Love and Robotics (82 page)

“Langton.” Her voice was like the mewing of a kitten. “Langton.”

Alfred closed his eyes, tried to clear his brain. He was beginning to perceive shapes –

“I sense a certain amount of hostility. We can’t have a working relationship unless - ”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I was expecting somebody more experienced.”

“I graduated top of my year!”

“When?”

She looked sulkily at her shoes. “Three years ago.”

“See? They’ve fobbed me off with an untried quantity - no offence - so I haven’t a hope in hell. Might as well defend myself.”

“You can’t testify if you’ve committed a Deviation,” she said promptly. “The assumption is that if your judgement is that impaired, you’re unlikely to have the capacity.”

He stared. Ken hadn’t been allowed to testify, but he’d always thought this was a canny move on his counsel’s part. He was so patronising, he would have alienated the entire courtroom.

“How am I supposed to get my point of view across?” he asked.

“That’s where I come in.”

It took a while to thaw with Feist. He spent twenty minutes of their first session getting her to prove her credentials.

“What do you want me to do?” she cried. “I’ve shown you my ID. I’ve answered your questions. I don’t know what else you want.”

He folded his arms. “What about chips? Wires?”

“They don’t work here. They’ve scrambled the signal.”

Was this the reason for Josh’s silence? Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine Lucy destroying him on the sly. He’d want Alfred to suffer, give him as drawn out a humiliation as possible. But if he could do it to Puss –

He sighed and kneaded his forehead. He wasn’t looking anywhere in particular, but Feist exclaimed, “Okay, okay! I’m a clone! Happy now?”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

He honestly hadn’t. She’d apparently bathed in perfume, and her features had a strange sheen to them, but otherwise she was the most ordinary woman he had met. She looked at her hands miserably. Her nails were chewed to stumps.

“I’m sorry. I’m used to norms treating me differently. D’you know how many assignments I’ve had since I qualified?”

He couldn’t guess.

“Three, two of which were terminated when they found out. There’s a lot of prejudice out there.”

“Is that why you took this case?”

She drummed her fingers. “Nobody else wanted it. They said I hadn’t a chance of winning.”

It wasn’t the most auspicious start. Part of him wished she’d pull out - better no defence than a pessimistic one.

Breakwell would let them into one of the spare offices, nose twitching. He’d thought it was distaste at being in close proximity to a Deviant, but their fourth session, he noticed she never looked at or touched Feist, and actually shrank from her. She knew.

“Bitch,” he remarked, as she tick tacked away. Feist nodded vehemently.

On a more professional footing. “I went to see Foster yesterday. Just for a greater understanding.”

Alfred was dizzy with relief. “How is he? How are they treating him?”

“They’re holding him in a side room in the Halls of Justice. He was - determined, is the only way I can put it.”

He grinned. “Josh is the most bloody minded person I know.”

“There was a woman with him - one of his doctors. He asked her to go out while I was there. She didn’t seem pleased.”

Feist had been uncomfortable to start with. She had never spoken to a robot on a one to one basis, had thought they were nothing more than clever toys, but she was amazed by how normal he had seemed. He’d been eager for news of Chimera and his friends; she pieced a vague account together from the news reports. Alfred he saved for later, but with a quiet intensity that left you in no doubt as to how he felt.

“Well? Do you believe?”

“I need more data.” As he groaned, “The best way is to get to know both of you, as an unbiased third party. You may not be allowed to testify, but there’s no reason why Josh can’t.”

Alfred lifted her off her feet in a bear hug. “Um, sorry about that,” he muttered, blushing and backing off.

He let a few more sessions pass before he broached the subject of her background. They were doing so well, he didn’t want to risk offending her.

Feist kicked off her shoes and sat with unchewed hands in her lap. They had coffee brought in - real coffee, not the cat litter they served in the canteen.

