Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  “What about this?” Langton touched a sketchpad on the windowsill.

  “Pictures. They’re not very good.”

  “Can I see?”

  “It’s mostly copying.”

  “You drew these?” He pored over them: a series of skyscapes, ranging from sleepy summer afternoons to frigid winter mornings, sunsets to thunderstorms. “I’ve seen pictures in galleries that aren’t as good.”

  “I like the sky, it’s always changing.” He looked down, embarrassed. “I don’t go out very often.”

  “Hold onto that thought.”

  “I don’t think I’m meant to -”

  “Does this place have a garden?”

  “There’s a roof one, but only the doctors use it.”

  “I’ll pull rank.” Langton continued to leaf through the pad. “The Centre - jolly good. Langton village? You can draw places you’ve only seen once?”

  “It’s just recording.”

  “It’s a talent people would kill for. Here’s Chimera.”

  “It’s not my best.”

  “Everything I draw looks like a sausage. Puss! Hope she didn’t scare you.”

  “She took one sniff and bolted. Is it true you’ve got a menagerie?”

  “Used to. We had an orang-utan once, and a wombat. Gussy had an otter called Puzzle. Little tyke, trashed everything. Now it’s just Puss. Everyone said I should call her something classical, but I didn’t fancy yelling it across the grounds.” He flipped to the last few pages. “I like these. Caricatures?”

  “CER staff.” Josh named them: Sugar with his fuzzy moustache and hooded eyes could only be a koala, a goldhound had a strong look of Ozols, Mandy was a beaver. The last showed a praying mantis biting heads off.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Dr Fisk. My handler.”

  Josh expected him to be shocked, but Langton simply touched his shoulder. A fleeting moment of warmth, then nothing.

  “Would you like to see some technological advances?” Josh said.

  “Why not? Lead on.”

  Josh did the tour badly. He spoke too fast and muddled his words, but Langton didn’t mind. “It’s over my head,” he said, “but I like looking anyway.” They saw discarded artificials, reams of designs, an exhibition on Lady Augusta. “That needs work,” he said. “If there’s anything you want me to donate -”

  “Dr Sugar said you always say no.”

  “No point sitting on it.”

  “They’ll be so grateful.”

  “It’s funny,” Langton said, after they came out of the Sorting Room. Functionals deemed fit for use were sent out in boxes, unfit ones scrapped. “I’ve dreaded coming back, but it hasn’t been bad. Thanks.”

  “Are you still a robophobe?”

  “I don’t like that word. Are we going to sit in the garden?”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “You’re right. I suppose robots can be nice, once you get to know them.”

  He said it frankly, no attempt to spare feelings. Josh appreciated his honesty. Perhaps he thought he’d gone too far; he gave a disarming, sheepish smile.

  Langton requested a key card from Sugar, who did such an enormous double take he fell in the bin. As soon as they got onto the roof, they laughed until it hurt. Josh scampered about, switching on the fountains and sniffing the flowers.

  “Oh, I like this! Real plants - the ones on site are fake, you know.”

  “If you’re like this over a garden, who knows what you’ll be like in a park.” Langton chewed his pipe. “You win. I’ll come to the launch, even talk if you want. I warn you, I’m an appalling public speaker.”

  “Dr Sugar’ll love you forever.”

  “Glad to hear it. You know, if you get bored, you can always come to Chimera. Bring your sketchpad.”

  “I’d like that.” Josh beamed. “Thanks, Lord Langton.”

  “None of this standing on ceremony rubbish. Call your doctors what you like, but I’m just Alfred.”

  “Alfred.” Josh tried it. “It’s a bit old fashioned.”

  “I’m an old fashioned man.”

  They sat at a picnic table, chatting and watching the darkening sky. Josh couldn’t have said what they talked about, but it was easy and pleasant. For once he didn’t feel like he was acting a part. They laughed a lot.

  “Wait. If you don’t like robots, why did you build your dragon?”

