Love and Robotics (12 page)

“In a change to the advertised programme,” the announcer said - she couldn’t believe it either - “Jerry Etruscus is performing a daredevil stunt -”

An almighty crash and a splash. “Is he alright?” Josh asked.

“Who
cares
?” Alfred exclaimed. At the artificial’s scowl, “Fine, we’ll check. Does anyone have a vix going spare?”

They raced to the scene on luminous purple electribikes. Once Josh had discovered there was a bell on the front he couldn’t stop ringing it. “I hope he hasn’t hurt himself,” he said between jingles.

“Serves him right.”

“I wouldn’t’ve minded -”

“I
would
.”

The banks of the Ira were packed with pleasure seekers at the best of times. Now they
swarmed
. Hawkers bawled, functionals swept up rubbish, couples punted.

“I can’t see him!” Josh’s eyes ranged the cloudy water. “Are you
sure
-”

A swan was gliding past, minding its own business, when something wet and wild shoved it off course. Incensed, it beat its wings.

“Lousy effing - ARGH!”

They looked at each other. “Sounds like Jerry.”

Alfred pulled Jerry out, sopping and ungrateful, while Josh deposited the swan further down the river. “Don’t even think about it,” he said as it aimed a peck in his direction.

Jerry lay on the bank, coughing up filthy water. Alfred tugged the helmet from his head. So when Josh broke into a run and cried, “Look out!” they were wholly unprepared. Josh threw himself down, shielding Jerry with his body.

A young man in ragged black sprinted towards them. Alfred caught up with him and knotted his arms behind his back. He rummaged in his pockets but couldn’t find anything.

“You’re looking in the wrong place.” The man had a twisted, terrible smile. A contraption by his ear vibrated. “I
am
the weapon.”

The world burned red.

It wasn’t the first time Alfred had woken up in a hospital bed, and he was fairly sure it wouldn’t be the last. He wasn’t allowed a moment’s respite before Gwyn, Jerry and other well wishers descended. Even CER paid its respects. Fisk spitting thanks through gritted teeth was a sight to behold.

He’d be hit by fragments of memory while his visitors chatted. The buckling wall of flame, his skin frying. Screams, sirens, pigeons with their wings ablaze. Josh had forgotten Jerry, racing through the fire and plunging him into the river.

“Can you hear me? Are you alright?” he had asked. Alfred couldn’t talk, could barely breathe, but he clutched Josh’s hand. Josh squeezed back. He must have blacked out.

“Let me see, I can take it,” he said once everyone had gone.

Josh passed him a hand mirror. They hadn’t done too bad a job. Once his hair had grown back you’d hardly see the burns. His nose looked melted, but it had never been his best feature.

“Crispy. I’m the man with the face.” If he didn’t joke about it, he’d cry.

“No, you’re a man who’s very brave, and perfect the way you are.”

There it was again: that thing that kept raising its head, only to retreat to the depths. Alfred swallowed as Josh touched his face.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No.” Feeling any topic would be safer, “What happened? Everyone’s being cagy.”

“His name was Roach Stirling. He tried to convert himself and his followers into robots. For some reason he fixated on Jerry.”

“I owe the old toad an apology,” Alfred murmured.

“He planned to attack the stadium but you’d made it impossible. If it wasn’t for Jerry being Jerry, he’d’ve gone home. He wanted to be a martyr whose name lived forever.”

“He got his wish. They’ll be scraping him off the city walls until spring.”

“Alfred!”

“So I’m stuck in here. Is there no end to it?”

“It’s not all bad.” Josh had the bashful air of somebody hugging a secret. “Since you’re the hero of the Games, they’ve said we can go flat hunting when you’re better.
And
I’ve asked if I can have a sleep mode.”

“Congratulations. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m knackered, so -?”

Alfred didn’t need to ask twice. It was one of the reasons why he liked Josh so much.