“I’ll be honest with you. The first time we met, I thought our best bet would be an insanity plea. But I’ve done a bit of digging. The rule that states Deviants can’t testify only applies to offences against humans –”

“I didn’t do anything against anyone -”

“That’s the point!” She was animated: eyes sparking, hands flapping. “I’ve enough evidence to build a solid case. We can get CER for neglect and maltreatment.”

“Are you convinced yet?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” she teased.

“Um, Salome. You know what you told me our first meeting?”

She was immediately defensive. “What about it?”

“Which, um, school were you at?” The official term was ‘compound’ but that sounded too clinical.

“St Bede’s. It trained us to be professionals rather than fodder. It had to - the norms had stopped adopting us. We had lawyers, doctors, vets, even a scientist. One girl became a secretary but we didn’t talk about her. Why?”

Alfred had lost interest but kept the conversation going. “Just curious. Did they treat you well?”

“You hear horror stories, but nothing like that went on. They told us to watch our backs; most norms would only ever view us as second class citizens.”

“That’s really sad.”

“You get used to it. No disrespect to Josh, but he’s got it easy. If humans don’t like a robot, they can just switch it off. Do that to a clone -”

“And it looks like murder?” he finished delicately.

“It’s not like you can blame them. Some of us
are
dangerous. Look at Eric Spalding, flattening a county because he hated his school. If you can do that at twelve, what will you be like as an adult?”

Alfred’s brain took a moment to process what she had said. “Sorry?”

“Eric Spalding, the boy who blew up Marwood. Our teachers used him as a bogeyman. Any sign of misbehaviour and we might end up like him.”

He had to stay calm or her suspicions would be roused. Inside he was cheering, cart wheeling.

“Can I make a call?” he asked.

Cora had been working flat out for the past month. The original plan was for Dee to be the movement’s spokeswoman, but she found it too painful. She left for the coast a few days after the funeral, saying it was the last place she and Hector had been happy. There had been a scuffle but Cora overruled all opposition. “I’m the one people know. It’s time I put it to good use.”

She worked tirelessly, Esteban acting as her manager. She made statements to the media, aired a series of broadcasts about the movement’s goals, released a song. “Every cause should have a belting tune,” she said. Membership subscriptions quadrupled - when the song stormed to the top of the charts, membership stood at fifty thousand. The movement’s distinctive logo, a blue rose, was pinned to lapels and displayed in windows across the country.

She was sitting in the state rooms, drafting the chorus of a song to free Josh. She was a great believer in rhyme but the only words she could think of were bosh and tosh. She was reaching for another glass of Formula 40 when the speakertube pealed in the hall. She answered it.

“Hello?”

“Cora, it’s Alfred.” Not leaving her time to interrupt, “I know who blew up Marwood. Eric Spalding. He was a freak who built bots for child molesters. I exposed him and he’s meant to have committed suicide, but his body was never found.”

“Sounds like Nick already.”

“That’s what I thought. It explains why he went after me. See if you can find a picture.”

She tuned into the Storm with her mind, entered “Eric Spalding.” A gallery of images sprang up. She gasped. Whether a teenager collecting a prize or a young man giving a presentation, he was unquestionably Nick. Spalding was fleshier with blunter features, but she’d never doubted her handler had had work done. It was what all Arkans did when they came into money. Sometimes he’d moved as though used to a different body, his feet strangely pigeon toed. The clincher was his eyes. A blue so pale it was negligible, the pupils like a snake’s.

“Oh, Alfred! It’s him.”

“Ssh. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Have you
seen
what they’ve done to your house? He’ll know I’m here -”

“Pass the mantle to one of the others. Esteban could do it -”

“Where I go, Esti goes. Just when everything’s getting good again, I’ve got to look at pictures of him at CER! I’ll never get rid of him!”

“It’ll be alright -” There was a long, troubled pause. “What do you mean, pictures at CER?”

Cora clicked on one of the articles. “There’s guff about him being the youngest roboticist in history. ‘
Keeping It in the Family
’, they’ve called it. ‘
Spalding is the nephew of Dr Julia Fisk, CER’s leading
roboticist ...’”

