Bandwagon

by Andrew Fish

For each note he managed to produce, Riff made a chalk mark on the floor so that he could reproduce it again later. By the end of the day, he was able to play an entire composition simply by strumming the guitar once and then stepping from mark to mark in a careful pattern. He decided to call the piece ‘Step Back’ after the rather elaborate step backwards he had to take for the final chord change.

  For their first practice with Nutter, the members of the band made their way to the museum in the usual manner. Riff and Keys stole quietly out of the electrical store at about seven o’clock and crossed town on foot. Ben, still not familiar with the area around the museum, took a subway train to the nearest station. The area around the park lay quiet in the dim evening light and the first sign of life that Ben encountered was Nutter as he stepped down from a bus outside the gates. Ben approached the robot, a hand raised in greeting.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  Nutter looked at him, taking several seconds before he registered any form of recognition. ‘B-Ben, isn’t it?’ he queried.

  ‘That’s right,’ Ben confirmed.

  ‘Which way are you g-going?’

  ‘The museum’s across the park,’ Ben told him, ‘but if you want to walk round, I’ll join you.’

  ‘Why w-would I w-want to walk round?’

  Ben shrugged. He knew that troublemakers liked the quiet places and he was fairly certain he’d seen some youths trying to ambush a sweeper by the fountain as he’d come around the corner from the station. Nutter was, however, a radically different prospect from a motorised broom – although, like all robots, he was programmed never to harm a human being. Ben wondered what happened if a robot received too many blows to the head – could the basis of their programming be damaged sufficiently to allow them to transgress the fundamental laws of robotics? He walked quietly by Nutter’s side as the heavy-set robot strode through the park.

  ‘I’ve never b-been through here,’ said Nutter.

  ‘Really?’ said Ben.

  ‘No.’ There was an awkward silence, broken only by the footfalls of the robot.

  ‘Nice f-flowers,’ Nutter added eventually.

  This took Ben aback somewhat – it would never have occurred to him that a robot who spent most of his time pummelling other robots to within an inch of their, for want of a better word, lives and sometimes beyond would have an interest in horticulture. In fact the idea struck him as faintly ludicrous. He could find only a simple ‘Yes’ for a reply.

  They walked on in silence, Ben watching as birds flew from tree to tree, singing out their territorial claims in a manner not dissimilar to the tribal chants of his own warrior ancestry. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about in the park. Perhaps the time he was spending with the robots was just making him paranoid.

  His train of thought was interrupted by a group of scruffy youths who, having been lurking in the shadow of a particularly contested tree, leapt out in front of the pair, brandishing something resembling the handle of a metal broom. The ringleader appeared to be the same youth who had been terrorising binbots in Luke Street. He realised his claim not to be a robot lover would be harder to defend given his current choice of companion.

  ‘Out late again?’ the youth challenged him.

  ‘It’s early yet,’ Ben replied as amicably as he could, hoping to dispel any tension.

  It didn’t work. ‘What are you doing with this overgrown tin can?’ the youth asked, looking up at Nutter’s battered features with a sneer.

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

  ‘I’m asking you, that’s why.’

  Ben suddenly found himself feeling more than a little irritated with the outspoken lout. Why should he have to justify his choice of companion? ‘What’s the matter?’ he snapped. ‘Are you afraid my friend will mash you to a pulp?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Everyone knows that bots can’t hurt people – it’s part of their programming.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’d tell him that, if I were you.’ Ben nodded toward Nutter. ‘He’s been in a few fights – he might have forgotten.’

  The youth looked up at the robot, his confident sneer fading slightly. Ben could almost see his brain working as he tried, as Ben had earlier, to determine whether a damaged robot would still be constrained against using violence on a human being. Nutter looked down as if observing the group for the first time.

  ‘H-Hello,’ he said. ‘W-What do y-you want?’ His head twitched as he attempted to focus his gaze.

  ‘Nothing,’ said the youth.

  ‘Are y-you s-sure?’

  Nutter raised one of his arms. The mob interpreted this as an intention to strike and fled. The youth lingered a moment, but realising that his numbers had been reduced to one, and seeing a gleam in Ben’s eyes, he wasn’t far behind. Nutter finished bringing his arm behind his head and scratched the back of his neck, which stopped the twitching.

