Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  “Isn’t it latched properly?”

  “A figure of speech, treacle. You’ve got a visitor.”

  The next they heard was a whoosh and feet landing opposite the flat. Cora had never seen a door open so fast.

  “Hell - oh.” Josh’s face had fallen, but perked up in time. He snatched her hands. “Cor! You look fantastic! How long have you been in Lila?”

  “A few days. I’ve only just stopped feeling shonky - you know what hubs are. I’m having a nice conversation with your wife.”

  He had the grace to look abashed. “Having a good time, girls?”

  “It’s been an eye opener.”

  He shifted. Whatever he said next would be a lie. “Cor and I have a lot of catching up to do. She’ll want to see the sights. Do you mind?”

  “Oh. Okay.” Claire patted his arm. “Don’t keep him out too late!”

  They didn’t speak until they were outside the apartment. Josh went to take her arm but she blocked the gesture. “I’ve fallen through a crack in and wound up in Lala land.”

  “Cor -”

  “Let’s not have it out here.”

  It was Josh’s turn to call a fly. Cora waited for the driver to bundle them inside and join the midday scrum. “You’re a dolt.”

  “Don’t be mad.”

  “What do you expect me to be?”

  “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “Oh, so you’re not married to some screechy bimbo? I dreamt the last hour?”

  “Where have you been, though? It was on veebox and everything!”

  “I don’t watch that crap,” Cora said. “Why should I? There’s no shows for arties.”

  “That’s beginning to change -”

  “Really? Name one decent show with a bot in it.”

  Josh filed through his memory but drew a blank. Robots were either voiceless extras or comic relief; he had yet to see one with its own storyline. Claire loved a hokey old sitcom called My Flatmate’s a Robot, where a slobby single man lived with an uptight artificial. She rolled on the sofa as Fergus the artificial struggled with irony.

  “You have a point,” he sighed.

  “Yep. If you’d said In Love With My Robot Maid, I’d’ve given up the ghost.”

  “I don’t know that one.”

  “There’s a guy. He’s in love with his robot maid. It sucks. Anyway,” her eyes flashing dangerously, “ I can’t tell you how to live your life. But when it comes to hurting someone I care about ‘cause you’re chicken shit -”

  “What did you call me?”

  “Chicken shit. Cowardy custard.”

  “You’ve got it wrong.”

  They realised they’d left the screen down. Josh reached across and pressed the button, watching the driver’s outsize ears disappear. “I’m not. Take that back.”

  “Prove me wrong.”

  Cora knew she had a flinty stare. Sure enough, he cracked. “How is he?”

  “Stand me a drink and I’ll tell you.”

  Cora’s case had been poison. If an appliance malfunctions, you return it to the manufacturer. If it’s an appliance with reasoning powers, the faster it’s squished, the better. She spent a month and a day in the artificial penitentiary, convinced her next walk would be to the squelcher. The thirty second day was different. She was plucked from the canteen and led to the speakertube.

  “Coradora,” a hoarse voice said. “Who’s representing you?”

  “Alfred?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “No one wants to help a trigger happy bot.”

  “Lucky for you I like a challenge. I’ll be down in three days.”

  True to his word, Alfred came to the penitentiary. He took one look at the conditions and spoke to the governor. Within two hours he’d put her up in the plushest flat in the city. They’d spent that first afternoon getting smashed before settling down to work.

  “We need a several pronged attack,” Alfred said. “We rip Nick’s reputation to shreds. We make a case for the effect of a bad handler; I’ve tons of books about robot psychology. If that fails, I’ll whip off my shirt.”

  “Strip teases in a courtroom?”

  “I challenged a barrister to a duel once.”

  “Save that for the summing up.”

  Now she saw him in natural light, she realised how gaunt he looked. He hadn’t touched food, unless you counted the stream of spirits from his flask. “How’s Josh?”

  “We don’t see each other anymore.”