She heard what sounded suspiciously like Alfred bashing his head against the wall.

“Oh, this gets better and better.”

Battle Commences

The trial was set for July 23
rd
. Coverage had reached a deafening crescendo.

Olive Omatayo had dropped fatally low in the polls. Her critics said it was time she learned to prioritise, pointing out her preoccupation with the Wilding-Foster case. Did it really compare to the refugee crisis? To the thousands living in poverty? Jerry Etruscus scored an unexpected hit when he accused her of chasing the “bigot, virgin and effing fruitcake vote.” He’d been typically blasé about the case. “Langton’s been a bloody good pal – frankly I don’t care if he bums bots or not. Just book me a front row seat.”

If the Prime Minister was having an uncomfortable time, it was nothing to the tribulations CER was undergoing. Several high profile clients ended their sponsorships; thousands of customers closed their accounts. The Pond found it impossible to cope with the backlash. Some signed off sick with stress, others walked.

Dr Sugar was near breaking point. Fisk hadn’t been in for months, Malik was grilling Josh around the clock - he was the only senior roboticist left in the organisation. He was working sixty hour weeks, weeping from exhaustion.

“This can’t go on,” he said one morning. Blinking back tears, he rode in the lift to the top floor.

No one had seen Adrian for weeks. His vix was in the parking bay but that was as far as anyone’s knowledge went. He hadn’t even gone on one of his walkabouts where he asked inane questions, forgot people’s names and generally got in the way.

Sugar approached the office, seized by the morbid idea the CEO had died and was steadily decomposing. He flagged down a passing functional. “You might need a dustpan. Or a hose.”

The functional shrugged its pincers and rolled after him. Sugar rapped on the door. “Adrian?” The functional forced the door.

He was relieved to see that Adrian was alive, though not in the best mental state. He was wearing a sweat soaked string vest and shorts, doing laps of the carpet bare foot. The jelly bean jar was broken, tiny pigments dotted as far as Sugar could see. This hadn’t been by accident. As he stood gaping, Adrian whacked a golf ball at a shelf full of awards.

“Owzat!” he cried. The functional scuttled to clear it up.

Sugar was at a loss. He’d never had a proper conversation with Adrian, who he regarded as a vulgar, unqualified oik - and that was without the rumours. Watching him smash up his office with the alleged murder weapon didn’t make his errand any easier.

“Um, Adrian?”

“Yes, my good man?”

“Nobody’s seen you in so long. We’re concerned.”

“It’s too late, Noah.”An unspeakable glass sculpture was blasted to bits. “Time we said nighty night. CER will be history within the month.”

Sugar waved for the functional to follow him. Its eyes strayed towards the broken glass. He had to bark at it in binary.

He drifted downstairs. He started to head towards Ozols’ office, but she had been fired. Desperate to discuss what he had witnessed, he went down to the Pond. He stared at the empty desks, appalled. He hadn’t realised it had come to this. He stopped by Madge’s old team, the only one he had spoken to with any regularity.

“The CEO’S stark raving mad,” he said.

Dean was handing out cupcakes. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

“No, really.” Sugar described the scene in the office. Ravi exclaimed, “That’s it!”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sick of this caper. Josh isn’t some goof off a production line, he’s our friend. The fact we’re turning our backs on him and making out Langton’s a perv is nothing short of disgusting.”

Workers at the other banks nodded. Tatum Wong piped up, “They’re in love. What’s wrong with that?”

“But ...” Sugar struggled to assert his authority. “There’s got to be rules. Society would break down without them.”

Dean yanked off his headset. “Dunno about you but I’m going on strike.”

It was all over the news. CER’s remaining two hundred workers had withdrawn their services, saying they wouldn’t return until the company supported Josh. The robots had gone on strike too. No one could understand it.

Josh had requested a network box in his cell. Malik wanted to refuse but couldn’t think of a reason. When this was broadcast the artificial turned from her and closed his eyes.

