Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  “Josh? Can I come in?”

  He was so used to being naked in front of the team he stepped out of the shower, slinging a towel around his waist.

  “Moira wouldn’t hear of you going hungry.” Sugar’s expression froze. “What’s that on your neck?”

  As the pressure had mounted inside the shell and he’d stirred in Alfred’s fist, he whispered, “Bite me.” At the time it had seemed a natural desire to have. Now the proof was red and raised on his neck. “Nothing.”

  Sugar sat opposite him, watching him eat. Moira made terrific eggs. She was a rare CER wife who wasn’t interested in robots. He liked her.

  “Josh, now it’s just us: what happened to your eye?”

  “I said. Claire got angry and went for my face.”

  “She’s only little. How did she reach?”

  “You haven’t seen her when she’s mad.”

  “Look at the state of you. You’re all over scratches and bruises.”

  “I’m accident prone.”

  “Has Langton ever assaulted you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Suddenly Josh remembered the man in the alley, how he had seized him around the neck and forced him down. He remembered Alfred’s grief and disgust, how he’d hit him until his face was a river of blood.

  “How can you even think that?”

  “I blame myself. I liked it when you became friends - it’s not healthy to be alone. If I’d known he had ulterior motives -”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? He would never hurt me. We met and fell in love, like two humans.”

  Sugar met this with a disbelieving smile. It took all of Josh’s self control not to punch him.

  “What I’m going to say is for your own good. They might disapprove at CER, but what the heck. Desperate times call for desperate measures, hey?”

  “I hope it’s an apology.”

  “Artificials can’t fall in love.”

  “Excuse me? I ought to know.”

  “I ought to know. You can’t have feelings for Claire, you can’t have feelings for anyone. You might like your handler -”

  “I don’t.”

  “- but nothing more.”

  Josh pushed the remains of his brunch aside and slipped on the jumper and twills Sugar had given him. Last was Kevin’s hat.

  “Thanks for the hospitality, no thanks for the lies. I won’t be keeping in touch.”

  He slammed the door. Sugar made straight for the speakertube in the hall.

  “Josh just left. It’s worse than we thought.”

  Josh’s schedule was booked solid. Shoots, talks, appearances with or without Claire. He ignored them all. He avoided everyone from the Centre, Pip and Mandy being the exceptions. He spent the first week on Mandy’s sofa. The glassy eyes of two hundred stuffed toys kept him from sleeping and her cat kept patting his face. After six nights he made his excuses.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “No idea. Don’t let anyone know I’ve been here. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  “I’ll carry it to the grave,” she said, sweeping him to her bosom.

  He met Pip in the park, kicking a can along the alleys. “I told you to be inconspicuous,” he said.

  She was wearing a jacket that made her look like a raccoon, complete with bushy tail. “They’ll think I’m a raccoon,” she shrugged. “How are y’?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “How’s Lord Langton?”

  “Gone away. Don’t tell me Sugar’s been filling your head with crap.”

  “Sod Shuggy.” She’d supervised the interface the night of the gala and knew what had happened.“I’ll give evidence if anyone asks.”

  “Won’t you get sacked?”

  “I wouldn’ be out of pocket.”

  “It’s only temporary. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Anythin’ that pisses Aidy off suits me.”

  This arrangement was even more fleeting. He didn’t mind that Pip’s rooms were on the top floor of a warehouse with intermittent lighting; he didn’t care she had to leave a few hours later for her weekend job as a DJ. What he did mind was her coming in at three in the morning, introducing him to a half naked girl called Bebe.

  “What about Gwyn?”

  “We’re on a break. She still hasn’ told her folks. It’s too soon or some bollocks.”

  She and Bebe proceeded to have noisy, acrobatic sex on the kitchen floor. He piled every cushion on top of his head but could still hear them. She came to see him later that morning, necking a filthy concoction from a vase. “Hope you slept alright.”

  “Where’s -?”

  “Called a fly to take her home. The instant someone composes an ode to my tits, they’re out. What are y’ doin’ today?”

