Smiling, murmuring encouragement, they went back over the Palace’s threshold.
Second time round, it wasn’t so bad. Everyone accepted the fiction of Alfred’s migraine. Josh worked the room like a diplomat. Alfred nodded at his elbow, tailored his responses.
“You were shy earlier,” Alfred said. “What changed?”
“I’m with you.”
“What, I’m such a mountebank you look good in comparison?”
“Don’t be daft. Promise not to throw any more chairs.”
Alfred held up his hand. “I solemnly swear -”
Fisk sprang out from behind a tapestry. “Home time, Josh.”
“Alfred’s taking me back.”
“We don’t want to put Langton out of his way -”
Alfred cut her short. “It’s not putting me out at all.”
“Don’t be up too late. Some of us have work in the morning.” Eyes dead, face devoid of expression, she disappeared.
“Who shat in her handbag?” Alfred asked, bewildered.
“Everyone, I should think.” Pip wasn’t a fan, he was glad to see. She’d be a good influence on Gwyn.
“Can we talk about something else?” Josh asked.
The journey back was fitful but quiet. Gwyn drove like an automaton; Josh gazed out of the window. Alfred’s thoughts darted away whenever he tried to lay hands on them. He thought of Jerry’s remarks and his stomach clenched. Better to be queer than a bloody fool. He was who he was and apologised to no one.
“We’re here,” Gwyn said.
The Centre lay ahead in ugly magnificence. Alfred got out and held the door open. “Have you got a minute?” Josh asked.
A wind was starting to rise. “Of course,” Alfred said. He followed him over the link bridge. Raising his face to the night sky, the artificial said, “Hail.”
Alfred let Josh pull him into the doorway as it scattergunned. There must have been a crack in the awning. Stray hailstones were getting through, landing on Josh’s shoulders. Gems glistened in his hair, melted down his neck and into his collar.
“I’ve - oh, what a stupid place to say this, you can’t hear a thing -”
“What is it?”
“I’ve really liked spending time with you. They expect us to wrap it up, but - I don’t want to. I want to go on seeing you.”
“I’d like that,” Alfred said softly.
“Isn’t it funny? A month ago I didn’t know you existed.”
“I knew of you.” Alfred felt a twist of guilt - but what Josh didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. “Lucky we had a sink handy, eh?”
The artificial’s laugh was a rare, precious thing. “Lucky you didn’t buckle under the weight.”
“I’ve lifted heavier.”
“What I’m trying to say is: I want to be your friend. If you’ll have me.”
“Of course.” Alfred was reminded of blood bonds at school, where you cut each other’s hands and mixed your blood. He shook Josh’s hand instead. “Friends for life.”
“The rain’s easing off. You can’t keep Gwyn waiting.”
Again, half a minute before any change. “You should do the weather.”
“I’ll mention it in my next meeting. Don’t forget this.” Josh pressed something into Alfred’s hand. “My key card. Visit as often as you like.”
Alfred crossed the bridge to where Gwyn was tethered, drumming her fingers on the panel. “You took your time,” she said.
“Ssh grumping. How do you know Pip?”
Her blush spread to her ears. “Through the grapevine.” She knew about his flings, he’d hinted similar revelations would meet with sympathy, but she refused to budge.
He looked back at the twenty sixth floor. Every other light in the building was off, but the one in Josh’s suite was burning bright.
***
Fisk let herself into an empty house. Nothing could quench her elation.
When she had chosen her career, back when robotics was an eccentric hobby, she’d thought she could hide in a backroom. Now she had to pull on unflattering gowns, hope one would transform her into a social butterfly. Invent pithy quotes. ‘Julia Fisk, his handler ...’ She remained herself - overgrown, gaunt and repellent.
Noah Sugar had vanished early on. She hoped he wasn’t drinking. Somebody had to be the joke of the evening, with the Earl reformed. Now there was a talking point. Josh thought it meant something, but she knew better. Langton was using him to give his craggy mug one last airing before he expired in a whore’s armpit.
Still looking for Sugar, she wandered into the grounds. The beauty of the night was lost on her.
“Hello, Dr Fisk. Are you having a good time?” Josh was by the fountain, dabbling his fingers in the water.
She smoothed out her dress as she sat beside him. “I don’t like parties.”
“Maybe we did something terrible in a past life.”
“Everybody?”
“Your collective guilt must be pretty big.”
“You have no idea.”
This was the sort of daydream she’d once indulged in too often: a stranger at a party, drinks, the promise of more –
What was she doing? This wasn’t a random hook up, this was Josh.
The part of her that wasn’t addled by wine confronted it. The pastel shades. The smiles. The haircut. Confiding in him, holding his hand. The addition that, should anyone discover it, would blacklist her from robotics forever –
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“A bit cold.”
She headed towards lights, music, the Mayor’s cretinous bray. When she was sure he wasn’t following, she took a detour into the walled garden.
“I love you!” she whispered, pressing her hand to her heart.