“What have you started?” she asked.

A beatific smile. “Revolution,” he said.

***

July 23
rd
was sultry, thunderflies clustering on every surface. The Ira stank, the stench seeping through vehicles and walls. No matter how often you fanned yourself or drank, you couldn’t cool down. Tourists camped outside the Halls of Justice. The press lay in wait, Josh’s fan club sobbed and waved placards. The Anti Artificial League chanted slogans. “Robot! No-bot!”

“With poetry like that, they’ve won,” Alfred said.

He and Feist were pulling up outside the Halls in a Ministry vix. She laid a hand on his arm.

“I know you’re nervous. Just be yourself.”

“Isn’t that how I got here?”

“Get under my umbrella.”

              Thick blurry drops were beginning to fall. They did nothing for the humidity. Feist’s tiny hand was like a vice, prising him from the vix and through the crowds.

“Lord Langton!”

They knew better than to harass him. He’d knocked out that scumbag who sneaked into Gussy’s funeral. He shielded his eyes and moved forwards, determined not to show any weakness.

They went down into the bowels of the building, past the crims in the cells. A young man ran to the bars and asked for his autograph. “Don’t look at them,” Feist said. As they mounted the stairs to the courtroom, his attention was caught by a glint of blood red metal. It belonged to a structure the height of three men, similar to a bottle opener. “They’ve got the squelcher ready?” he whispered.

“They do that with all robot trials. It’s not a foregone conclusion.”

Unwanted memories surfaced from Ken’s trial. The bowl fixing onto Guy’s head, squeezing it inwards. The drill swinging down, boring through –

It was a relief to emerge into the courtroom. It was smaller than it looked in films, with swagged blue curtains and stylax seating banks. Only the dock and the judge’s bench matched his idea of what a courtroom should be. He didn’t bother looking at the heraldic shields lining the walls. He knew they were fakes.

He scanned the banks. Gwyn was flanked by Nanny and Derkins. She was trying to be strong but her eyes brimmed. Further down was Cora, the biggest blue rose pinned to her chest. That beastly poodle was on her lap, eating truffles from her handbag. She stopped talking to a bevy of fans and blew him a kiss.

Beneath them were the jury. A motlier group you couldn’t imagine: a well groomed Hadan woman, a seedy man in overalls, a beady eyed old lady with lamb chops poking from her bag. They looked as though they’d been dragged in off the street.

Everyone stopped murmuring and followed his progress. He gave a sarcastic wave. “Behave!” Feist hissed.

He took his seat in the dock, Feist to his right. She whispered something but she might have been miles away. The whole world could have been. An armed guard was leading Josh into the room.

It was two months since they had seen each other. In his darkest moments, Alfred had wondered if their love was an illusion, the fantasy of a diseased mind. Everyone insisted it was.

Josh looked neither right nor left. He hovered by his guard, his gaze in the middle distance. His eyes found Alfred’s - and he wondered no longer. It was as bright, clear and definite as something freshly minted, as the first morning of spring. Josh took his place in the bullet proof booth, eyes still fixed on Alfred.

The judge called for order. She was Justice Begum, frontwoman of
Lila’s Most Notorious Trials,
the nation’s firm but fair auntie. Alfred had caught glimpses of the show at Chimera. He’d always been repulsed by the bravado and dishonesty of the defendants. Was that how he looked?

The prosecutor rose. The sense of unreality continued: it was Sir Matthias Hopkiss, the People’s Prosecutor. A mountain with a sherry soaked voice, Sir Matthias professed to be a defender of public decency. The reality was rather different.

“In all my years as a prosecutor, I haven’t encountered such a sordid case,” he began, meaty jowls wobbling. He was a lover of pregnant pauses. The audience fidgeted.

“I seek to show that the men before you engaged in unnatural sexual relations ...”

The first up was Captain Lucy. He sauntered over to swear, one hand in his pocket.