  That was all he had to say on the topic. If she referred to it, obliquely or otherwise, he’d shake his head and take a violent swig. Twice he drank till he passed out. He’d stand in the middle of the flat, not knowing how he got there. Yet he’d shuffle from this to a punchy defence, roaming the carpet and smoking incessantly.

  “Why are you doing all this?” she asked the end of the first week.

  He was in the kitchen, preparing malaza. He cooked like a single man - bung in as many ingredients as possible and see what happens. “Why am I doing what?”

  “Nobody’s ever done anything for me without wanting something.”

  “I like you. You’re my friend. End of.”

  “Can’t deny I need one. All the arties I know’ve disowned me.”

  “I don’t do ‘mates’. If you’re my friend, I consider you family. You know what the Wilding motto is?”

  “I’m not one for heraldry -”

  “‘Cross Us At Your Peril.’” Realising he sounded creepy, he made himself antennae from carrot sticks. “Kill, crush, destroy!”

  “You make a better robot than I do.”

  Alfred was phenomenal in the courtroom. He read from the diary, played the recordings, exploded any integrity Nick might have had left. He didn’t resort to shock tactics. The stick and limp were proof enough. When the court had a break, the public wanted them to sign autographs.

  “I’m too old for this,” he sighed.

  “Crapola. They love you.”

  “They love their idea of me.”

  A squat blonde had been annoyingly persistent, constantly asking, “How’s Mr Foster?” When she continued to mither, he snapped, “Ask his handler.” She shrank into her seat, scribbling away. He was sure he’d seen her before but couldn’t think where.

  The summing up took forever. He held her hand, slipped her his flask when no one was looking. At last the verdict came: cleared of all charges. He spun her around on the courthouse steps.

  “Well, Alfie. What are you going to do?”

  “Slip into oblivion?”

  This was her last chance. “Josh loves you. Don’t chuck it away.”

  “It’s too late now. At least we had a year together. I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.”

  Josh shielded his eyes. “He’s right. CER won’t let us put a toe out of line.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Am I fuck.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard you swear.”

  “There’s more where that came from.” He glanced around anxiously. "Maybe not.”

  “Screw ‘em, I say. Have the boys for pleasure and the girls for babies.”

  They did a spot of sightseeing, for appearance’s sake. Afterwards she dropped him off outside Azalea Heights, kissing him in the vix.

  “It’s not the same, is it?” she asked. “Not with me, not with Claire.”

  “No. What a mess: I have to commit adultery to be happy.” He frowned. “Why adultery? Such a weird word.”

  “Only adults do it?” They divided their loot - she gave him a cross eyed rabbit for Claire. “See you around. Do what feels right.”

  Upgrade

  Josh patrolled the flat, bored. It was the third day he’d had to stay indoors. “It takes time for the new settings to assert themselves,” Dr Sugar had told him. “At least we can keep tabs if something goes wrong.”

  Claire was no good. She complained constantly, saying she didn’t notice any difference. By the end of the se
cond evening they quarrelled and she’d gone to stay with Joyce. Already he felt calmer.

  He turned to the marketing Sienna had sent him. He switched on the network and started to hum: “You and me, our love is virtual ...” At least Claire couldn’t demand who had trodden on the cat.

  Autographs. The results of a shoot he’d done a few weeks back: ‘Id: The Scent of a Man.’ The bottle was shaped like a bolt of lightning, its lid like a salt dispenser. He read the spiel, written by Sienna: ‘Discover the new you.’ He sprinkled it on and felt cheated when nothing happened.

  Voices beneath the window. He went to the glass and peered down. He had a foreshortened view of Linford the superintendant talking to somebody much taller, with very red hair. Josh skidded down the corridor and leapt into the stairwell.

  “He can’t be too sick if he’s doing acrobatics like that.”

  “Ms Howey said he wasn’t to go out or see anyone -”

  “It’s alright, Linford.” Josh tried not to beam. “It’s Lord Langton. He’s allowed.”

