Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  One hour fifty eight. Sienna would never forgive him if he was late. He had to go.

  The drive down from Chimera had been awful. The traffic oozed with painful slowness; honking and swearing got you nowhere. Fortunately Gwyn knew a few side routes.

  The further they went into Lux, the tighter the grip of wedding fever. Street parties tucked into marzipan hearts. Billboards exploded into stars. The words ‘CONGRATULATIONS’ and ‘LOVE STORY FOR TOMORROW’ blazed on node screens. Bands, Josh and Claire masks, effigies. Wheelies and godfreaks had pitched outside the town hall. Alfred and Gwyn read the placards.

  “TO LIE WITH A ROBOT AS WITH HUMANKIND IS AN ABOMINATION - Book of Thea, Prophets 23:74.”

  “STOP THIS OBSCENE TRAVESTY!”

  “The Temple and I were on the same side all along,” Alfred muttered. “Who knew?”

  Gwyn tethered two blocks away from the town hall. She sweated in her uniform, her cap too tight on her head. “Come on, Grizzly. What’s the point?”

  His nose was pressed against the glass, eyes rooted to a checkpoint a hundred yards down the road. “One last look.”

  “What do you expect? He’ll run in, tell everyone it’s been a mistake and elope with you on the next crossing?”

  By the flush suffusing his neck, she saw he’d imagined exactly that. Honestly. A man his age, behaving like a teenager.

  “Listen to me, it’s no good. If he’d rather be with some tarty hairdresser -”

  “Beautician -”

  “- whatever, he’s not worthy of you. What would Uncle Ken think?”

  “He’d be having a bloody good laugh. Here I am again. Alone.”

  She felt for him, she truly did, but it was ludicrous. You could dress up a machine as fancily as you liked, give it a name, but it’d still be a machine. It’d be like expecting the vix to love you back. “Five minutes -”

  His arm jolted. Even in profile she recognised the soft, spoony expression that warned Josh was in the vicinity. “Go on,” she sighed. “If you must.”

  Alfred stepped onto the cobbles, flinching at the light and noise. A street away the city’s population was letting off bangers. He and Josh were the only people in the plaza.

  “Hello, trouble.”

  Three steps and Josh had joined him beneath the maple tree. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “I’m not, technically. Just a flying visit.”

  “There’s room on my side -”

  “Not my thing, weddings.”

  “Not even mine?”

  All Alfred wanted to do was hold him and keep the next few minutes from happening, but how? Would Josh go to him if he said the right words?

  “I’m going to miss you,” Josh persisted.

  “You won’t even notice. Being married’s a full time gig.”

  His friend was fretting. His lips formed half words, his shoe traced patterns in the dust. “We’ll still be friends, right?”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “How do I look?”

  Alfred couldn’t focus on any one thing. The fair hair curling on his nape, the catch of his lip, the long lashes. There was only one answer. “Wonderful.”

  What the hell. He’d never get another chance. He took Josh’s face in his hands and kissed his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks and finally his mouth. Josh returned his kisses. As they broke apart the artificial stared up at him, distraught.

  Alfred had never been good with words. Now it came out in an inarticulate rush. “I mean it. I always have. I don’t care what the world thinks. I only want you.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Is that your final answer?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you should know.”

  One more kiss, slow and lingering. He held Josh’s face for another moment, forehead touching his, then dropped his arms by his sides. “Go on. Your girl’s waiting.”

  Josh nodded, lips clamped together, and walked down the street. An almighty roar went up as he turned the corner.

  Alfred returned to the vix, where Gwyn was engrossed in a blood book. He raised his eyebrows until she took her feet off the control panel.

  “How did it -”

  “No ‘I told you so’s. Take me home.”

  Josh drifted through his wedding in a state of shock. The band bellowed and yawned, a thousand citizens craned to look. Fisk smiled at him from the front row, her teeth gored with lipstick. Mandy sniffled. Pip was conspicuous by her absence.