  “Seeing Dr Fisk. I want my old flat back.”

  She didn’t seem surprised. “Good luck.”

  He had never liked Fisk. He knew the theory. As the genius behind his interface and the person he saw first, he should feel a deep, abiding devotion. The thought of being alone with her made him sick with fear.

  He trawled the markets, the Library, the Museum of Lux History. He avoided the section on robotics. What kind of prat would he look, loitering there? He preferred the galleries. He had the utmost respect for artists who could pull tableaus out of their heads. The most he could do was copy. Anything to do with death fascinated him. Winged skulls, beautiful women with scythes. Love and death, the twin obsessions of human experience.

  He must have taken a wrong turn, he’d wandered from Middle Period Fantasia to Lux Notables. There was the city founder, her piggy eyes and swollen chops reminiscent of Jerry Etruscus. Magdalena Smythe, Lux’s worst poet, clutching her long ascetic face. Nerissa Darkholme, its finest actor. Most of them were buried at the Citizens’ Cemetery.

  A painting towards the end caught his attention. First he recognised the contraption at its heart: a kind of golden mangle, studded with buttons. He’d seen something similar in the Memorial at Chimera, though he didn’t know who it was a memorial to. Alfred had been keen to hurry him on. It was only once he’d made this connection he looked at the sitters, each with a hand on the machine.

  The first was the sort of craggily intellectual man who never aged. He had severe cheekbones, hooded eyes and thinning hair. He was wearing the most aggravating smirk Josh had seen; he might as well have been saying, “Behold my genius and grovel.” The second sitter was painfully familiar: petite and pale, ringlets in a dark cloud around her face. He’d seen her in clips, heard the deep quiet voice with a lisp. Gussy.

  He read the inscription: ‘Lady Augusta Wilding, 2114 - 2150. Mother of Robotics.’ It didn’t say anything about the man. Perhaps he was Gwyn’s father. He looked horrible enough.

  There had to be a portrait of Alfred somewhere. Josh went in search of it, adjusting his earflaps. He took a few wrong turns, but when he found it, it was by the window in the quadrangle, the light beating down on it. It didn’t look much younger than the Alfred he knew. An autumnal Chimera in the background, a rifle on his shoulder. Puss was at his feet, gnawing on a pheasant. Despite the pose he had a gentle, faraway expression. The one he’d worn as Josh slid into his lap, putting his arms around him. He touched the picture’s lips but the glass got in the way.

  Enough. He was procrastinating. He bought copies of the two paintings in the gift shop. The girl stared but he couldn’t care less.

  Josh would always remember this day, for the worst reasons.

  The first was when he went to the bank. He allowed himself a strict budget, guaranteeing everything he did fitted within it. Lexis Avenue was out of his way so he decided to get a fly. Flies cost money. He stepped into the bank, approving of the amber pillars and the workers in livery. He didn’t see why everyone was impatient to move into the future when the past was so wonderful.

  “Afternoon, Mr Foster.” The man behind the counter was called Reg. He had terrible dandruff.
<
br />   “Afternoon, Reg. Please may I withdraw fifty?”

  “Bear with us.” He fiddled with his equipment, humming Virtual Love. Josh joined in.

  “Uh, Mr Foster? There seems to be an irregularity.”

  Josh stared. “I came here last week. Don’t you remember?”

  “Of course I do. But your account’s empty.”

  “That’s impossible! There’s thousands in there.”

  “There’s no need to get excited.”

  “I’m not getting excited! Let me have my money!”

  Two liveried robots appeared either side of him. “Come now, we don’t want any trouble -”

  “Show me!” He reached across the counter and swung the terminal around. Within seconds he found himself bouncing down the bank’s steps.

  There was nothing for it but to trek the ten miles to Lexis Avenue. There wasn’t the least doubt in his mind that CER was responsible. He’d defied them and this was their punishment. Without money he was grounded.

  After an hour he turned into the Avenue. They did themselves well, the doctors. Dr Fisk’s house resembled a chess piece, black and aggressively shiny.