  Alfred was floored. He reddened, hummed. “It’s an automaton. Completely different.”

  “Really?”

  They’d just finished laughing - “I’m an outrageous hypocrite, sue me -” when spiky footsteps clattered up the iron ladder. “Josh?” a hard, peevish voice asked.

  “Now I’m in for it.”

  “He’s with me,” Alfred said, getting to his feet.

  In the lamplight Fisk looked an otherworldly green. “Langton. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  “You’re alive. Just about.”

  Josh smothered a giggle. Fisk misinterpreted this. “I hope you’re not upsetting him.”

  He stood beside Alfred. “We’re having a good time.”

  “We’re closing.” She clashed down the steps.

  “Is that your praying mantis? You’d think I was trying to kidnap you.”

  “She’s like that with everybody I talk to.”

  “I’ll have a word with - Dr Sugar, is it? - and go. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “When can I see you again?”

  “Next week. Where are they holding this chivaree?”

  “The Palace.”

  “As I feared. Come on, old chap. I’ll drop you off.”

  Josh sat in the dark, watching the shadows on the ceiling. Sugar came in and switched the lights on.

  “He’s like a different man. How did you do it?”

  “We just talked.”

  “Whatever it is, carry on. He’s giving us some of Lady A’s things, and written a cashtot. You’ll never guess how much for ...”

  Josh let him prattle on.

  Changes

  The changes to Josh’s life were instantaneous. Previously confined to his suite, he was allowed to wander and get to know the staff. He made two discoveries: Madge’s team in the Pond and Pip Profitt, the girl who did the tours.

  CER’s graduate scheme attracted a certain type. Girls with highlighted hair, rounded vowels and satchels. Pip dressed as though she’d been caught in a paint fight and rattled with piercings. Her hair changed constantly: pink, turquoise, spiked, shaved. She was bouncy, talkative and behaved as though the rules didn’t apply to her. Normally such a mismatch would be kicked out in a fortnight, but she was an outstanding guide. Repeat visitors always asked for “the girl with the hair.”

  “If you’re doin’ tours, do ‘em with panache. There’s hundreds of museums in this city. Give them an experience they dinna forget.”

  First he copied her style. “No! Be yourself.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Bollocks. I like you. The Pond likes you. Lord Langton frickin’ adores you.”

  “Really?”

  “Must do. He dinna used to give this place the time of day.”

  Josh allowed himself a small glow. It didn’t last.

  “Wakey wakey! When I’m done you’ll be the sultan of tour guides.”

  If that wasn’t enough, he had classes with Ozols about etiquette. “What does that mean?” he’d asked.

  “The proper way to behave.”

  At first he’d been intrigued. By the third class he’d realised it was mainly table manners and ‘conversational technique’. They kept being interrupted by Monty, a malevolent ginger tom Ozols loved to distraction. If he wasn’t bringing in mangled rodents and demanding they admire them, he was spraying the plants or squatting in the wastepaper basket. He’d never heard of etiquette.

  “Not being funny, but does any of this matter?” Josh was sitting at a table she had laid out. There was a formidable array of cutlery an
d glasses; he had to pick which to use first.

  “In the grand scheme of things, no. But if you don’t want HG to think ‘Pleb’-”

  “Won’t she anyway?”

  “When you’re at the Palace you’re representing us. You need to put on a good show.”

  “Seems a bit pointless.”

  “Langton’s rubbing off on you. You never used to be this gobby.”

  Next he pretended she was the sovereign. The correct form of address was Your Grace, you had to bow and do a complicated handshake. “She or Prince Wulfric will ask what you do -”

  “What do I do?”

  “You’re a celebrity artificial.”

  “What’s a celebrity?”

  “Somebody famous.”

  “How can I be famous when I haven’t done anything?”

  “You’d be amazed how little that counts. Anyway, don’t turn your back on the Queen -”

  “What’s wrong with my back?”

  “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere. Use the rest of the day for being less annoying.”

  He stared at her office door as it shut in his face. “I was only asking.”

