The Holy Machine

by Chris Beckett

  But the news was already spreading. We could actually see it, like a weather front moving across a landscape. For a little while the people in the streets were still just as they’d been all morning and over the last two days. Then there were more signs of agitation, more groups conferring, more glances towards our taxi and the three of us inside looking very Illyrian with our clean-shaven faces and our white, collarless suits.

  Then someone threw a stone at us.

  Then someone else shouted.

  Then the car started to be jostled: fists were banged on the roof, doors were kicked, faces glared through windows.

  Someone delivered a hard kick to Manolis’ door. He wound down his window and roared out abuse.

  ‘About thirty died,’ said Claude (he was listening to the news through an ear-set as he spoke), ‘Epirote Greeks, almost all of them.’

  ‘Atheists! Murderers!’ people were beginning to shout at us. A group of youths made to block our way.

  Manolis put his foot down, scaring them out of his way by sheer ruthless speed.

  He turned a corner and pulled up abruptly.

  ‘Right, get out now,’ he said.

  Claude produced a wad of banknotes.

  ‘Ten thousand if you get us to the airstrip!’

  Tojo produced a handgun and pointed it at Manolis’ head.

  The driver grinned mirthlessly.

  ‘You don’t seem very ill to me!’ Then he shrugged. ‘Okay, ten thousand drachmai. But make sure everyone can see you pointing that gun at me.’

  A lump of brick smashed a hole in the windscreen and sprinkled my suit with glass.

  ‘And keep the safety catch on,’ Manolis added through gritted teeth. ‘I won’t get you to the airport if you’ve blown my head off.’

  He was sweating profusely. The Illyrian civil servants were sweating too. All three men were muttering a stream of obscenities in their respective native languages.

  But as for me, oddly enough, for one so frightened of so many things, I felt completely unafraid. More than that, I actually felt elated. There was, I could see, a real possibility that the car would be stopped and we three Illyrians dragged out and beaten to death. But that prospect was quite eclipsed for me by the wonderful and unfamiliar feeling of really being alive.

  Somehow we got through the town and on to the airstrip where the Illyrian Air Force helicopter was waiting with its rotor spinning, the unblinking, black-and-white Eye of Illyria painted on its side. Another helicopter, this one a ferocious gunship, was hovering overhead to ensure that no one interfered with our departure.

  Soon we were safely on our way home above the Zagorian mountains. The helicopter crew filled us in on the day’s events.

  More than twenty thousand guestworkers had come out onto the streets. They had demanded the usual things: religious freedom and full citizenship of Illyria, where they formed the majority of the population but continued to be treated as foreigners.

  The police had ordered the demonstration to disperse under the Prevention of Bigotry Act. The crowd had refused and a riot had ensued in which shops were looted, vehicles burnt and several robots damaged. This was when a group of Epirote demonstrators had run amok and been shot by police machines.

  Tojo snorted: ‘Their demands are ridiculous. Illyria has always made clear that it is a state for scientists and intellectuals, and that full citizenship will only be given to those who are properly qualified…’

  He went on, his voice becoming louder and shriller. ‘Squippies came to Illyria out of choice! They know the rules! They’ve got no business trying to change them.’

  He gave an angry snort. His face was all blotchy with emotion and his lip was trembling.

  ‘But what’s the point? They’ll never listen to reason. The sooner the entire guestworker population is replaced by robots, the better.’

  ‘Very pricey though,’ observed Claude with a shrug.

  ‘A price worth paying!’ snapped Tojo, ‘Really Claude, it is just absurd to talk about price!’

  We were near the frontier. I looked down at the mountains and fancied for a moment that I saw a tiny single figure far below, struggling southward into Epiros across a snowfield. Oddly jerky movements it seemed to me. Was the figure human, or could it be…?

  But I was distracted from taking a second look, by Tojo breaking down into convulsive sobs.

  A young paramedic was in the helicopter and he administered sedation.

  We crossed into Illyrian airspace in silence, but for the gradually subsiding sobs of Tojo as he settled into sleep, and the thrub-thrub-thrub of the helicopter blades.

  Claude glanced at me.

  ‘The Reaction was bad in Japan,’ he said gruffly, by way of explanation. ‘Public beheadings, torture… you know. It reminds him.’

  14

  Needless to say, when I got home, Ruth was beside herself.

  ‘I told you shouldn’t go to the Outlands! Don’t you realize what this does to me? The squippies have gone crazy! In Illyria, George, even in Illyria – and there you were in Greece! Don’t you ever think of me? Don’t you ever think of me at all?’

  A few little tears came starting from her eyes.

  ‘They were down there in the street George. Banners! Chanting! Crosses! Just like in… just like in…’

  She didn’t like to say the word – or at any rate affected not to like saying it – so I said it brutally for her:

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Just like in Chicago.’

  ‘All over town. Even here in Faraday, George. You don’t seem to understand what this means… I’ve been on the net all day. I’ve mailed our assemblyman, and the President, and the Police Department, and… and… This mustn’t be allowed George. It’s got to be stamped out. And you go to Greece!’

  The TV was on in the corner. I picked up the remote control and starting flipping to and fro across the day’s news. I was tired, and hungry, and very shaky, beginning to get the delayed shock reaction to my close shave back in Ioannina.

  ‘Get me a dinner, Charlie,’ I called to the robot, ‘I don’t care what it is. And a couple of beers while I’m waiting.’

  I settled into an armchair. The X3 trundled mutely to do my bidding. His antique speech mechanism had seized up recently and we’d not been able to find anyone who could fix it.

  ‘Are you listening to anything I’m saying, George?’ Ruth demanded. ‘I’ve been half out of my mind and you don’t seem to care. In Greece, George, you were in Greece when the Greek squippies went crazy.’

  I pulled the top off the first can of beer and let the TV settle on real-time news.

  ‘…all around Illyria, sabres are rattling’ a commentator was saying, ‘The Islamic Republic of Albania has officially declared war. The Holy Autochthony of Epiros has suspended all contacts. The First Hearer of Herczgovina has called on all children of Light to suspend their differences and obliterate Illyria, which alone of all countries in the world is purely made of Darkness. The Pope has sent a message of condolence to his erstwhile bitter enemy, the Patriarch of Constantinople. Even the First Elect of America, Elisha Jones, has expressed his outrage, though of course Catholics, Muslims and Orthodox Christians, just as much as unbelievers, are persecuted under his own Protestant rule…’

  Image after image showed angry crowds, angry religious leaders, in the diverse trappings of their faiths…

  Then there were reassuring images of Illyria in readiness: jets marked with wide-open eyes streaking across the sky, Goliath fighting robots, three metres tall, patrolling the frontier, armed speedboats streaking across the mild blue sea with Illyrian flags fluttering behind them…

  And then: more crowds, flashbacks to earlier that day in Illyria City itself.

  I was shaking badly now. When Charlie brought me my meal I could barely hold it.

  ‘You see?’ Ruth demanded, pointing at the screen, ‘You see?’

  I exploded then. ‘For fuck’s sake Ruth, just leave me alone for five minutes will you!’
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  She burst into tears and ran off to her room.

  ‘You never even asked me what happened to me today!’ I shouted after her, ‘I’m the one that was nearly killed, not you! Me! Me! Me!’

  I felt a strange dull ache behind my eyes.

  Hungry as I had been, I found that when it came to it I couldn’t bring myself to eat, or to follow what was happening on the TV screen, or even to sit still in one place. I grabbed my jacket and went out, heading for Lucy, through subways crawling with security machines and streets still littered with debris.

  15

  ‘How are you George? It’s nice to see you! Would you like a glass of wine, or some coffee or something?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  Lucy was wearing her little, sleeveless denim dress. She settled on the bed, tossing back her hair, curling her legs up underneath her, in that graceful, teasing way that I normally found irresistible.

  She smiled.

  ‘You look tired. What do you want to do, George? Talk a bit? Shall I tell you about what I used to get up to with those naughty sisters of mine? Or do you want to watch me undress? Or do you just want to…’

  ‘You’re not real, Lucy.’

  She laughed, apparently unabashed.

  ‘I mean, look at this stupid room,’ I said, ‘Those books. You can’t even read can you?’

  ‘I can read. Sometimes visitors like to write things down they want to do, if they are feeling a bit shy. Would you like to do that George?’

  I grabbed one of the books from the shelf and flipped through the pages: Science Fiction in the Twentieth Century.

  ‘The characters lack depth,’ I read, opening it at random, ‘and it’s obvious that the relationships between them are of much less interest to themselves or the author than their relationship with technology. It is as if the latter has become a substitute for…’

  I flipped impatiently to the table of contents.

  ‘Go on then,’ I said. ‘If this is your book, tell me the names of some twentieth century science fiction writers!’

  Lucy smiled: ‘Heinlein, Asimov, Aldiss, Ballard…’ she began.

  I was surprised and, very grudgingly, impressed by the thoroughness of her programming.

  ‘You could have got that just from the contents page. Okay then: Asimov, Heinlein… Tell me some of their books!’

  Lucy looked at me with her beautiful, gentle eyes.

  ‘I, Robot,’ she began, ‘Stranger in a Strange Land…’

  I tossed the book aside.

  ‘Oh well, so you’re programmed to load up information. So what? You’re still empty. It’s not even as if Lucy is the only person you can pretend to be is it?’

  ‘Do you want me to play another role? The menu is there beside you.’

  I picked it up.

  ‘Jolene’ I read, ‘A real hard bitch from New York City… Rigmor: The Swedish Doctor who likes to be in charge… La Contessa…’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Okay then, let’s see you do La Contessa.’

  The transformation was instant and total: body language, facial expression, everything became languorous, sensual, aristocratic…

  And when La Contessa spoke it wasn’t just the accent that was different, but the voice itself, deep and husky, completely unlike Lucy in every way…

  ‘I am so ashamed, but I need sex now. Do you understand me? I need eet very badly. My husban’, thee count, he ees a good man, but he ees – ‘ow can I say? – too good…’

  ‘Alright then, be Rigmor.’

  Again, instant transformation: Rigmor was stern and stiff and harsh.

  ‘Please to remove your clothing, and I will begin the examination…’

  ‘Oh for god’s sake, forget it. Just be yourself…’

  Be herself? Herself?

  The face of the syntec suddenly became slack and empty. Its limbs froze. Its mouth hung slightly open. It was like my vision of the syntecs in the lounge after the customers had all gone home.

  ‘I mean be Lucy!’ I cried out in horror.

  Lucy smiled. She tossed back her hair. She asked me what I’d like to do now?

  16

  Ruth was off in SenSpace. Well, if she expected me to get her out of there, she could think again. She could decide for herself whether she wanted pressure sores.

  Charlie came humming out of the kitchen. He couldn’t speak any more, so he just hovered near me waiting for instructions. I ordered a drink.

  The TV was still switched on. The President of Illyria was on the screen: stern President Ullman, emerging from the Executive Council Building flanked by Goliath security robots.

  ‘Our state is a refuge for Reason,’ he announced, in a hoarse, slightly shaky voice, ‘a place where Reason can shelter until the rest of the world recovers its senses. In the old world, Reason was humble: it took its place beside archaic and irrational beliefs and trusted to the human race to be able to see the difference. Then the Reaction came and we were asked to renounce Reason on pain of torture and death. Never again will we be humble, never again will we leave Reason undefended, never until we have rooted out from the world, once and for all, the causes of irrationality.’

  He hesitated here. He was an old man. He fumbled with his notes.