Housewarming

If the Games proved anything, it was that Josh’s friendship with Alfred was no flash in the pan. The month he was in hospital, the artificial visited him every day. When he was released, Alfred lent moral support as they implanted Josh’s sleep mode.

Sugar’s attitude had changed. Rather than view Alfred as a temporary nuisance, he’d talk to him man to man. There was still a tinge of rivalry, like a father ousted by a glamorous stepdad, but it was only to be expected.

“This hasn’t been done before,” Sugar said. “It’s like standby, but with dreams.”

              “But not the same as being switched off?”

Sugar was shocked. “I’d never switch him off. He’s
Josh
.”

He took Alfred up to the Think Tank. Like many places in CER, the idea was more exciting than the reality. A big bare room like a hangar, half finished robots in heaps. Many were Daves. With their blue eyes dimmed and guns at their sides, they were almost cuddly.

A young skinhead was drilling inside a Home Butler. Sugar went over. “How’s tricks, Krukowski?”

“Not good. It’s the tenth one today.”

He snapped the Butler on. The babyish head illuminated, the silvery eyes flickered. “It’s ... -” It spun on the spot, hitting itself repeatedly before slamming into the wall.

“A bug?” Sugar suggested.

“Only affects us.” Krukowski pulled his face guard down, ending the conversation.

“Scholarship boy,” Sugar said as they walked over. “Scored off the charts in his exams.”

“How many scholarships do you run?” Alfred asked.

“Fifteen every year. Most are part of an initiative to get boys into science, but you get some for students from deprived backgrounds. Too many roboticists are posh girls with titles.”

“How awful,” Alfred said drily. A red faced Sugar hurried him to the end of the room.

“Here he is. It might come as a shock.”

Josh lay on a metallic table. While he had the same closed shutters look as the others, it was impossible to think of him as lifeless. Sugar was rabbiting on.

“We do this when the kids are visiting. They get attached to their robots, think they’re real. One boy” – hearty guffaw – “wanted his Home Butler to marry his mum! So we put Josh on standby, let them know even he’s clockwork.” Yet he arranged a cushion beneath the artificial’s head and covered him with a blanket.

“You see he’s on standby, no signs of intelligent life? Now
watch
.”

Sugar flicked something behind Josh’s ear. A barely perceptible jolt. Josh rolled onto his side, coiling his legs beneath him. His hand went beneath the cushion. It hadn’t been more than a minute before he started to twitch, eyes moving beneath his lids. “I’ve caught a fish,” he murmured.

The doctor chuckled. “Never been fishing in his life.”

The Think Tank hummed with activity. Butlers crashed into walls, girls did complicated operations with wire, Krukowski swore as his robot sprayed sparks. But here was Josh, a smile playing on his lips, one foot poking from the blanket.

“Don’t know why we didn’t do it before,” Sugar beamed. “Good idea, Lord Langton.”

No point saying it had been Josh’s. Why couldn’t they put him in a separate room, away from this ruckus?

“I need to meet my man of business -” Alfred began.

Josh’s arm swung upwards, knocking Sugar’s glasses off. “Really!” the doctor spluttered. The artificial was convulsing, his face working furiously.

“Bring him round, something’s wrong!” Alfred cried. Since Sugar was crawling on the floor, he pressed the switch behind Josh’s ear. “It’s jammed!”

“Who gave you permission to be here, Langton?” Fisk stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, her voice like an icy spring.

“Dr Sugar.” Who was on his hands and knees, searching for his specs. “He said -”

“He thought wrong.”

She tried to stare Alfred down. He gazed levelly back. If Josh’s movements had been jerky before, now they were frenzied. He grabbed Alfred’s waist and tried to hide behind him.

“I don’t want her here.” There was a fear he’d never heard in Josh’s voice. “Get her away from me.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Sugar tried to repair the damage. “He doesn’t mean
you.
”

Josh pressed his face into Alfred’s back. “I don’t want Fisk. Make her go away.”