  Linford walked away muttering. Josh hugged Alfred, remembering seconds later he was in his dressing gown. What a sight they must look: him in raspberry pyjamas, Alfred in an unfamiliar jacket and ticked trousers.

  “You look smart.”

  “I’ve been helping Jerry with this environmental initiative he’s trying to launch. I’ll be in town for the next few weeks.”

  “You came just in time.”

  Alfred squinted into his face. “You don’t look well. Are you alright?”

  “I’m having an upgrade.” As Alfred mimed something swooshing over his head, “We can talk upstairs. Linford’ll charge us for mucking up his floor.”

  Alfred followed him up. “Not a bad little place.”

  “It’s not a patch on the old one.”

  Josh wondered if Alfred designated everything pre or post Claire too. He punched in the code and the door swung open. Alfred began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Dear boy, it looks like a tart’s boudoir.”

  “How would you know?”

  “You hear stories.” Alfred had gone red. “Claire’s idea, I suppose.”

  Now Josh understood why he was so awkward. He hovered in doorways, his hands clenched. “She’s at her mum’s.”

  His relief was comical. “Shall I get you something to drink?”

  “Go ahead. It’s in that cupboard over the sink.”

  Alfred in the flat. A masculine presence in this fussy, over scented wasteland. Like him he kept barking his shins on chair legs and catching his elbows on door handles. “Who’d they design it for, pygmies?”

  “So it would seem.”

  He caught sight of Girls’ Love. “Is Claire trying to tell you something?” He flicked through and chucked it aside. “Talk about misleading.”

  Alfred told him about the latest bee in the mayoral bonnet. They laughed and stretched out. When the strain became too much, Josh let him smoke. Provided he put the fan on for the next few days, Claire would never know. Josh tried the pipe, wanting to see what the fuss was about, but reacted so violently Alfred nearly broke his hand banging him on the back.

  “I can poison myself but you’ve more sense. What’s all this about upgrades? You look terrible, no offence.”

  “They fit me with new features and see how they work. I spend a week in the lab and a week recuperating. Do you want to see?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  “D’you notice anything different?”

  “Your hair?”

  “Well, that too. No, something important.”

  “Your eyes. I don’t remember you blinking so often.”

  “They thought it was creepy the way I didn’t before.”

  “I liked them the way they were.”

  “Me too. I keep thinking there’s something in my eye.”

  “What else have they done?”

  “Body temperature: it’s why I look so lousy. There’s no point having someone look flesh and blood if they’re freezing. Sometimes I’m burning up, others I can be wrapped in fifty blankets but still feel cold. Here.”

  Josh held out his hand. Alfred surrounded himself with smoke rings.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is. I didn’t know you were artificial when I met you.”

  “Yes, but that’s - you.” They smiled. “Don’t ask me how, but other people can tell straight away. They can’t get away fast enough.”

  The couch creaked as Alfred sat beside him. He put his hands on Josh’s shoulders. “You’re the kindest, smartest, most wonderful person I know. Person. There’s nothing admirable about being human. Sometimes I wish I could cancel my membership of the race and declare I’m something else. Maybe a lion.”

  “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  Josh rested his head on Alfred’s shoulder. They sat like that for some time, content simply to be together.

  Josh’s upgrade went from being the worst week of the calendar to his favourite. As soon as Alfred had finished at the Council he came up to Azalea Heights. Linford mumbled about Ms Howey’s conditions, but Ms Howey could go whistle.

  They worked their way through the marketing. Alfred raised his eyebrows at the letters. “This one wants you to wear a green rose in your lapel. Do they have green roses?”

  “You’re the expert.”

  “Would broccoli do? Strike a pose - there. Send that.”

  “It’s better than my last campaign, that’s for sure.”

  Josh picked up a letter from a sweet old lady and read, “Dear Josh, I pride myself upon being your most devoted fan. If we met, I would dip you in honey ...” He stopped, blushing.

  “Go on!”