  Claire stood on the platform, her hair tortured into a hundred kinks. She’d dieted to fit into her satin backless dress. Jerry Etruscus swayed on his feet, drunk again. His wife nudged him and he moved from contemplation of Claire’s breasts.

  “Marriage is the foundation of our society. It combines and enforces, fosters and engenders -”

  They would be there for some time; the Mayor’s speechwriter was a thwarted poet. Jerry was sure to become distracted and start talking about his last holiday, or something funny that happened on the way to the Forum.

  Claire shuffled up beside Josh and squeezed his hand. “I can’t believe this is happenin’!”

  She, Claire Howey, was marrying the most desirable man in Lila. A beautician who’d barely passed Standard Certificate. She’d stood here six years ago to take her exams. She bit back an irrational fear the Mayor would ask about stalactites.

  Her Josh. He was perfect. If only she knew what he was thinking.

  If she had been able to glimpse his thoughts, she would have been hurt and astonished. Alfred beneath the maple tree. The skewed mouth forcing itself into a smile. Those lips on his, warm and real. The tears he hadn’t been able to stop, getting lost in his beard.

  There was no going back. He’d broken his friend’s heart for the last time. If Josh could have touched where his beard had scratched, he would have. But if veeboxes up and down the country were capturing this, it’d look odd.

  What was going on? They’d drunk from the crystal goblet, the Mayor had smashed it against the statue of Lady Thea. The citizens were giving them a standing ovation. He peered down at the scarlet cord attaching his middle finger to Claire’s. He was married. Though he couldn’t have said how it had happened.

  Mindless grins. Hands tried to touch him. He had to keep time with Claire’s mincing gait, open the door of the craft for her. It took three attempts before every last scrap of pink satin fitted inside. Fisk stood on tiptoe, leaning through the window. He fought back the urge to shut it in her face.

  “Make me proud,” she said. She kissed his cheek.

  The journos loved it: look how maternal his handler is! Look at the affection between them! Josh hated the way she smelled, lavender laced with the stench of false teeth.

  The window went up. Claire threaded her fingers through his. “Alone at last,” she said.

  Part of him went into hiding. The other said, “Yes, sweetheart,” and put his arm around her.

  Shame

  The night of Josh’s wedding was one of sweltering heat, thunder and lightning. Alfred wished the girls goodnight before sneaking from the house. Nobody knew his errand. He caught the last keli, avoiding the curious eye of other passengers.

  They would have arrived around thirteen, Puta time. A desert island paradise. He couldn’t imagine anything more boring. Though being marooned with Josh made up for any shortcomings -

  He’d nearly missed his stop. Pull yourself together. Straightening his collar, smoothing his trousers, he stepped onto the platform. Anything that followed was strictly off the record.

  It looked like an ordinary house from the street. Even the hall gave nothing away; you’d think it was an exclusive clinic for neurotics. It was only when you passed through into the assembly room you divined its true nature.

  A kidney shaped bar manned by all male staff. Men congregated on the pink and white crush floor, sized each other up. Negotiations never went above a murmur. When these were settled to everyone’s satisfaction, couples were given k
eys and sent upstairs. A lewdly shaped conch gushed water.

  “Henry! Long time no see! Whisky on the rocks?”

  Alfred went over. For obvious reasons he didn’t use his real name. He’d never been a regular, five times a year at most, but Sergei prided himself on his memory.

  “Ready to dip a toe in the morass?” Sergei twinkled.

  “Depends.”

  The bartender abused his most recent ex, an Arkan called Maurice. (“Took me for everything, even the cat.”) Alfred made all the right noises. They weren’t there to catch up. In time their eyes drifted to the main floor.

  Most of the attention was focused upon a lad wearing horns, gold shorts and little else. He careened around the room, buttocky buttocky. Five older men pursued him to the fountain. The lad sucked each of them off, his hat askew.