Fisk’s face collapsed. She turned and ran, knuckles to her mouth. Alfred almost felt sorry for her.

The button clicked. Josh sat up, oblivious to the scene he’d caused. “Hello! I had such a funny dream -”

Alfred swigged from his hipflask and passed it to Sugar. “You look like you need it.”

“I’m teetotal,” he said, but downed it anyway.

***

It was three weeks after the incident in the Think Tank. Alfred had been visiting a reconstructionist in Lux, having his burns lasered. The doctor was itching to do more work - as she put it, she’d never had a patient with such a lived in face. (“Oh, yes,” he said. “It’s got squatters.”) He’d stopped her from changing his hair colour and chiselling his cheekbones.

“You should’ve had it done,” Gwyn said now. “Might give you a new lease of life.”

“Josh wouldn’t like it.” It flew out before he could stop it.

“What’s
that
got to do with anything?”

The truth - that Josh thought he was perfect the way he was - might be misinterpreted. “He doesn’t like change,” he mumbled.

Surprisingly Gwyn let it go. “Why do these streets all look the same?”

For the last half hour they’d driven round the suburbs. Hedges clipped into cutesy shapes, water features sprinkling, toothy white houses. Gwyn hated this sort of landscape and no wonder, it reminded her of her father. Now they were trundling down a row of older, careworn houses, genuine trees and flowers on the lawns.

Up ahead was a grey slate building shaped like a turret. With its walled garden, sunny balconies and clematis winding up the windows, it reminded him irresistibly of Josh’s sketches.

“Gwynnie? Stop!”

There was a ‘For Sale’ sign. Alfred ignored her protests as he crunched up the path.

“What do you need a flat for?”

              “It’s not for me.”

Three chimes and the landlord sidled out. Drifting toupee, shabby frockcoat, a high pitched snivelling voice - Jerry and Wulfric would have a field day. “Hello?”

“Please could you show us around the flat?”

A face like a sly child’s, a whistle through his nose. “Certainly! The name’s Montagu, Hugo Montagu.”

He ignored Gwyn, confirming her belief this was a waste of time. “This is boring,” she griped, or “Let’s go home.”

Alfred was pleased with everything he saw, matching it with the drawings in his wallet. He let the landlord twitter on, picturing the flat in summer. Light flooding in, plants on the sills. Josh could really paint here.

“It’s a perfect spot,” Montagu said. “A bachelor’s pad.” A dusty laugh, inviting confidences.

Idiotically Alfred blushed. “It’s not for me. A friend.” That sounded even dodgier. “He’s an artificial.”

“A bot, eh? Haven’t sold to one before, but it’s a changing world. He can’t be worse than the last tenant. He was a
liberal
.”

A shake of his clammy claw and they left. Alfred whistled, Gwyn booted cans along the pavement.

“Hope you know what you’re getting into,” she said.

“I’m buying a flat, not taking a hit out on someone.”

She was still in a bad mood, so they had a kick about on the common. He let her win and she knew it, but it put a smile on her face.

Although Alfred didn’t know it, Josh had been charting his progress with the flat hunting. From the way he let himself into the suite, the artificial could tell if it was going well. Alfred wouldn’t say - “I don’t want to get your hopes up” - but it could be gleaned from the slope of his shoulders, the tiredness of his eyes. The day after the discovery, Josh noticed. He saw the change in him, the release of tension. So when Alfred asked, “Want to go for a drive?”, Josh hid a smile and asked, “What for?”

“I need to have a chat with Sugar first.”

They took so long he went in search of them; they came out of a study cell. Both adopted neutral expressions but he could tell Alfred was defiant and Sugar fussing.

“I can come,” Sugar stammered. “I won’t get in the way -”

“That won’t be necessary,” Josh said.