  ‘T-There’s a l-loose c-chip back there,’ he explained. ‘I w-wonder if they’d m-mind if we p-picked a few of the flowers.’

  7

  The main display hall in the museum had been rearranged somewhat for Nutter’s arrival: Riff had moved a few of the display cabinets back to create a central space and had positioned a drum kit at one side of the room. He was just tuning one of the snares when Ben and Nutter entered.

  ‘Running late?’ he asked.

  ‘We ran into some people in the park,’ said Ben.

  Riff nodded and finished adjusting screws. He tapped the drum experimentally with a stick and nodded with satisfaction. ‘Your drums,’ he said to Nutter, motioning towards the kit. He passed him the sticks.

  Nutter sat down on the stool and took the proffered items. He looked from side to side, his gaze taking in the hi-hats, the snares and the bass drum.

  ‘Give it a bash,’ Ben suggested.

  Nutter adjusted his grip on the sticks and prodded experimentally at one of the pedals with his right foot. The bass drum gave a satisfying thud. Pleased with the result, the robot began to carefully mark time with his foot and then complimented this with a rhythm on the snares. The others watched as, gaining confidence, he began to play the pedal hi-hat with his left foot. After a few minutes steady drumming, he finished with a drum roll and then looked up at his audience.

  Riff nodded appreciatively. ‘Hitting things with style,’ he said.

  ‘Have a listen to this,’ Keys called from the other side of the room. They turned to look at him as he stood in his little nest of keyboards. ‘It’s just a little something I’ve been working on.’

  He began to play a simple arpeggio with his left hand on one of the keyboards. Then, as he brought in a more complex string sound with his right he began to sing. Ben had never heard a robot sing before – he’d always assumed that they would sound like one of the heavily synthesised robot voices that had been popular with human bands some years earlier – but Keys’ voice was pure and clear, with only a slight ring on the sibilants betraying its robotic origins.

  It was, however, the lyrics that caught his attention. Singing in mournful tones, Keys speculated about standing around, listening to nothing and wondering what was out there. The song caught something in Ben. He didn’t know what it was, but the notion of what it meant to be heard and not to be seen seemed somehow to resonate with him. Was there, he found himself wondering, really a difference within or without? Keys sang a second verse and closed with a gentle reprise of the opening arpeggio, then waited expectantly for comment.

  The band stood in awed silence. Eventually, Riff spoke.

  ‘Deep,’ he said.

  ‘Almost bottomless,’ said Vid.

  Keys nodded appreciatively. ‘Just something I came up with today,’ he said. ‘I call it Listening to Nothing. It needs a couple more verses, really.’

  Ben managed to gather his thoughts together to add his opinion ‘It’s amazing,’ he said

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Totally. I mean… it�
�s like the most amazing portrayal of human isolation I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘Isolation?

  ‘All that stuff about standing alone in your own world. Anyone would think you’d been human in a previous life.’

  Keys looked at him blankly. ‘Is that what you thought it was about?’

  ‘You mean it wasn’t?’

  Keys shook his head. ‘No.’

  Ben looked suddenly concerned. ‘It wasn’t? What was it about, then?’

  ‘Packing cases.’

  ‘Packing cases?’

  Riff nodded. ‘I get it,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Ben.

  Vid’s face displayed a smile as he turned to the human. ‘You remember what we were saying about robot brains?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, when they make robots, they go through certain elementary learning procedures before they’re shipped to a buyer. Since switching the robot off would erase all that learning, the robots are left on when they’re in transit.’

  ‘And that’s what it’s like,’ said Keys. ‘You just stand in your packing case and think. I started to wonder if there were other robots out there doing the same thing.’

  ‘Same here,’ said Riff. Vid nodded his agreement and they all turned to look at Nutter.

  ‘C-can’t remember,’ said Nutter. ‘I’ve h-had a few b-blows on the head since then.’

  ‘But what about all that stuff about seeing through the eyes of the child?’ Ben insisted. ‘Surely that’s nothing to do with robots.’

  ‘No,’ Keys admitted. ‘I couldn’t think of another line, so I just dropped in the first thing I thought of. