“When was this written, 1800?”
“Doesn’t paint a pretty picture.”
“Josh isn’t property, nor was he coerced -”
“Only what sexual predators have been saying for centuries.”
“We’re in a relationship. We deserve the same rights as any couple.”
Lucy swung his designer boot, finger up one nostril. “No correctly functioning bot would have an affair with a human. Certainly no human in their right mind would shag one.”
“What’s the point of this meeting? To gloat and flick bogeys?”
“Funny you should mention noses. I’m a great believer in payback.” Lucy clicked his fingers and the guard loomed. “Sutcliffe, do the necessary.”
Alfred had two seconds to dive beneath the table. Lucy hauled him out, strong for his weedy frame. “Anyone asks how this happened, you fell.”
He gritted his teeth as the fist connected with his nose. The pain of it shattering, the shock of the blood, was excruciating.
“Oh, by the way,” Lucy said airily. “Even it up. I didn’t know he was left handed last time.”
The guard trudged behind Alfred and wrenched his hand behind his back. He bit down on his lip as he felt three of his fingers snap. Bowing to the guard, Alfred turned towards Lucy. He stood there, blood coursing down his face, hand limp, and smiled.
“What’s so funny?” Lucy demanded.
“Perversion Prevention. Funny career choice. What’s your vice, Lucy? Livestock? Kids?”
The captain’s lip curled. “Give him to the screws. We’re done.”
Days passed. Alfred scrutinised every inch of his cell. A narrow bunk. Scruffy shelves. A slop bucket and a chair. When he wasn’t reading or smoking, he took refuge in memory. Teaching Gwyn to swim. Nanny’s stories, helping her to bake. The time he and Ken were interrupted in the university library and he’d hidden beneath his gown. Pretend games with Gussy, where the laundry became a tent in the Lucci rainforest. Putting his head by her pregnant belly and receiving an almighty kick. Five months later Gwyn was born.
And of course, Josh. Waking him by tickling his feet. Staring at that man he’d knocked out in disbelief. How he’d put his fingers to his lips after their first kiss, treasuring it. How he could look angelic, then say something filthy. Sitting on his lap, cheek against his, as he read aloud.
Alfred was lying on his bed one afternoon, reliving their walk of Augustin’s wall, when somebody knocked at the door. He sat up in surprise.
“May I come in?” The voice was cultured, far removed from the guards’ surly tones. Everyone knew they were the dregs of the army, too violent or unstable to carve a living elsewhere.
“Yes -” more out of curiosity than anything.
A little man came in. Horn rimmed glasses, mousy hair thinning on top, a polysuit with damp patches beneath the arms. “Lord Langton?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Dr Neal. I’m here to discuss a few things, if that’s okay?”
“Make yourself at home.”
Neal looked at him. “What happened to your nose?”
“I fell.”
“Really.” Face like an elderly baby aside, he was no fool. “Any side effects?”
“None.”
“Good.” The doctor spread a file on his knee. “Do you mind telling me why you’re here?”
“I’m in a relationship with Josh, an artificial. By many people’s lights that’s wrong.”
“What’s your opinion?”
“You know my history?”
“I know your sister was Lady Augusta, and your, uh, friend -”
“Lover -”
“- was Professor Summerskill. It must have been hard.”
“You know, you’re the first person to say that? Everyone else thinks we were having threesomes with arties. Before Josh I would never have considered such a thing.”
“What changed?”
“Have you seen him?”
“No doubt he’s attractive -” Neal glanced at his wedding band.
“Don’t worry, doctor. I’m not going to corrupt you. He’s sweet, kind and good. Better than any human I’ve known.”
“Does he love you?”
“Yes.”
“You sound very sure.”
“I know the official teaching is that robots can’t love. I thought anyone who got involved with one was a Deviant.” At Neal’s raised eyebrow, “Including Professor Summerskill. But Josh shows me in a hundred ways. The way he looks at me. The way he touches.”
Neal blurted, “The authorities want us to have a session twice a week. See how you’re settling in, getting on. Which direction you want to take your case.”