  He didn’t even touch the bell. The doctor stood in the doorway, alarmingly tall. A perfume like decomposing violets hit his nostrils. “Hello, Josh. I wondered when you’d drop by.”

  He’d never noticed how prominent the gap between her teeth was. As he followed her into the hall he caught sight of a dining room, a lace draped table with candles.

  “Can I get you something? A coffee? Some wine?”

  “What’s happened to my money, Dr Fisk? Why are you doing this?”

  “We only want to help you,” she murmured.

  She pressed the switch beneath his fringe, sending him crashing to the carpet.

  When Josh next knew consciousness, he was in a seminar room. Slatted blinds, tempered walls, chequered carpets. Fisk, Sugar, Adrian and Sienna looked at him as though he was a naughty child. He grabbed a chair and thrust it at Fisk. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Poor chap,” Sugar said. “Completely bananas. It’ll take months before he’s normal.”

  “We don’t have months,” Adrian snapped. “What we need is damage control.”

  “Such as?”

  Sienna leant back in her chair. “The public adores Claire. Him and her, they’re instant copy. If we put them together and make it look like they’re working through their problems, think of the ratings!”

  “I like. I like a lot,” Adrian said.

  “Why the heck not, it’s worth a try,” from Sugar.

  “You’re forgetting something,” Josh said. “What about what I think?”

  He was used to being paraded like a circus freak, but this was too much.

  “She kicked me out. There’s no way I’m pretending I love her.”

  Sugar shook his head. “He really believes it. Langton’s groomed him too well.”

  Josh hurled himself at Sugar. His limbs grew heavy and couldn’t land a blow. Sienna pinned his arms behind his back and sat on top of him. Fisk watched the whole thing, quite expressionless.

  Adrian snatched around his throat. “Perhaps it’s escaped your nonexistent brain, but we own you. Do as we say or it’s into -5 with you. Permanently.”

  Cubed

  Josh’s world had shrunk. A cube of a room, no windows, no mirrors. A door code only they knew. He lay on the table that served as his bed, slipped in and out of consciousness.

  Sometimes there were voices, Malik’s more often than not. Every now and then she was joined by Adrian, speaking in a barely human snarl. He never addressed Josh by name. Sometimes they came in to observe him. Sugar squinted through his tortoise shell glasses and tugged his beard. Ozols looked like a babysitter who’d overstepped her authority. And Fisk, silent and twisting her necklace.

  “We want to help you,” Malik would say. “Once you’ve responded to treatment you can leave.”

  He knew what they wanted. You were indoctrinated by Langton, seduced. Perversion Prevention would arrest him the instant he set foot on Lilan soil -

  “That’s not true. I pursued him. I made love to him.”

  More questions, more pink drink. They tried to catch him out. The more they picked, the stronger he and Alfred became. In dreams, in waking. Camping together. The Larch Toaster. The conch - he was surprised they hadn’t wiped that. Maybe they didn’t know.

  He conjured Alfred. Rusty hair greying at the temples. The crooked grin, dreamy eyes. The texture of his scars beneath his fingers. His voice, deep and cracked and soothing.

  Tell me a story.

  Anything special?

  Something inspired by current events?

  Once, in a city not a million miles away, there lived a robot. He was beautiful, brave and stubborn. Unfortunately he was at the mercy of shysters - what? Write what you know.

  Not if it’s libellous.

  You’re not beautiful and brave? Could’ve fooled me. Stubborn we’ll keep.

  If only he could cry.

  The door hissed open. He didn’t raise his head. “Hello, Dr Fisk.”

  She pulled up a stool, performed the checks. “Everything normal.”

  “It would be, wouldn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m a robot stuck in one room. I can’t get sick or go wrong. What’s the point in a check up?”

  “How long do you think you’ve been here?”

  “Literally or rhetorically?”

  “I don’t like your tone.”

  “Is the show going ahead?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  He wouldn’t look at her. He settled on a crack in the tiles.

