Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  They cruised into Gill Forest at fourteen hours. “Gods, look at this place,” Alfred said. Tatty haired minstrels passed with lutes strung on their backs, women in flowing gowns danced on a grassy knoll. “It’s a wonder it doesn’t give Josh hairballs.”

  “One woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure,” Esteban pointed out.

  “You don’t get trashier than this.”

  They slowed to a crawl as they reached the green. Alfred got out of the vix and looked over the hedge. “He’s here,” he said.

  Cora assumed he must have seen Josh. Instead it was a dragon built from steel and glass, beating her spiny wings. A small voluptuous woman was at the controls. As they watched a tremendous fireball shot into the air. A straggle of sightseers applauded.

  “Ms Kerrigan?” Alfred asked.

  “Who wants to know?” She didn’t look around.

  “Me, I suppose.”

  She turned and her mouth fell open. If the dragon had come to life and started roasting everything in sight she wouldn’t have looked as astonished.

  “Is Josh home?” he persisted.

  She began an unconvincing denial but thought better of it. Cora and Esteban were glaring over the top of the hedge.

  “He’s out for the day, but I can show you his studio.” As the tourists looked up hopefully, she shouted, “Friends only!”

  Josh’s new home was a crumbling church, standing in a tangled graveyard. Since the invitation hadn’t extended to Cora and Esteban, they sat on one of the fancier graves. Ms Kerrigan gaped.

  “No different than a switched off bot,” Cora said.

  Ms Kerrigan made the sign of Thea and hurried into the church. Alfred followed her.

  The building still had a ghostly scent of candles and ritual. His eyes took time to adjust to the light. His first instinct in any old building was to look at the ceiling - it was preferable to the tack beneath. He raised his eyes and gasped. Josh had painted him on the ceiling.

  It was like a fairground mirror - or perhaps not, since they maximise your faults. The long face and its many carvings were there, but Josh had made them heroic. It was how a lover would see you. Alfred knew then that it was nonsense to pretend they could be anything else. He’d stay in this chocolate box village with its phony inhabitants, wait till his lad came home. He’d admit that he’d been an idiot, that he would never be scared to say the words Josh craved –

  Out in the graveyard Cora screamed.

  Ms Kerrigan tried to stop him from leaving - “You haven’t had tea -” but she was drowned by his friend’s cries. He raced outside. She was convulsing on the ground, Esteban trying to bring her round, the tourists taking pictures. Alfred chucked a wreath at them.

  Cora slumped at last. Somehow it was more dreadful than her fit. A thin, self satisfied voice spoke through her. “Watch out. I’m back.”

  The four words were everywhere. On screens, on the airwaves, on machines. Printers produced it ad infinitum. Robots chanted it and had to be shut down.

  Pip had gone to see Gwyn in halls. They were in bed, the network turned up to disguise any noise, when it began. Pip shuddered, sex driven from her mind.

  “What is it?” Gwyn asked.

  Pip tried the other stations. The voice grew clearer. “I’m back. I’m back.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “We’re in for some heavy shit,” Pip said.

  Sound had bled from the afternoon. Not a cricket, not a twig snapping, not a tourist taking pictures the other side of the gate. The temperature had dropped.

  Alfred laid Cora on the grass. “Take her and run,” he told Esteban.

  He wondered why Ms Kerrigan hadn’t said anything. Getting to his feet, he saw she sat with her back to one of the headstones. If it wasn’t for the fact her throat had been cut, you’d think she was daydreaming.

  “What did Ms Kerrigan ever do to you?” he asked aloud.

  Nick sat up in an open grave. “Because it was fun.”

  “I did one thing right. You didn’t get Cora back.”

  A dart juddered in Alfred’s neck. He forced himself not to react. He felt the drug trickle through his system.

  “Stupid Langton. Do you think I did this for Cora? No -” another dart tickled his face - “it was about you, all the time. Duh.”

  “Charmed,” Alfred growled. He had time to drop something on the path before his strength failed him.

