hand around his endoskeleton, clenched and unclenched. Josh clamped him with his legs, kissed him hard.
“It’s like that porn we found in the club, only gay. Homorobotica.”
“Is there a market for that?”
“People get off to anything.”
“What would they call it? Shafts?”
“Look on the gears on that ...” Alfred pretended to slobber.
They broke into smutty giggles, stopping only when Josh gasped, “It’s happening.” He made the most extraordinary noise, operatic in its intensity. “Thank you,” he whispered once they had finished.
“Surely I should say that?”
“About that. You do want to make love to me, don’t you?”
“What do you think I was doing?”
“Yes, you were, and it was wonderful - but you don’t let me do things to you. Don’t you like it?”
Alfred frowned. “Force of habit. I give, they receive.”
“Isn’t that selfish?” Josh shifted onto his elbow and stared at him. Alfred had the uncomfortable idea he was breaking down his defences.
“Alfred, why did you smuggle me out?”
“You know why.”
“Since we came here we haven’t left the house. It’s not allowed, is it?”
&n
bsp; “Yes.” It was a relief to say it. “If you don’t pass the psych tests - and they’ve rigged them so they’re impossible - it’s forbidden.”
“I knew robots couldn’t sleep with humans, but nobody said why. The equipment’s the same.”
“The technical term is a Transgression. It means immoral, disgusting.”
“Oh.” They lay hip to hip, Josh’s chest against the ruins of Alfred’s shirt. “Do you find this disgusting?”
“Of course I don’t. The law thinks differently.”
Josh’s eyes flashed. “The law’s wrong.”
“They can’t have people thinking they can get away with murder -”
“It’s not murder, it’s love. Your justice system’s big on punishment, isn’t it? What do they use as a deterrent?”
Old wounds cracked and bled. “The human has a choice. Either five years in jail or they go on a course of drugs.”
“That’s all? Take the drugs!”
Alfred closed his eyes. “It’s not something they prescribe at the doctor’s. The theory is only a Pervert would sleep with a robot. It kills your urges - you’d never be able to make love again. And it does things to your mind.”
“How do you know this?”
“Do you think we’re the first people to do this?” Alfred began to shake. “I want you so badly, but I know where this leads.”
“Tell me.”
“You won’t like it.”
“I’m not going to like it anyway, am I?”
“I had a friend who did it. A very good friend. Do you understand? He thought drugs would be the lesser of the two evils. He killed himself.”
“It was him, wasn’t it? My predecessor.”
“Yes. Though I can’t imagine two men less alike.”
“When was this?”
“2149. He died in 2150.”
“But the public didn’t have access to artificials then -”
“He was a scientist. His name was Ken Summerskill.”
The Ballad of Gussy and Ken
The story of Gussy and Ken began on a day lost in the mists of time - or so it seemed to Alfred, the sole survivor.
It was the twins’ second year at Roth University. They lived in a townhouse on the river, roasting in summer and mouldy in winter, but they had never known such freedom. Bar the odd visit from Nanny, who nagged about their spending habits, home was a distant haze.
Love and Robotics Page 58