The next few days were hideously dull for Josh. After congratulations for the launch, his team bickered about his future. A meeting here, a meeting there, nothing settled. After a screen test they agreed he couldn’t act. He explained he had no wish to star in a film called Escape From Planet Dinosaur, but that wasn’t considered a good enough excuse. Auditions for singing, dancing and presenting were similarly disappointing. Ask him to dance and his movements became disjointed and clumsy. Three seconds were enough to confirm he would never have a career in the music industry.
“Face it, Shuggy,” Malik said. “Golden Boy’s got no talent whatsoever.”
“Ssh!” Sugar said. “Shut up!” Fisk snapped.
Josh wondered why they didn’t ask what he wanted. A few days earlier he’d suggested working in the Pond.
“You can’t work in a call centre!” Going by Sugar’s tone, you’d have thought he’d said ‘dung hill’.
“If it’s good enough for the workers -”
“If you want to wipe your bum on the abilities Julia gave you! You’ll die of boredom.”
“I thought boredom was a human invention?”
“Josh, I’m busy. If you’ve something sensible to say, I’m all ears. If not, zip.”
Now he was in his suite, following the skyline with his finger. The river Ira was molten silver.
I have a friend. He saved the thought for quiet moments, took it out to admire like a medal. Hail stones on the roof, a hand shaking his. When Alfred smiled, Josh bent towards it, a flower opening to the sun.
Three days before an article had come out. Josh knew it by heart.
‘Readers of this column will know I’m not too fond of humble pie. Lately I’ve had to eat my words in a most unexpected way.
A month ago an artificial came to visit. You know how I used to think. I resented the intrusion and was unforgivably rude. Most people would have stormed out, never to return. Josh didn’t. He stayed and we talked.
Over the past month we’ve forged a friendship. It’s forced me to examine my old stance, see it for the hypocrisy it was. Josh isn’t a standard issue lump of junk. He’s sensitive, funny and good company. He’s charming. If he can accept me with my myriad faults, why can’t people accept robots?�
�
There was more, but these were the passages he recalled. Funny ... good company ... charming.
Nobody had called him that before.
Still Life
The weeks following the launch, Josh was hot property. That, whatever it meant, was a favourite phrase of Sienna’s. Also, “Squeeze ‘em for every nupa they’ve got.”
Sienna was his publicist. Five foot of peroxide tenacity, she had a raptor’s face and a mind to match. She scared him witless with her raspy voice and gimlet stare.
“Science types are good at brain work, but they know dick about image,” she said. “Lucky you’ve got me.” She fielded the rush of appointments with an expert hand. She’d seem to sprout extra arms and heads as she took calls, made dates, dictated statements.
“Mr Foster would be delighted ... That doesn’t reflect CER’s energy policy ... We’ll see.” Sometimes she let him answer, but only if she had written what he was going to say.
“You’re the face of the robotic revolution,” she told him. “It’s your job to make the public trust bots.”
“Don’t they already?”
“Officially I’m not supposed to tell you. Unofficially CER’s in deep doo. Six months ago we nearly went bust.”
“Why?”
“Change of government. If it wasn’t for Jerry Etruscus we’d’ve had a cut in funding. People are stirring shit up. The PM. Broadcasting House. Effing god botherers.”
“What are they saying?”
“The politicians think humans should take precedence. As for the Theists, they’re wackos, who cares? A lot of it’s jealousy, saying we get funding which could go elsewhere.”
“That’s what Alfred used to say.”
“Ah, Lord Langton. Stroke of genius, getting him on side. Keep it up.”
Josh struggled to hide his irritation. He liked spending time with Alfred. He didn’t do it to look good.
“Charm their pants off. Make them see you as a man.”
“A man who’s also a machine?”
“Exactly.”
She treated him to endless pep talks. “They don’t know they want you yet, but they will. It’s the keystone of any campaign: show ‘em something they didn’t know existed and make them want it with all their soul.”
“How do we do that?”
“Watch and learn.”
Photo shoots. Interviews. Adverts. They filmed a whole series where he said, “I’m more than a robot, I’m an artificial person,” and gazed soulfully into the distance. Q&A sessions where he was prodded by schoolchildren (“What do you eat? Can you poo?”) Teenage girls showed up wherever he went. The first time they unfurled a banner saying ‘Josh is the Most’ and screamed, he dived for cover.
“Who are they?”
“Your fan club.” Under her breath, “I put an ad on the Storm.”
“Is this legal?”
“It’s good business sense. Look, they’re attracting attention.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s not even grammatical. ‘Josh is the most’ what?”
“Get up, you pussy. Your public’s waiting.”
In time he grew used to the Joshettes, though he was grateful for the presence of the security functionals. He tried talking to them but it didn’t make for sparkling conversation.
“Don’t you get bored?” he asked one afternoon.
Their blue eyes clicked. “What do you mean?”
“Herding me up and down. Don’t you want to do something rewarding?”
“I don’t understand,” one said. The other said, “We’re guards. What else is there?”
“You could have a nice job in an office.”
They avoided his eye for the rest of the outing. Later Sugar flagged him down in the corridor. “What the heck did you say to those functionals?”
“I asked if they’re happy with their work, and if there was something they’d like better -”
Sugar sucked in his breath. “Thanks to what you said, they’ve had to be reprogrammed.”