  ***

  Josh was driven home by the tinny voice rebounding inside him. It was scarcely a whisper but he recognised it. “Watch out. I’m back.”

  He’d left it too long. He needed to see Alfred and Cora, tell them he was sorry for the last few days. He saw now they had been nothing but pride and selfishness. Who cared if Alfred never said it? He’d rather be with his mulish friend than anybody else.

  As he came down the mountain he saw black smoke billowing over the church. He broke into a run.

  The scene was so terrible he could barely process it. Six tourists sprawled by the fence, their blood seeping into the grass. The gate gave with a screech. The church was gutted, the stained glass lay in frail ruins. He didn’t go inside.

  “Ms Kerrigan?”

  Dyed red hair waved in the breeze. Josh stepped quickly around one of the headstones, then averted his eyes. He had a moment’s silence to honour her. Flirt she may have been, and profoundly irritating, but she had been kind and given him space to create, which was more than he could say for most humans. He closed her eyes and rose to leave.

  Something glistened in the grass. He stooped to retrieve it and the world narrowed in pain. It was the dragon lighter. The picture, jagged before, slotted into place. Alfred had been there, looking for him. Cole had got there first.

  The voice was still hissing as he left the cemetery. He screened it out. He had more pressing concerns.

  Within an hour he was letting himself into Alfred’s apartment. He knew instantly something was wrong. Somebody, probably Cora, had tried to keep it neat. An unknown third had been stopping. There was no sign of forced entry, breakages or bugs. He could only call it instinct.

  When he banged into the sideboard he realised. There was a dirty glass on the counter, milk dregs in the bottom. Alfred hated milk. As he sniffed the evidence, the veebox popped from the ceiling.

  A familiar face leered. “Hello, Josh. Wondering where your daddy is?”

  “You give him back!” Josh cried. Nick didn’t react - of course he wouldn’t, it was pre-recorded.

  “You fetch him like a good boy and we can clear up this misunderstanding. There’s no need to involve third parties.”

  “Where?”

  A map showing a factory a few miles outside Clockwork City flashed across the screen. Josh memorised it, waited for further instructions. None came.

  A robot plans logically and without prejudice. He would go to this meeting place and rescue Alfred, then Cole would die. Fuck the Code.

  The Factory

  Alfred took eight hours to struggle to the surface of consciousness. Something must have warned him he wouldn’t like what he was going to see.

  A vast metallic space, the roof like the vertebrae of a sea monster. No visible windows or doors, a dense fug of rust and dirt. He gasped for air, wringing with sweat. Although nothing was restraining him he couldn’t move.

  “Enjoy your beauty sleep?”

  He knew that voice. Nick Cole perched on a stool beside him. He groaned.

  “You didn’t know who I was last time,” Nick continued. “You won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’ve been watching you a long time, Lord Langton.”

  “Great. My very own loony fan.”

  “If plotting your destruction is its measure, I’m the biggest fan you’ll ever have.”

  “I’d hate to see what you do to enemies. Actually -” Alfred shook his head, ignoring the pain - “I don’t buy it. You’ll have been, what, thirteen when I was famous? I haven
’t done anything since.”

  “How about -” Nick listed his achievements. Alfred may have been proud at the time but they were degraded in this creature’s mouth. Itt didn’t ring true. It was like a school boy reciting battle dates.

  “Nice homework.”

  “You doubt my sincerity?”

  “I’m sure you’ve spirited me to a scummy factory for shits and giggles.”

  Nick wagged his finger. “Naughty! As a token of my esteem, I’d like to introduce you to a special friend.”

  He clapped his hands. Something came creeping towards them, swathed in red silk.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Death Candy. Would you like to meet her?”

  The robot was cutting edge technology. Glimmering porcelain, an arm decked with needles, a low insidious murmur.

  “I’ve been waiting to try her out,” Nick went on. “Are you up for the challenge?”

  Alfred didn’t speak, didn’t move. He wouldn’t give this little creep the satisfaction.

  “We’ll take that as a yes, shall we?”