“Do you know when it’s going to court?”
“They need to gather evidence. They’ll call upon the scientists at the Centre, the lady Mr Foster was married to.”
Alfred pictured Claire in the witness box, shrieking blue murder. “Poor girl.”
“The first session will be next Tuesday, same time.”
“Thanks.” Hearing the bolt slip into place, Alfred lay down and closed his eyes.
***
Josh was lost.
People bayed outside the gates. Meals were strained, all conversation conducted through Nanny. When he turned on the network or veebox, he heard cackles at Alfred’s downfall.
Alfred was everywhere. He’d find presents and messages hidden in books, pockets, places they’d spent time together. There were other traces. The bed they’d loved in - he never used the guest room now. His shaving gear. He found red hairs in the basin and didn’t want to wash them away. He wore Alfred’s dressing gown despite Gwyn’s complaints. He sniffed it and it was like being hugged by him.
Puss was his constant companion. She slept on the end of his bed, woke him with a lick or bat of her paw. She insisted upon following him when he went on walks. He tried to put her off, thinking how conspicuous they must be, but one afternoon changed that.
It had been a week since Alfred’s capture. Josh had spent the morning trying to get in touch with other artificials - first by concentrating, seeing if he could pick anybody up, next by going on the Storm. After three fruitless hours he laid the powerbook aside. Puss sprang from her den in the corner and loped after him.
The heat wave had resumed soon after Alfred’s arrest. Even in the deep of the woods it was sullen and airless. Puss was starting to pant; he sprayed her with the water canister. Nothing stirred. The only sounds were a bird calling in the distance, what sounded like a hive nearby. Perhaps he could find it, bring Nanny honey. She’d like that. It might even put a smile on Gwyn’s grim face -
Puss was at his side, tail bristling. Silver spheres jittered above their heads, swooping down and flashing. Papbats.
Josh found himself sprawling full length on the grass. He thought one had struck him, but Puss pinned him to the ground. They lay like that for five minutes. He watched red ants march across the soil. The dirt was dry and powdery against his cheek. Puss’s heartbeat was deafening.
The papbats scouted the area, puzzled. How could their prize have vanished? Some dropped to the grass and rolled. One stopped inches from Josh’s eye. He willed himself to be still. Puss closed her eyes and pretended to doze. As her breathing slowed and her head lolled, he hoped she hadn’t convinced herself.
The papbats conferred. One gave a signal. They soared into the air, spread out to mimic a flight formation. Josh didn’t dare get up until they were out of earshot.
“Good girl.” The hug he gave her was wholly inadequate. He could never thank her enough.
***
Josh was too disheartened to try contacting other artificials. He roamed the halls for half an hour, never admitting he was bored. “There’s no boredom, only borin’ people,” Nanny always said.
Here was a room he hadn’t been in before. He pushed it open and found himself staring at a collection of apparatus. A fixed electribike, handles on the ceiling, hoops. It was only when he
spotted a set of dumbbells he realised. He’d seen Alfred surfacing from here - dabbing his neck with a towel, balancing a weight - but never watched it in use. Gyms, what normal people did instead of Thingummy.
He’d only meant to put his head in. But imagining Alfred in here, working up a sweat, he felt him. He could almost smell him. He leant against the leather of the multi gym and kissed it. He raised his shirt over his head, hugged it to his bare chest -
A stifled cough. He straightened up, nearly cracking his head. Gwyn was looking at him with distaste. “Something on veebox you should see.”
She’d used up her word count for the day. She held open doors on the way to the kitchen but didn’t speak.
Considering the changes recently, the kitchen was a reassuring constant. Twin wafts of baking and brandy greeted them, the veebox bleated in the corner. “Watch this,” Nanny said, flinging her washing up gloves aside. “Up,” she commanded the box. The sound cleared.
It was that show they talked about in the Pond, Crispin Clay. An evangelist turned talk show host, he bombarded his viewers with sleaze for two hours, then offered them absolution. “Bless you all!” was his sign off each week, beaming as fake tears sleeted down.