“I didn’t mean -”
“They’re functionals. They’re built to work. If they don’t, they’re scrap. Let me show you something.”
They took the lift to -5, one of the Centre’s underground chambers. After announcing “Noah Sugar and Josh,” the doctor beckoned him to follow.
Functionals were on every shelf, packed like eggs in a box. Josh reached out to touch one. The blue eyes were dead, the hinged arms hung loose in their sockets.
“Are they broken?” Josh asked.
“This is where we keep them after a day’s work,” Sugar said.
“They’re switched off?”
“No sense letting them run down.”
“But -” Josh couldn’t put his distress into words. “You wouldn’t switch me off.”
“You’re intelligent. These are nice guys, but they’re disposable.”
Josh recognised functionals as he went. “The one who makes the coffee. The one who washes the windows. Can you tell them apart?”
Sugar shrugged. “Can’t say I can.”
Josh shivered. He didn’t need charging, he wasn’t cold, but another moment amongst these blank faces and useless limbs was more than he could stand. “Can we go upstairs?”
They didn’t speak until the lift arrived outside his suite. Sugar moved towards him, remembered the no touching rule and stepped back. “Sorry if it upset you.”
“Tell me, Dr Sugar. How would you like it if I’d shown you a room full of switched off humans?”
His creator didn’t answer, only bowed his head. “Goodnight. Keep yourself busy.”
Josh waited till he was gone, then walked to the speakertube. “Chimera? Alfred, can I see you tomorrow?”
He was the only person who didn’t use him.
From that day on Josh led a split existence, the underground hall never far from his mind. He’d divide his day into units: tours, publicity, helping Madge’s team. Sessions with Ozols were enjoyable, ones with Malik weren’t.
His real life was outside work hours. Sugar agreed he should have one day off a week, to do as he wished. What he wished was to see Alfred.
While he chafed at the monotony of life at CER, it was always exciting at Chimera. “Wotcher, Josh!” Alfred called from wherever he happened to be: up a ladder, trimming bushes, feeding the doves. He’d entice him to join in the day’s sport. Clearing out junk in the secret room (“Time for a death sale.”) Letting cannons off across the grounds. Helping him disable booby traps a spiteful artist had left centuries ago. Hunting for treasure. Brewing beer, only to blow the potting shed roof off. Josh found a fiddle during one of the death sales and taught himself to play. Alfred endured it for three days, then confiscated it. “Don’t take this the wrong way, old man, but you haven’t a musical cog in your body,” he said.
Alfred had a notoriously short attention span. If he was bored by one activity, he moved on to the next. He let Josh have the run of the library; they read in companionable silence, or to each other. Sometimes Josh brought his sketchpad. He’d given up trying to sketch Puss. She refused to keep still.
Above all, talking. This was the main reason he visited, more than gung ho antics or exploring the house. Conversations at CER were loaded, tailing off when a minefield was reached. He and Alfred could discuss anything, and did.
They were working on Alfred’s portrait in the conservatory. He’d pulled a muscle in his back so sprawled full length on the chaise longue. He was more fun to draw than so-called handsome people. The nick in his eyebrow, his ragged scars. How his mouth wasn’t quite symmetrical, the legacy of a stroke.
“I call it Adventurer Reclining,” Josh said.
“Adventurer Declining, more like.” Alfred cracked a chestnut and popped it into his mouth.
Josh pulled a face. He didn’t like it when Alfred put himself down. “It’s funny.”
“What is?”
“You’re the only person who doesn’t go on about me being a robot.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, it makes a nice change. Do humans think about being human all the time?”
“Doubt it. We’re used to it.”
“That’s what I don’t understand. I’m used to it, I’ve never been anything else, but they bring it up. How do I do that, how does that feel -”
“They’re just curious. You’re the first smart robot they’ve met.”
“I’m not so smart.” He remembered the lifeless functionals and shuddered. “Don’t you want to know more?”
“Not really. The robotic revolution never happened in this house.”
“How do you explain me, then?”
“You’re a charming young man I met another way.” Alfred seemed embarrassed for some reason. “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like to be human?”
“What’s the point?”
“Go on. What would you do?”
Josh didn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t mind working in a library.”
“You could do anything, be anything, and you want to be a librarian?”
“Why not?”
“I expected something more -”
“Ambitious? Unusual? Like you?” Josh teased.
“That makes me sound really up myself.”
“We can’t all be scientists or explorers. Some of us are ordinary.”
“That’s me told.” Changing subject abruptly, “How’s that coming along? Mind if I peep?”
The next time Josh went to Chimera, he collided with Alfred on his way out.
“I thought you said I could visit?” he said, dismayed.
Now he looked properly, Alfred was carrying the most extraordinary jumble. A canvas bundle wrapped around poles. What looked like a cookstove, a holdall and a banner.
“How do you feel about getting up the establishment’s nose?” Alfred asked.
“Will we get in trouble?”
“That’s half the fun.”
“I’m not sure -”
“Alright, you have my word. You won’t come to harm. If not -” Alfred nodded at a bulge in the canvas.
“That had better not be what I think it is.”
“Oops.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Coming?”
“Do I have any choice?”
Love and Robotics Page 7