  It might have lasted hours, might have lasted days. Nick swung between extremes: a gleeful child testing a new toy, frank sadism, even skewed paternalism as he cleaned Alfred’s wounds and spooned mash into his mouth.

  Alfred remembered something that Nanny had told him: “When you need to be strong, pretend to be a tree.” He maintained this throughout the leaps in voltage, the application of venom. He felt the pain multiply, his cells break up. The insides of his eyelids scorched red.

  Nick tried everything in his box of tricks. “It was Higginbottom, wasn’t it? Nobody who’d wear a suit like that could afford the Programme.” Another syringe. “Where’s Corrina, I wonder?”

  Alfred pressed down so hard he broke one of his fingers.

  “Ooh, I’ve touched a nerve. Do you like robot company, Langton?”

  He concentrated on the ceiling fan, jammed for as long as he had been there.

  “Does a certain type of bot light your fire? That one you visited Corrina with - Justin?”

  It was automatic. “Josh.”

  “You know, when I mention him, your pulse quickens?”

  As Nick inserted another set of needles and caressed the Death Candy, Alfred let his mind drop away. Only one thing could stand between him and pain; only one charm strong enough. Josh. He thought rather than said it.

  Why did you kiss me? Did you do it to make me happy, or did you feel the same way?

  As the final burst of agony surged through him, Josh was all he could see.

  Nick looked down at the body. Twisted by his last spasm, Langton’s scars were graven deep, his muscles ripped. Nick checked his neck to be sure. Next he did something that, if the dead man had witnessed it, would earn his most sardonic snort. Leaping from his stool, he strutted.

  He closed Langton’s eyes with one hand, pulled out the needles with another. As he tugged out the last one he did a curious thing. He pressed a button left untouched throughout the interrogation. A phial latched onto Langton’s chest.

  “I told you this was a test run,” Nick said. “You’ve been a worthy adversary; I’d hate to see you go unrewarded. Say hi to Josh from me.”

  ***

  The factory didn’t deserve the name. It was years since the chimneys had spouted smoke, the outdated machinery clanged. It stood alongside a clump of dilapidated buildings, bought with dirty money.

  Josh approached it, its coordinates burned on his memory. He couldn’t detect security devices or visicams, but Nick was too canny to blow his cover. He squeezed beneath the fence, the wire scratching his face.

  He walked the circumference of the building, tapped it for hidden entrances. Nothing. He listened intently. Silence. Next he tried his sense of smell. Weathered metal, grime, rain - and frightened human. That meant Alfred was alive, or had been recently. (He wiped this treacherous thought). Also sickly cigar smoke, similar to that hanging around Cora’s dressing room. A second circuit didn’t yield results. He punched through one of the side walls, worried the sound would bring someone. Encouraged by the lack of response, he dropped into the room.

  Vats swam with parts, human and robot. Operating tables that had seen frequent use, given the blood and oil spatters. Human effects heaped like so much junk: false teeth, hair pieces, spectacles. He wondered if he would see anything of Alfred’s, and touched the lighter in his pocket. A bullet skimmed his ear.

  Behind him stood a man in a highly starched uniform, preparing to fire again. He had the blank, immobile face of someone used to taking orders.

  “It’ll take more than a bullet, you moron.” Not very polite, but a bullet wasn’t the nicest way to greet someone either.

  When another bullet grazed his cheek, Josh realised the gunshot had brought backup. The pain, anger and fear of the last few hours burst out of him. He flung himself on his attackers. They gurgled as he aimed for their shoulders, necks clicking. If that didn’t do the job, he forced them into the parts bin headfirst. When the sixth sparked, he recoiled. He’d thought the guards were synthetic looking, but everyone in Arkan had work done. He caught a skin tag and pulled. Yes, a bronze skull, its mouth frozen. He let him drop to the floor in revulsion.

  He was here for one thing only: Alfred. He sensed fear and grief, somewhere close. Something Sugar had said refused to let him alone. Blood and rust smelt identical - and one of them was everywhere.

