Love and Robotics (65 page)

“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?”

“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.

“Soirees and debauches and Thea knows what,” she’d complain, plucking a parrot from the bookcase or python from the umbrella stand. “People’ll think you’ve been thrown up, not brought up.”

“We can manage without public approval, Lulu.”

“That’s Nanny to you, you menace. When are you going to shave off that dodgy beard? People will think you’ve got a bum chin. Talkin’ of bums - you’re takin’ precautions, right?”

“Chance would be a fine thing.” He’d had a fling in first year, a chocolate millionaire’s son, cute but closeted. Since then, nothing.

“What about Gussy? Her age and never a sniff of a fella. It’s unnatural.”

Alfred shook his head, but there
was
something funny about it. It wasn’t that she was short of offers. He tried asking but she evaded the issue.

“You’d think one of these clever young men would whet your appetite.”

“Floppy hair and a frilly shirt don’t make you clever,” she used to say. “When I fall in love, I want it to be extraordinary.”

“All the more for me, fussy knicks.”

One afternoon Alfred was in their sitting room. He had an exam in three days and couldn’t absorb any more information. He’d dyed the table cloth green and drawn stick men on the coasters.

Gussy came in. “Honestly! I can’t go ten seconds without you vandalising something.”

“You look nice. Smell nice, too. Going somewhere?”

She blushed. “I’ve met someone.”

“Hang about! Who is he? How serious is it?”

“You can come too -”

“I’m not sitting there like a pudding while you cop off.”

“There’ll be no ‘copping off’. He’s a gentleman.”

“Sounds like a mutant if you ask me.”

“Shut your face and get changed. When are you going to stop growing?”

“When are you going to start?”

The boyfriend’s halls were only a few blocks away. He’d never seen her like this - humming to herself, titivating her hair. He hoped this chap was worth it.

It was a part of the university he hadn’t been in, patronised by the brainy set. Technically speaking Gussy was one of them, but he didn’t see how she fitted in with these solemn crows. The girls stared like he’d dropped off the ugly bush. The men weren’t any better.

“Here to see Dr Summerskill?” a porter asked.

“I certainly am.”

“He’ll be in the parlour.”

“
Dr
Summerskill?” Alfred hissed. “Don’t tell me he’s your tutor!”

“So what if he is?”

It was too late to argue. He pushed her forward, she pushed him, and they stumbled into the Strangers’ Parlour. He didn’t waste time looking at the room. He was more interested in the man propped up on the mantlepiece, puffing disdainful clouds of smoke. He’d have thought they’d got the wrong room if Gussy hadn’t kissed his cheek.

“Alfie, this is Dr Ken Summerskill. Ken, this is my brother Alfie.”

The man was flagrantly gay. Perhaps it was the way he lounged, looking like something out of a man’s magazine, or the silk cravat with horse shoes on it. Or the voice, beautiful but affected, every syllable emphasised. Or the long, slithering glance he treated Alfred to as soon as he came in, returning to it whenever Gussy’s attention was elsewhere.

It was the most awkward hour he’d spent. Gussy and Ken happily interrupted one another, the rare intelligible word in a sea of gobbledegook. Alfred tried to join in but Ken shot him down. He might have been a pot plant if he hadn’t been so comprehensively ogled.

“Duty calls,” Ken said at last. He gave Gussy a peck, shook Alfred’s hand. “I always fancied a brother.”

              Alfred thought of any number of retorts, all unrepeatable, and followed Gussy into the quad. “Isn’t he wonderful?” she asked.

              “Sis, he’s the most pretentious pillock I’ve met. Where did you dig him up?”

“‘Future Uses of Artificial Intelligence.’”

“Bet he’s a compelling case study.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

He stalked ahead, hands in his pockets. She caught up with him by the bridge. “Don’t let’s fight. I’m sure if you meet him again you’ll love him. Friends?”

“Friends.”

Watch your step, Summerskill. I’m onto you with your smirk and your vowels and your poofy cravat. Hurt her and I’ll kneecap you.

Gussy and Ken went on two more dates. Dinner at a chophouse, a concert and home, no sex. Was this how straight people dated? Alfred would have moved on by now.

“You’re not leaving it till you’re married, are you?” he asked one day.

He was horrified when she coloured. “Maybe.”

“Don’t marry him.”

“Why not?”

He couldn’t say it. “He’s got to be forty if he’s a day.”

“Not that it matters, but he’s thirty one.”

“
Really?
Alright, how can he keep you on a tutor’s salary?”

“Money doesn’t matter.”

“It’s creepy, his insistence we’ll live in harmony with machines.” In his best Ken impersonation, ‘One day robots and humans will enjoy satisfying sexual relations.’ In your dreams, you letch.”

He found himself pleading any deity listening:
Don’t let her marry him. I’ll do anything.

Alfred hated Roth in the rain. He stared out at the shapeless houses, the burst pipes and waterlogged trees, and despaired. That’d be another four buckets on the landing.

He was bouncing a ball around the sitting room when the doorbell chimed. He peeked through the spy hole and groaned. Ken Summerskill, his hands on the hips of a horrible diamond patterned waistcoat. He was tempted to pretend nobody was in, but decency won out.

“Is Augusta home?”

“Afraid not. Come in, have a coffee.”

As Ken passed him his coat, Alfred found himself looking at him. Yes, he had a beaky nose and sardonic mouth, but he wasn’t hideous. His eyes were arresting, an unusual cloudy green. If it wasn’t for the bald patch he’d be attractive.

Ken drank the coffee, stirred it every now and then. Alfred paced the room, hands behind his back. He tried to think of something to say but didn’t want to look stupid.