  Alfred turned his back. “I’m too old for this.”

  “Total slut, that one. Fancy looking at our upstairs range?” Sergei slid the brochure across the counter.

  Alfred tapped a page he’d never seen before. “What’s this?” It was bordered by a cog design. A blond man with a look of Josh lay on silk sheets, stroking himself.

  “Since everyone and his dog fancies Josh Foster, we thought we’d target a niche market. He does a dead on impression.”

  “How much?”

  “Never had you down as a robo. Depends what you want.”

  Tomorrow he’d despise himself. “Everything.”

  “I’ll check.” After a minute the keys skidded across the counter. “Give him one from me.”

  Alfred stood outside number 72, heaving deep breaths. A fine thing if he keeled over in the corridor. He rapped at the door, waited. “Can I help you?” a voice asked within.

  A dead on impression, Serge said. Not exactly - but only he had heard Josh in every mood, including that one. He swallowed and crossed the threshold.

  A gilded mirror, too large for the room. Peacock fans, lithe golden boys lifting globes. A tasteless bed with plum sheets. A milk white body posed on top.

  “My name’s Henry,” Alfred stuttered.

  “Hello, Henry.” He was shorter than Josh, stockier. Any resemblance was superficial: hair a different blond, coarser features. Yet he was here while Josh wasn’t, available while Josh wasn’t.

  “Could you bite me?” Alfred asked.

  “If you want.”

  As he lifted his shirt over his head, the boy nipped his shoulder. It barely left a mark. He tried not to think of the sweet sharp pain made by other teeth. “Never mind.” There was the usual pause when he saw Alfred naked. At least he didn’t gape or demand he left. He shrugged; the boy shrugged back.

  One of his hands could encompass his waist. He felt huge, a corrupter of innocents. But the boy had rosebud nipples and dimples in the same place as Josh.

  “Can I touch you?” the boy asked.

  “Do what you like.”

  His mouth fastened on Alfred’s cock. He couldn’t take it all the way in, he’d never met anyone who could, but gulped it as though it was mother’s milk. He gasped as Alfred coaxed him to lie down and did the same to him.

  No kissing. He wouldn’t kiss a Silver’s boy. He sat him on his lap and brought him off. As he felt ready to burst, Alfred said, “Turn over.” Only then, eyes shut, fucking him with a terrible sense of emptiness, could he kid himself it was Josh.

  He hadn’t had sex in years; he worried he’d lost the knack. At one point the lad primed his own cock and asked if he wanted him to. It had meant something with Josh. He couldn’t do it with a stranger.

  It was swift, hard and meaningless. He had lovely creamy skin, a cute bum and a northern accent. Maybe he’d use him again.

  The third time it went wrong. Drowsily reaching for a naked form, bright hair, Alfred became confused. It didn’t help the lad put his arms around his neck and kissed beneath his ear.

  Gently this time, tenderly. Lost in memory. Josh in many moods and guises - his mercurial, maddening love. He laid his head on the boy’s shoulder and cried.

  “Lord Langton?”

  Alfred dressed hurriedly, shaken, sick. If this came out, if the kid blackmailed -

  “Wait!”

  He shook his head, counting the bills. He only had himself to blame. If he’d go foraging in any muck heap -

  “You’ve forgotten your shoes.”

  Gathering his things, he crept downstairs and quit Silver’s forever.

  He spent the next few days waiting, examining the girls’ faces. Nanny wouldn’t care - boys will be boys - but he imagined the disgust on Gwyn’s. Nothing. Perhaps the kid was biding his time. He hadn’t seemed the sort, but what could he base this on? He might be a honey trap. There was no telling, and he had everything to lose.

  At the end of the week it was dashed from his mind. Normally he judged small crimes at the Assizes; now there was a murder. Alice Patten, a pretty teenager who worked in the bakery, had set off home from the town’s only club. She never arrived. Her mother reported her missing the next day. The police combed the woods. Just as they were going to call the search off, they received a package. It contained an ear, a tongue and a woman’s right hand.