  The door opposite sidled open. He sighed. “Hello, Dr Fisk.”

  “How many times have I asked you to call me Julia?”

  Fisk stood in the doorway, licking her lips. It happened whenever she caught him alone. She stared wolfishly, he looked at the floor. Silence spooled between them.

  “Sorry, Julia.” It tasted wrong.

  “Is something worrying you? The launch?”

  “No.” He met her eye. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  A desiccated hand patted his. “My door is always open.”

  He sensed her eyes following him. He wasn’t comfortable till he was four floors away.

  Perplexing though these differences were, they didn’t swamp his primary concern: Alfred was coming to see him. Whenever he heard a vix he went to the window to look, but a tall red haired figure never climbed out.

  One afternoon he was at a loose end. He wandered downstairs to the Pond, where the lines were busier than usual.

  “Josh!” Madge waved him over. “Fancy adding a string to your bow?”

  “I suppose so - ”

  She pushed a brochure into his hands. “The new Home Butler was released last week and we’ve had nothing but complaints. It hasn’t turned up, it keeps shutting down. Between you and me, it’s shite, but we’re not allowed to say that.”

  The Butler looked like a standard functional, its only concessions to humanity a sketchy face and bow tie. It was shown performing a range of tasks: mowing the lawn, mixing a cocktail, loading the washing machine. It chatted about a range of topics, helped children with schoolwork and protected your home with its “handy surveillance system!”

  “Why don’t people keep their old ones?” Josh asked.

  “They like the latest gadgets.”

  “Would you get one?”

  “Nah, because I know what pains in the arse bots can be. Present company excepted. Are you up for it?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Talking to these miserable sods.”

  “I don’t know anything about customer service -”

  “Make sympathetic noises. If they moan, tell them to piss off.” Before he could protest, Madge shoved a bulb in his ear and pressed Available.

  A querulous voice came on the line. “I demand to speak to the CEO!”

  “I’m sorry, he’s playing golf. Is there anything I can do?”

  He took four calls, all complaints. He tried to follow Madge’s advice but it wasn’t easy. Nobody seemed to be listening. “It’s nice to finally speak to a human!” they kept saying.

  “I need a drink.” Somebody fetched him a coffee. “If they want your help, why are they so rude?”

  “It’s why we call them cuntstomers -”

  “Dean!” Madge scolded.

  “What?”

  “Don’t swear in front of Josh.”

  “He’ll hear it sooner or later.”

  “Yeah, but when Fisky asks where -”

  “Fair dos.”

  “Are you ready to take another call?” Madge asked. “It’d really help.”

  This latest customer was the worst. She kept interrupting, seized on the most innocuous phrases - “Should? You will -” and threatened to dump her Home Butler on CER’s doorstep if somebody didn’t collect it that evening.

  “I’m sorry, madam, we won’t -”

  “Madam? Do I look like I run a brothel?”

  “You might run a brothel. Is it the sort of thing you would do?” This remark, reasonable to his ears, made her gurgle with rage.

  A roar of laughter. “Now there’s a satisfied customer.”

  He only knew one person with a voice like that: hoarse but musical, like a good singer with a sore throat. He pressed the Release button and grinned at Alfred.

  “Hello! What are you doing here?”

  “Well -” Alfred considered. “I thought I’d pop by to admire the architecture, then realised I could kill two birds with one stone and see you.”

  Josh looked to Madge for permission. “May I?”

  “Ask Shuggy.”

  Sugar took a maddeningly long time to trace. Finally Josh ran into him coming out of the fifth floor lavatory.

  “Alfred, sorry, Lord Langton, wants to know if I can go out. Says we’ll be back by dinner.”

  The roboticist considered. “Nineteen o’clock sharp. Else he’ll have me to answer to.” As Josh blinked, “Used to be a su mon du champion. Bet Langton can’t say that.”

  Josh had only seen Lux as sprinkles of lights beneath CER. On the rare occasions he’d been taken out it was to a lab, always in a hired vix with tinted windows. Alfred’s vix was a very different proposition: gleaming platinum, cream seats that sank as you sat down. What he’d taken for a chauffeur was Gwyn in a driving cap and jacket.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Anywhere and everywhere. Josh?”

  “No idea.” He wallowed in leather. “This is my first time in the city.”

  “We’ll give you a tour. Gwynnie, put some music on.”

  She was astonishingly like Alfred, as though somebody had hammered out a copy but made it female at the last minute. They shared many mannerisms: lifting an eyebrow when they were bemused, propping their chin with their hand, drumming their fingers. They seemed to read each other’s thoughts. Josh wished, uselessly, he could have that close a bond with someone. There were no people like him.

  “Lux is best explored on foot,” Alfred explained. “There are all sorts of weird and wonderful places the tourist never sees. What are you wearing to the launch?”

  “One of the techies lent me a tux -”

  “Borrowed clothes never look right. It’s got to be something you’ve chosen.”

  “You’d know,” Gwyn teased. “You were born in tweed.”

  Josh thought he had misheard. “I can pick it myself?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The parking bay wound into a shopping centre, the glass and colour reminding Josh of the Centre’s fish tank. So many windows, displaying so many things! Fat tubas and elegant fiddles. A toy helter-skelter, bobble hatted penguins whizzing round. Confectioners stretching taffy. Lacy bustiers high kicked with sheer stockings.

  This was real life. The couples dabbing cream on each other’s noses, old men heckling on balconies, teenagers spinning on the dance floor. When a robot came into view, whether a Dave with his stun gun or an S10 in the ticket booth, they were intrusions.

  Their first stop was an outfitters called Ratcliffe’s. The window was full of ‘Alfred wear’: mainly tweed, but also suits of impeccable cut, snowy shirts with starched collars, silk ties and buttery shoes. Alfred ambled inside, Gwyn following.

  Somebody plucked at Josh’s sleeve. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  It must be his clothes. A sweater, twills, brogues - fine for moochin
g, but not somewhere like this. “I’ll come back when I’ve changed.”

  Josh would always remember this man. Short, wide shouldered, pot bellied. He was wearing one of his suits, but what looked debonair on a dummy was ludicrous on him. He’d gummed his hair across his bald patch; Alfred and Gwyn were trying not to giggle. “We don’t serve arties. You’ll have to go,” this vision said.

  Alfred, examining a rack of ties, looked up. He was quickly at Josh’s side. “What did you say?”

  “Lord Langton!” The man was all cringing obeisance. “I was telling this young, er, robot -”

  “He’s with me.”

  “Oh!” He fidgeted. “If you could ask your, erm, property to wait outside -”

  Alfred glowered. At times like this you noticed how big he was. “He has a name. He’s not my, or anybody’s, property. I was going to buy him a suit, but if you’re this pig ignorant, I don’t think I’ll bother.”

  “But -”

  “We’re leaving.”

  Alfred stormed down the arcade. “What a bastard!”

  “I don’t mind,” Josh insisted.

  “Having that invertebrate with his stupid comb over talk to you like that -”

  “We could go to another shop -”

  “He’s right.” Gwyn laid a hand on his arm. “There’s bound to be somewhere nicer.”

  “Refusing to serve somebody because they’re an artificial! Isn’t this a free country?”

  “You get tossers everywhere. Ignore him.”

  Now the shock had passed, Josh didn’t care. “It’s over,” he said. “Forget it.”

  While Alfred and Gwyn bickered, Josh wondered what had caused the turnaround in attitude. The man who signed himself ‘AW’ demonised artificials. He’d gone to Chimera determined to battle with that man. Instead he met Alfred, who treated him with courtesy and respect. Not only was he buying him a suit, he was getting worked up because somebody had snubbed him.

  How strange humans were; how strange and nice.

  Early on the outing suffered two handicaps. First Josh discovered a passion for clothes. He couldn’t pass a rail without spotting two items he liked.