  “I feel violated.”

  Alfred skimmed it and burst out laughing. “The old playthings are best.”

  “It’s probably Nanny under a pseudonym.”

  “I’ll hide the preserves next time you visit. The fans were never this rampant in my day.”

  “Are you joking? I’ve seen the Explorers calendar.”

  “That was a serious campaign for endangered species.”

  “Serious pornography, more like.”

  “Don’t knock it. That calendar got me so much cock.”

  He’d spoken without thinking, as though he was with Nanny or Gwyn. Realising, he burned with mortification. Rather than the outraged purity he expected, Josh burst into a lovely, genuine laugh. It was infectious. They couldn’t stop.

  There were many such moments. Ordering in gourmet hampers. Watching experimental films - apparently better after a ton of hash, but Alfred wasn’t sure how Josh would react. Planting bulbs in the balcony garden. Debating Council decisions. Trying a new puzzle. Josh wished Claire could be at her mother’s forever.

  The first few days he wanted to declare himself. By the fourth he realised Alfred was on his best behaviour, stepping around any awkwardness. Claire had frightened him off for good.

  The fourth night, Alfred fell asleep on the couch. Josh tried shaking him and he wouldn’t wake. He brought in the covers from the bed and tucked him inside, taking the chair opposite. He tried to read but his gaze kept being drawn to the couch. More than anything he wanted to get in beside him.

  Somehow he fell asleep. The next thing he knew, his eyes had snapped open and he was staring out at the night sky. White flakes whirled across the suburb. “Alfred!”

  He woke, alarmed to find himself in Josh’s bed clothes, but relaxed once he’d realised he was in the living room. “What is it?”

  Josh led him to the window. “Look!”

  “Are you telling me you’ve never seen snow?”

  “No idea.”

  “This is something I can’t allow. We’re going to the park.”

  “What if something -”

  “Nothing’s going to happen. We’ll take your dial, but you’ll be fine.”

  Josh wasn’t used to the city at night. Normally lights crisscrossed overhead, illuminating the d
ingiest areas, but the Mayor had cut lighting to less than twenty percent. “Silly git, there’ll be no end of accidents,” Alfred grumbled.

  “Why didn’t you vote against it?”

  “I did, but the others are in his pockets. They’d scratch his balls if he asked them to.”

  “I thought you were friends.”

  “Past tense. He tolerates me, I despair of him. Here we are.” Alfred climbed over the railings and gave Josh a hand up.

  “It’s everywhere. I don’t think I’ve seen anything so beautiful.”

  “You should see Chimera in the snow. Me and Gussy went in for every winter sport going. Once we made this snow dragon that coiled around the house. She was so upset when it melted.”

  “I wish I could’ve met her.”

  “Let’s talk about something cheerful, shall we? Race you to the pond.”

  “In this?”

  “It’s manageable.”

  He loved Alfred like this. Plunging through the snow, hiding behind statues and flinging snowballs at him. Josh gasped, indignant. Soon he was gathering his own and pinging them back. It was four in the morning and anyone who saw would think they were mad, but they didn’t care. They didn’t mind even when their attempt at skating became an undignified heap on the ice.

  “What do you expect? We’re the least co-ordinated people in the world.”

  “Claire was so embarrassed at this party, she sat out after two dances.”

  “She doesn’t deserve you.” Alfred didn’t hide his bitterness.

  Josh couldn’t see his face. Lying on their backs beneath the stars, he wondered if he should risk it. He touched his hand.

  “Do you think what they say in books is true? There’s only one person for everybody?”

  The moment had passed. Alfred steered him to his feet, dusting down any frost. A good friend, nothing more.

  When he wasn’t looking, Josh struck himself in the forehead. Stupid, stupid stupid!

  Now he knew what to look for, Josh discerned patterns in Alfred’s behaviour. They would reach a point where to put it off any longer seemed absurd, they were so close, and Alfred took fright. Headed for the nearest bolthole with an excuse.