  “You’ve only yourself to blame. If you only tried -”

  He wasn’t mistaken. Withered hands stroked his fingers. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “We could be a team, you and I. A robot and his handler.” Her tongue caressed the last word. “I could be your devoted friend -”

  “No!”

  He pushed her away. She crashed into the table, the locket breaking. The heart fell open. “Don’t touch it!” she cried.

  Two pictures. The first a boy, smirking gap toothed at the camera. “My nephew. His name was Eric but I called him Tiger. He got himself into terrible trouble and - harmed himself.”

  Although it was a sad story, Josh wasn’t interested in Eric. All his attention was focused on the second image. Fisk, younger but still recognisable, laughing with her arms around a man. Small, fine boned, blond. His eyes were brown but otherwise -

  “My husband, Joseph. We met at university; I couldn’t believe someone like him would notice me. Neither did the girls on campus. I’d see them making cow eyes at him, then they’d spot me and be puzzled. He said I was the love of his life.”

  Tears brimmed in the dull eyes. He handed the locket back. “What happened?”

  “We married straight after graduation. Ten wonderful years. One night, coming home, this drunk driver -” She shook her head. “I wish I could have died instead.”

  “I’m sorry. But I’m not your husband, Dr Fisk.”

  She pulled away, offended. “I know that.”

  “Yes, there’s a resemblance. But -” he tried to be tactful - “I can’t like you. Not that way.”

  “No,” she said bitterly. “You love a man who was arrested for playing strip poker in the Palace toilets.”

  Josh burst out laughing. “When did he do that?”

  The time for sharing had passed. Composed, dry eyed, Fisk slipped the locket into her case and left.

  ***

  He only had her word for it he’d been there a month. There were no clocks, no calendars. The next day - it might have been a few later - his head felt dense. He knocked into the chair, stared at his feet. They looked as though they were going to give way.

  A talk with Sienna. A lesson with Ozols. There was a curious echo to her voice. He hadn’t noticed it before.

  “Hell
o?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Anyone home?”

  “Sorry, I’m -” He collapsed, banging his head on the table.

  “Code 6! Code 6!” Ozols said into her ear piece.

  Sugar’s voice crackled into life. “I’ve just settled down with a cuppa.”

  “Cuppa yourself! He’s gone woozy.”

  “I’ll get Julia.”

  She was up in ten minutes, making Josh wonder again where the room was. Too small and underequipped to be a lab, sound proofed -

  “Leave him to me,” Fisk ordered.

  He wanted Ozols to stay but couldn’t form the words. Fisk laid him on the table and sealed the door behind her.

  “A relapse, perhaps?” Out with that stupid torch. “Basic signs normal.”

  Other than the fact I can’t move.

  Fisk brushed his cheek, slowly and deliberately. He tried to stop her but his hands were so weak, he couldn’t lift them. He was acutely conscious he was naked, raw beneath her gloating eyes.

  “I enjoyed our chat the other day. It made me understand a few things.” She crawled over the metal surface, stopping when her head was level with his groin. “If you hadn’t been naughty, I wouldn’t have to punish you.”

  She began to suck, her false teeth scraping his skin. He wondered what possible pleasure she derived from this. He couldn’t move, couldn’t come. He couldn’t close his eyes. Hitching up her skirt, taking down tights -

  Alfred, I need you. Please! He was screaming but no sound came out.

  “It’s for your own good,” she said.

  If I get out of here ... No. When I get out of here. They’ll get bored, or I’ll ...

  Josh didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

  He felt his mind drain away like dirty water. He couldn’t hold onto anything. He dreaded Fisk’s interviews, but didn’t remember why until they were happening.

  He had always known, from the moment he opened his eyes and she was holding his hand. No one else detected the sordor, the wrongness. She called herself ‘Mother’. “Mother wants the best for you,” “Mother truly loves you” - even while she was doing it to him. She demanded to know if he loved her. He refused to say it. She’d shake her head, slap his face, storm out.