“Can’t think where our guest’s got to.” Clay rolled up his sleeve to reveal a diamond studded watch. “Shall we give her another five? While we’re waitin’ ...”
The church funded Clay’s show on one condition. He could cover whatever topics he liked provided he toed the party line. He couldn’t acknowledge that climate change was caused by anything other Thea. Technology was blasphemous, artificials doubly so. Above all, the sanctity of the traditional family, especially the threat posed by -
“Gays! They infiltrate the media and recruit your children! Join me in a special edition of Gay Watch!”
A jeering tune started up. The sinister silhouette of a man appeared, scratchy cartoon people recoiling.
“It so happens this ties in with today’s story. It takes two to connect, after all. Gotta say I always had my suspicions, but this week we’ve been offered proof.”
Footage of a young Alfred decorated by the Queen on the Forum steps. He met the fuss with embarrassment. Him and Vita being arrested for their nude ride.
“A diary has been made public, containin’ explicit details of his affair with Josh Foster. In countless erotic passages -”
Gwyn scraped her chair across the flags. “I’m not listening to this.” She stuck her finger in Josh’s face. “This is your fault, bolt boy.”
She stormed out. He went to go after her but Nanny held him back. “She’ll come round. Looks like the PM’s feelin’ cornered.”
The Gay Watch segment had ended. “Makes you sick, don’t it?” Clay was saying. “Is our lovely guest still keepin’ us waitin’?”
Now Josh saw the title at the bottom of the screen: I Married a Gay Robot. “Oh, crap.”
Nanny nodded. “Don’t hold it against her. She must be under lots of pressure -”
Something unscripted was happening. Clay’s head of security, a tough young woman in a dog collar, jogged up the steps to him. They put their heads together. Once they had finished whispering the old ham turned to face the audience.
“I ... uh ... you see -”
The head of security knew her stuff. “God bless, everyone!” she cried. Clay switched on the waterworks.
“Off,” Nanny snapped. “Josh, you must understand -”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
The doorbell clanged. Since Gwyn had stomped upstairs, Nanny stashed her revolver in her chignon and went to answer it. She returned moments later, at a loss how to proceed.
“Maybe I should leave you kids a mo... ”
Claire pulled her suitcase into the kitchen. “I got myself in trouble. There’s nowhere else I can go.”
Gwyn waited until the coast was clear. Josh was showing Claire to one of the guest rooms, Nanny chasing Puss from the henhouse.
So they were going to act as though nothing had happened? Claire could cry and trot out excuses - “I’m confused,” “I’m in a really weird place right now,” but she, Gwyn, never forgot and seldom forgave. She certainly wouldn’t now.
She picked up the speakertube. “Please may I speak to Captain Lucy? It’s about the Wilding - Foster case ...”
Strange Allies
Josh wanted to speak to Claire about the day’s events. Nanny wasn’t having any of it. “Poor pet’s been through the wringer. Let her be.”
It was difficult knowing she was there, in distress but off limits. He heard her crying in the night and went to go to her. Nanny, expecting something of the sort, materialised on the landing. “Those are good tears. Don’t upset her.”
He returned to his room, bewildered. How could you have “good” and “bad” tears? How could you tell the difference?
The next day dawned wet and blustery. Josh thought he had left it long enough. “After all,” he told Puss, “she wouldn’t be in this fix if she hadn’t married me.”
He showered, dressed and went down the landing. He knocked on the guestroom door. “Claire? Please may I come in?”
No answer. Perhaps she was asleep. He put an ear to the door. Not a sound. “Claire?” He turned the handle.
Nothing. He couldn’t see her suitcase, the bed had been made. She might never have been in the room at all. He ran downstairs to the kitchen. “Has anyone seen Claire?”
Gwyn was ensconced in her favourite chair, playing a game on her powerbook. Nanny looked up as she stirred the porridge. “She hasn’t been here, chuck.”