“I am Captain Eustace Lucy, chief of Perversion Prevention. The accused was arrested on my orders on May 21
st
. I have been monitoring his conduct since.”

“Cases of this kind are rarely brought to trial,” Sir Matthias said. “What convinced you to make an exception?”

“I’d have to say the defendant’s arrogance and audacity. He has used his position as Lady Augusta’s brother to groom the artificial Josh Foster and lure him into a relationship. He pretended to everyone - the public, Foster’s handlers - that it was a mere friendship, his actions motivated purely by kindness. It is the opinion of several experts he bears all the hallmarks of psychopathy and should not be allowed to reoffend.”

Alfred couldn’t suppress a snort. Somebody present was psychotic, but it sure as hell wasn’t him.

“Can you provide proof?” Sir Matthias asked.

“Plenty. By his own admission, he and the artificial are in a ‘relationship’” - Lucy made quotation marks with his fingers - “and ‘engaged’. He gave Ian Neal, the prison doctor, a detailed account of their affair. He even got the artificial to collude with him.”

Josh went to make an angry denial. The guard tapped the booth with his gun.

“This isn’t the first time Langton’s been in trouble,” Hopkiss said reminiscently. “He’s been charged with numerous accounts of assault, once against his own brother in law. We mustn’t forget the infamous occasion where he drove down the Royal Mile naked. And of course, an incident with  particular bearing upon this case -”

“That’s right,” Lucy simpered. “Thirteen years ago I had to take Langton into custody because of his relations with Professor Kenneth Summerskill, known Deviant -”

“Objection. My client was cleared of all charges,” Feist cut in.

              “Objection overruled,” Justice Begum said. Not out of malice, it seemed, but curiosity. “Continue, captain.”

“It’s true we were unable to produce solid evidence against Langton, but I and others close to the case had doubts. He broke my nose during questioning and subjected me to the vilest language - hardly the actions of an innocent man. Summerskill was his lover; he and Langton engaged in a reckless, adventurous sex life with multiple partners. Why wouldn’t he participate?”

“I don’t know, maybe it made my skin crawl?”Alfred snapped.

“Langton!” Justice Begum scolded. “Any more from you and you’ll be thrown out!”

He clamped his mouth shut. Josh shot him a warning look. Feist hissed, “Calm down!”

“So this latest misdemeanour came as no surprise?” Sir Matthias was saying.

“None whatsoever. You only have to see pictures of them to know Langton was dying to get into his pants -”

Feist sat up again. This time Justice Begum nodded. “Captain Lucy, keep your language respectable while you’re in my courtroom.”

He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “The relationship was obviously a strange, unhealthy one. I was contacted twice by CER personnel - once by Julia Fisk, the artificial’s handler, the other by Adrian Pinder, the CEO.”

“What did they say on these occasions?”

“Fisk came to see me after Foster had deserted his wife. She confirmed that Langton and Foster were in a relationship and CER had attempted to cover it up. She was very emotional, blaming herself. She wanted us to apprehend Langton but he left the country before we had the chance.”

“And Pinder?”

“He called after the artificial fled that ludicrous show. He told me to watch, said it spoke for itself. He asked me to arrest them both as soon as possible. The Prime Minister, who took a personal interest in the case, asked me to delay for ten days.”

“What was the reason for this delay?”

“I had the impression, rightly or wrongly, that the relationship was romantic rather than physical at this stage. I didn’t want to proceed until it had been consummated.”

The viewers gasped. Alfred’s cheeks scalded. Lucy gloated at the sensation he had caused.

“Do you have any doubts now?”

“None whatsoever.”

It was difficult to decide who looked more pleased with himself: Sir Matthias huge and swollen, stifling a yawn, or Lucy, cracking his knuckles and leering.

“No further questions, Your Honour.”

Feist got to her feet, smaller and slighter than ever beside Hopkiss’s bulk. “Captain Lucy. How long have you known my client?”

He spoke as though to an imbecile. “As has been established, thirteen years. You don’t forget having your nose broken.”