  A day later Alice washed up on the river bank. As well as the mutilations, she had been raped and strangled. From the start there was only one suspect: her stepfather. Alfred sat opposite him and knew. It was in the sly eyes, the hands that couldn’t keep still. He had to stop himself from leaping the bar and throttling him.

  This wasn’t the Langton he knew. It was bonfires and summer fetes, harvests and beer festivals. It had the lowest crime rate in the country. He knew every woman, man and child. Yet evil had walked the fields - evil in the form of a scruffy, sunburned grocer. He couldn’t even gloat when he was convicted.

  He went home the long way. His usual route passed the field where Alice was killed - he would never use it again. He heard kids in the distance, playing football. Familiar sounds of an evening in the country, tainted by the darker forces out there. He came across Nanny in the grounds, filling a pail at the pump. He doused himself in water.

  “The Patten girl?”

  He didn’t ask how she knew. Nanny knew everybody. Births, deaths, scandals - a one woman grapevine.

  “Should hang. The world’s gone topsy turvy. Too soft on murderers, too hard on -”

  “Transgressors?”

  “That’s not what I was saying.”

  “I believe you. Millions wouldn’t.”

  “Madeline’s nephew’s in the library. Something about a job.”

  “I didn’t know we were hiring.”

  “We’re not, but she’s my best friend, so -?”

  Alfred headed for the library. He tried to whistle but couldn’t recall a single tune. Giving it up as a bad job, he walked in. The boy from Silver’s was standing in the middle of the rug. He pulled the door to and strode over to him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I had to see you.”

  “Money? Is that what you’re after?”

  “No -”

  “Madeline Kadezby’s nephew? I take it your family doesn’t know?”

  “I can’t expose you without incriminating myself.”

  That made sense, though it didn’t explain why he was there. “Sit down. I’ll get you a drink. What do you like?”

  “Water’s fine.” He took the glass and drained it. He kept gazing around, not the acquisitiveness of a tart but childish delight in luxury.

  Alfred sat on the couch, keeping his distance. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Eighteen?”

  “I used to sing in the temple choir. You wrote me a letter of recommendation.”

  Alfred remembered. An angelic boy doing all the solos, the first Langton boy to go to private school. Six years later he was blowing sleazy old farts for money. “What happened?”

  “My voice broke. And then - the minister-”

  Alfred knew before he said it. “Cedric Donnelly. G
ods, Christopher.”

  “You know my name?”

  “Your auntie’s always talking about you. She thinks you have a high paying job in the city.”

  “Well, it does pay well. And it is in the city.”

  “Why didn’t you tell somebody?”

  “Why would I do that? I enjoyed it.”

  Alfred shuddered. “Christopher, he committed a terrible crime. He was an adult, you were a child -”

  “I was sixteen. Old enough.”

  Donnelly wouldn’t get away with this. Perversion Prevention had turned a blind eye for too long. “How did you -”

  “He had other boys on the go. We confronted him; we were expelled. I didn’t have any skills, so -” He shrugged. “Somebody said I looked like Josh Foster and I thought, why not?”

  “There’s every reason why not. You could go to college, have a career -”

  “You didn’t think it was so improper.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How? It isn’t hard. I just bend over and let some old guy think he’s a sex god.” He blushed. “Present company excepted.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Like Auntie Lulu said. I need a job.”

  “There might be vacancies later in the year -”

  He sat at Alfred’s feet and stroked his knee. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  Alfred pushed the boy away. “Absolutely not.”

  “You went with me before. I could be your -”

  “Whore?”

  “There’s no need to be rude.”

  “That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it? The answer’s no.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  Alfred sighed. “How old do you think I am?”

  “Forty something?”

  “Fifty two.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Look, I’m not your boyfriend. It was just sex.”

  Christopher looked as though he was going to cry. “You made me come. You cared that I did.”