“The bed doesn’t look slept in, none of her things are out -”
Gwyn tutted in annoyance. “Bet she’s done a bunk.” At Josh’s confusion, “A runner. Don’t you understand anything?”
Nanny whipped her with the tea towel. “Enough lip. Are you sure?”
Gwyn refused to be silenced. “If she’s no qualms about selling her secrets to a tacky show, she won’t feel any for leaving you in the lurch.”
Josh wouldn’t rise to the bait. “I know her. She won’t let me down.”
“Good thing one of you’s loyal, isn’t it?” She ducked a second swish of the towel.
He went out into an icy shower. As he jogged across the grounds, Gwyn’s words played on a loop. He knew they meant nothing, she was only trying to wind him up. But what if Claire had been turned? If she had felt threatened enough, scared enough -
He was passing Gussy’s memorial. Something clicked. Hadn’t she been curious before? What better excuse than sheltering from the rain? He pushed open the door and twisted the light dials. Lamps came on in every cornice. He could see her now, sitting in a front row pew, head bowed.
Most of the far wall was taken up by an image of Ken. He smiled as he never had in life and had infinitely more hair. A sombre tablet restored his accolades: professor, creator, pioneer. Facing him was a portrait of Gussy. Other pictures were staged and aloof; here she looked as though she desperately wanted to laugh. Directly beneath was a small white stone. ‘Arthur Wilding’, no birth or death date.
“Hey.” Claire touched his arm. “Is this a church?”
“Would it help?”
“I don’t know. I used to believe.”
He sat beside her. “You never told me.”
“I couldn’t believe She’d make my dad suffer. I’d pray he’d die sooner, he was in so much pain, but She didn’t listen. I stopped talkin’ to Her.”
He took her hand. He didn’t worry about triggering feelings he couldn’t handle. He couldn’t have said how but he knew all that was over.
“You want to know why I did the show? Why I pulled out?” she asked.
“I did wonder.”
“It was Bridget. I hate girls like that - nice as pie to your face, then stab you in the back. She guessed I let you go. So Sienna and that creepy ferret guy round on me, say they need to do damage control. They talked ages - they sacked Jay Cee, poor thing - and after al
l that decide Crispin Clay’s the best bet.
So Sienna checks us into a hotel. She tries to make out it’s a bit of fun, all girls together, but I’m a prisoner. She wouldn’t let me see the news, but I heard the room service gossipin’. After a week they took me to meet Crispin. If he’s religious, I’m a wombat. He stared down my top the whole time.”
“I hope he behaved himself.”
“Sienna would of set a Dave on him! Anyways, he gives me this massive script - there’s pages and pages of it. They get a cab to take me back to the hotel, ‘cause they’re wanted at the Forum or somethin’. I’m readin’ this stuff, wonderin’ how long it’ll take to sink in, when we go past this big - what d’you call it? A picture painted on the side of a buildin’?”
“A mural?”
“That’s it, a muriel. It’s this tin robot holdin’ a heart, lookin’ sad. Someone’s wrote by it. ‘Love Saves.’”
He stared at her blankly. She persevered.
“It’s like - I did love you, Josh, but part of me thinks I just wanted to be in love. Anyone would of done. I built up this idea of you, thinkin’ that ‘cause you weren’t human, it couldn’t go wrong. When it did, I -”
“Fell out of love?”
She nodded, relieved he’d understood. “It wasn’t fair. You didn’t want it. I get that now. I heard Ferret Face say to Sienna, ‘This was your genius idea, to get him away from that shit sticker. If I were you, I’d get down welfare.’”
Josh knuckled his eyes. He’d guessed long ago, but it was nothing to the blow of hearing it confirmed. To think they’d ruined three lives to protect the company’s reputation! He was disposable, Alfred could cope, but to do this to Claire -
“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“I’m glad I did. I would of gone on hopin’, when the sensible thing’s to give up.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Go back to how I was before. We’re from different worlds, Josh. You talk posh and think big. I could never do that.”
Love and Robotics Page 68