  He passed a wall of mirrors, smashed by a robotic fist. Josh saw himself splintered and wrecked, a maniac’s point of view. There had been an electrical discharge not far from here. He ducked beneath filthy bubble coating. A padded cell, splashed with crimson. A creature packed with needles. You couldn’t call it a robot, bad intentions clouded the air around it. And lying on a work bench -

  No one could look like that and live. He’d come so far, done so much. Alfred couldn’t leave him. He took the body in his arms and sniffed it desperately. “Alfred, it’s me. Please wake up.”

  No blush beneath the scars, no crooked smile. No, he was not having this.

  “You’re my best friend, and ... I need you. Please don’t die.”

  He breathed upon the closed eyes and parted lips. He crossed his hands over Alfred’s heart, pressed down with all his strength. Alfred jolted.

  At first he couldn’t see and tore at the air. When sanity returned he hugged Josh until one of his arms cracked. “Trouble, I’ve missed you!” As he looked down, “Ugh. What’s the damage?”

  They tested. His senses returned in stings and itches. Josh felt each one.

  “I’ll never leave you again,” he said.

  Afterwards people asked Alfred if he’d seen anything. Michael, for the book he planned to write but never did. Nanny, for her anecdotes. Salome Feist, to aid a plea of diminished responsibility.

  Personally he didn’t have any truck with the afterlife. His idea of heaven involved Chimera and the people he loved. If he couldn’t have that, leave him to the worms. Besides, he was more interested in what had happened after he returned to his body.

  Josh sat beside him, touching him anxiously. As he put his cheek to his, Alfred caught the scent of hot metal. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he said fondly.

  Funny how a mind capable of retaining the world’s knowledge couldn’t grasp idiom. Josh bit his ear.

  “What was that for?”

  “Making my displeasure felt.”

  “What have I done now?”

  “I can’t hurt you so I’ll settle for this.”

  Alfred winced. “It hurts, alright.”

  “You should have told me what you were doing. I could have helped.”

  “Is that why you ran off? A fit of pique?”

  “I needed to think. I got a lot done.”

  “Yes, I saw your studio.”

  He hadn’t known Josh could blush. It crept over his cheeks, rose in the gold. “You saw -”

  “Your rainbows, your sculptures -”

  “My Kni
ght Errant.”

  Damn, now he was doing it. “Is that -”

  “How I see you? Yes.” Out went the chin. “You should’ve thought!”

  “I won’t do it next time.”

  “I’d prefer there not to be a next time.”

  “It was wrong to keep it secret,” Alfred conceded.

  “I didn’t know if you were being held for ransom, dead in a ditch ... All I could think of was the things we hadn’t done.”

  “Such as?”

  What was Josh doing? He’d pressed his forehead to his, so close he could watch the green eyes dance like dragonflies.

  “This.” His lips brushed Alfred’s. “If you don’t want me, I’ll understand -”

  “Of course I want you, you silly sod!”

  Alfred pulled him onto the table, kissing him. Josh lay across his chest. Their breath quickened. Now the kisses were harder, rougher. He sucked his tongue. “Does this answer your question?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Tracing Josh’s lips, his face, he showed him how it was done. The clockwork pulse soared against his ear. It was even more of a turn on watching his responses: sighs, gooseflesh rising, his hips jerking.

  “Touch me,” Josh whispered.

  Alfred’s hands brushed painstakingly across his body. The planes, the dimples, the muscles. Josh bucked and held his hands out to him. He couldn’t be touched without touching back; soon Alfred was shivering too. He moved his mouth down the oil slickened torso, drunk on the taste of Josh’s skin.

  He was so hard it hurt. Following the golden trail to his groin, it came to him that he’d never wanted anything more than for Josh to take him on this table, here and now.

  “The guards -”

  “They’ll think I’m dead.”

  Josh wrinkled his nose. “I’d prefer a more salubrious setting.”

  “We can’t undo this, you know.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  He dipped his lips to Josh’s nipple. The artificial took his hand and guided it lower. Alfred slid his hands inside his twills and cupped his buttocks. He couldn’t get enough of him.

  “I didn’t know touching there could - Ohhh.”