Gwyn was waiting in the vix, tapping her watch. Alfred wound down the windows and hopped the network for a catchy tune. When one didn’t materialise he invented his own. Gwyn snorted sherbet up her nose.

He was so different from how he’d been in the hospital. Soon after the bandages came off, a journalist had appeared. “C’mon,” she begged Josh, “one picture. A few lines on what it’s like to be a hero.”

Standing outside Alfred’s room, Josh heard what sounded suspiciously like, “Go and bloody ask one.”

“He’s exhausted,” he improvised. “He’s not seeing anyone outside the family -”

“How come
you
-”

“Tell her to do one.” This filtered through, no ambiguity whatsoever.

She left. Josh went back into the room. “Sorry about that.”

Alfred was sitting up in bed, staring dully ahead. No - not staring. To Josh’s horror, his friend was crying. He knew what he was supposed to do, yet –

The Code can go hang
.

So he sat beside Alfred and put his arms around him. Alfred started and swallowed, but then something broke inside him and his head lay heavy upon Josh’s shoulder. He cried silently, as though he was ashamed of himself.

“Josh,” he asked, “who’s going to want
this
?” He gestured towards the ruined face and singed hair.

“That doesn’t matter.” He meant every word. “There’s somebody for everybody.”

Alfred laughed bitterly. “The chances of me finding somebody were never great. Now they’re non existent.”

“Of course you won’t, if you sit around feeling sorry for yourself.” Josh stopped, horrified. He’d stepped out of line twice - Alfred would have every right to report him. He left before he said anything worse.

Thankfully he’d been forgiven. A box of chocolates had arrived, with ‘Sorry for being a moody git’ written in icing.

They’d been circling the outskirts of Lux; now they turned into quieter, leafier suburbs. The smells associated with the capital - fumes, engine oil, decay - evaporated. Josh rested his chin on the window edge. It wasn’t the countryside but there were natural trees with real birds singing.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“Redfern,” Gwyn said dismissively.

She couldn’t know the sensations acting on him. Alfred did. “It’s like your pictures, isn’t it?”

Josh nodded. It was as though somebody had put his thoughts on display.

“That’s not the best part,” Alfred said.

An avenue of handsome houses spread before them, but Josh knew which one he meant. Fairy tale castle and hideaway in one, a round gate leading to the walled garden. “Stop the vix,” he said.

He did it in a kind of dream: crossing the street and standing in front of the house, walking the gravel path, touching the gate. He leant against the tree and gazed into its canopy of blossom. He had to remind himself that he didn’t live here, he didn’t have a key to turn in the lock.

Gwyn didn’t budge: “Seen it.” Alfred rang for the landlord, warning he was one for the sketchpad. “You decide which animal he is.”

Out Montagu trickled. “Hugo Montagu. So you’re Josh?” A damp handshake and an unhealthy gleam over his spectacles. He appreciated good looking young men, human or not. Alfred nearly said, “Had your eyeful?” but bit his tongue.

“Mink,” Josh whispered, as Montagu rhapsodised about the garden.

“Sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Montagu ran through his patter, complete with laugh track. Josh was oblivious. First he explored the textures, next he sniffed - Alfred stopped him from licking the beams. He opened every window and tested the doors. He seemed entranced by the taps and toilet, watching the paper swirl eagerly. “Not that I’ll use it, but it’s a nice thing to have.”

“We’ll take it,” Alfred said.

Dr Sugar replaced the speaker tube, dazed. One of the functionals looked at him quizzically. “Could you put whisky in this?” he asked, holding out his mug.

It made a reproachful noise and hooked its claws around it. Shaking his head, he joined the other doctors in the Conference Room.

“You look like death,” Malik remarked.

He sat down heavily. “Langton’s found a flat. Josh wants to move as soon as.”

“We knew this day would come,” Ozols said. “Our boy’s grown up!”

“I didn’t mind it in theory, but -” Sugar raked his fingers through his hair. “How will he manage? What if he gets lost?”