“You don’t like me, do you?” Ken said suddenly.

“I haven’t thought about it,” he lied.

“I know you and Augusta have a special bond. The twin thing, I suppose.”

“Oh,
please
. We look out for each other, like other sisters and brothers.”

“I want to assure you my intentions towards your sister are entirely honourable.”

How long would he make that coffee last? Go
away
!

“What are you studying?” Ken asked once the silence had become uncomfortable.

“Anthropology and Physical Culture.”

Ken put the cup down. “Anthropology and Physical Culture. Very
manly
subjects. And you were in the army, of course ... What are you going in for?”

“I want to be an explorer.” Alfred hadn’t told anyone this before - why was he telling him? “I’m serious. I’m not intellectual, I don’t have any talents. Going from place to place, discovering other languages, ways of life - something worthwhile.”

“Haven’t most places been discovered?”

“You sound like my dad. Look.” Alfred pointed at the map he kept on the table, cluttered with empty cups. “A hundred years ago a sixth of this wasn’t charted. We still don’t know everything.”

“It’s good to have ambitions. Sometimes I think I’m just tinkering. Don’t tell Augusta.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

They shared a smile. Alfred was finally starting to like him, so didn’t object when he joined him by the window. Not at first.

“Exploring. Physical Culture. Do you like
manly
things?” Ken’s lips were an inch from his ear.

This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t feel Ken’s breath on his nape, his hand on the small of his back. He broke away. Ken moved like a snake, grabbing his collar and kissing him.

“We can’t -”

The hand moved downwards. “Have you done this before?”

“Yes.”             

“With a man?”

“Naturally.”

Ken slid between his thighs as he hitched him up against the bookcase. Tight buttocks pumping, cock straining in his fist - a kind of sexual mauling. Quick, degrading but utterly thrilling.

Once that was done with, Ken put his lips to him. Alfred was incapable of thought. He came in a terrific gush, Ken grunting as he followed suit. Alfred went to kiss him but he shook his head.

“That’s exactly what I needed.” He tugged his trousers over his hips. “See you soon.”

Alfred heard the front door shut. He lay on the sofa, a hand over his eyes. He’d had sex with his sister’s boyfriend. What was he going to do?

Ken stayed away for a fortnight. That wasn’t unusual, it was Gussy’s exams, but Alfred couldn’t stop worrying. If Ken had any decency he’d break up with her - but a decent man doesn’t seduce his girlfriend’s brother, does he?

He tried to tell her. When she came downstairs after twelve hours’ revision, he’d follow her, make tea or lean on her chair. When she asked, “What’s the matter?” the words died in his throat.

The night before their twenty second birthday, he went on a binge with the lads on his course. He had vague memories of foggy cellars, tone deaf chanting and three laps of the quad naked. He came home at four in the morning, falling asleep in his clothes. He’d planned to spend the day in bed before he realised the date and dashed downstairs.

“There you are, Tiny!” Gussy was packing a moth eaten basket. “We’d given up on you.”

“We?”

Ken’s long thin figure unfurled from the fridge. “Afternoon.” You’d never have guessed the last time he’d seen Alfred, he’d had his cock in his mouth.

Alfred wondered if he was going mad. Perhaps the other day hadn’t happened. It was a warped erotic fantasy, though why it’d star Ken rather than someone bearable was anyone’s guess.

“The forecast’s iffy.” Gussy said. “Have you seen the brolly?”

“Thought you were using it over the bath.”

She ran upstairs. Alfred faced Ken, busy making a dent in the sausage rolls. For a thin man he never stopped eating. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“How do you know I didn’t tell her?”

“She’s inviting us on a picnic rather than carving us up? Unless -” Ken’s nostrils flared - “she’s up for a frolic. Break one rule, might as well break ‘em all, eh?”

Alfred snatched his collar. “Apologise!”

“I don’t remember you complaining when I was gobbling your scrotum.”

“If it wouldn’t ruin her birthday, I’d lock you in the fridge.”

“I love it when you’re aggressive. Makes me fancy a rematch.”

Gussy’s footsteps were approaching. They barely had time to break apart and assume nonchalant poses.

“It was in the airing cupboard. - Oh, that’s nice. My two favourite men getting on. Keep up the good work.”

They picnicked in the park. Afterwards they went punting. Gussy and Ken sat on opposite ends of the boat while Alfred did the sweaty work. Ken darted lecherous looks beneath his lashes. One was so obscene he wobbled and fell in.

“You arse!” Gussy laughed. Ken’s expression suggested he wanted to rip off the dripping clothes with his teeth.

Wherever they walked, Gussy and Ken linked arms. When the promised rain showed up, he steered her beneath the umbrella. As they wandered into the covered market he presented her with a coral necklace. “For you, birthday girl.” He didn’t forget Alfred - he tossed over the sort of penknife he’d always wanted, crammed with useful kit.

Talking science, he didn’t look unfinished. His eyes shone, he gestured, his voice became persuasive. Winking at Alfred, he described it in terms he understood.

“Why robotics?” he asked them. “Why not something useful?”

“We want to see what makes someone human,” Gussy said.

Ken nodded. “They’ll be a blank slate, ours to do what we like with. Isn’t that exciting?”

“I find it scary.”

Gussy tutted. “Genius is never appreciated in its own lifetime.”

“I appreciate you,” Ken said, tweaking her ringlets.

Alfred had to look away. Watching them together, their delight in each other’s company, he felt lonely. For the first time he saw Ken as someone with whom a girl - or, possibly, a man - might fall in love.