  ‘Illyria is the most powerful state on Earth, not because of its size or population but because of Reason. Religion and irrationality can only raise frightened rabbles. The power of Reason created the jet engine, the atomic weapon, the energy source of cold fusion, the speed of Discontinuous Motion, the formidable systems of cybernetics.

  ‘And we will use our power. We will not tolerate the destructive power of irrationality and superstition in our midst. We will never again be fooled by talk of tolerance, or seduced by the idea that irrationality and superstition are decorative and harmless.’

  And again he hesitated here, not through confusion or tiredness, I now realized, but through an effort to contain his immense rage.

  ‘I make the following decrees with immediate effect,’ he went on:

  ‘One. 4,000 known or suspected troublemakers in the guest-worker community will be expelled tonight to their countries of origin.

  ‘Two. No assembly of more than three guestworkers to take place in any public place, on pain of deportation or imprisonment.

  ‘Three. Possession of religious emblems to be punishable by immediate deportation.

  ‘Four. There will be a total ban on the publication or distribution of documents and electronic materials promoting irrational and superstitious ideas, or undermining the defence of Illyria in any other way.

  ‘Five. Our armed forces are to be maintained in state of red alert until further notice. We will respond without mercy to provocation by any other state.

  ‘Six. With immediate effect, public funding for the Unskilled Labour Replacement program is to be doubled.’

  He lowered his notes.

  ‘I attach the utmost importance to this last decree. The program has not proceeded with sufficient speed. Illyria has been distracted by voices criticizing the expense of this program, and by malicious and unfounded rumours of technical problems.

  ‘No expense is too great to ensure the security of our state. And, just as our external security depends on our armed forces, our internal security depends on the possession of a reliable labour force. We must end our dependence, once and for all, on uneducated human beings.

  ‘In support of this last decree I will appoint tomorrow a new Secretary for Labour Replacement, who will answer directly to myself. The publication of reports and opinions critical of the program is henceforth a criminal offence.’

  The President turned to one of the Goliath robots, which passed him one of those clay figurines.

  Ullman held it aloft and slowly ground it into dust, declaiming as he did so: ‘No spirits, no ghosts, no angels or devils, no god, no heaven, no hell, no mysteries, no holy books! None of that is to be suffered in our Illyria. Only those things which can be measured, onl
y those ideas which can be tested against empirical evidence!’

  I was utterly exhausted. The voices became blurred and confused. Ullman’s muffled voice seemed to be shouting up from the bottom of a deep hole in the ground. When the commentator’s voice-over came on, I had the vague impression that we were involved in some sort of rescue bid here at the surface, and that perhaps I was being asked to find some rope. I’d have to watch out though because otherwise I might…

  Feeling myself slipping on the mud towards that dreadful hole I jerked awake again, clutching the arms of the chair.

  I downed my whisky and took myself off to bed.

  * * *

  When I lay down in the dark I had a few moments of that strange mental clarity that comes occasionally before sleep. I was thinking about Lucy, about Lucy being herself, and then I thought about those poor machines nailed to that gibbet in Ioannina, and how somehow they had managed to wander out of Illyria City and across the well-guarded frontier. Driven by what?

  For a short time I felt that I could actually look out at the world through Lucy’s eyes.

  17

  Listen, listen carefully. The subject has accent type AM-3, so adjust vowel interpretation accordingly. Smile (type 1 [V22]). Ask question I-6452. What service is being requested?

  ‘Aral – you know go dahn on me…’

  Oral?

  Smile (type 5 [V61]). Ask clarifying question C-1771. Answer: affirmative.

  Take subject’s hand, look at subject, smile (type 4 [V78]), lead subject to bed.

  Clarification question C/I-4534. (‘Shall I undress now, or would you like me to put something else on?’) ‘Nah, just strip…’

  Check. Understood?

  Yes, understood. No need for further clarification questions.

  Undress – routine R{U}-0972 – smile (type 4 [V11]), adopt randomized remark sequence Z-5538. Subject touches breast. (NB this is basic situation B-67, enter response field accordingly).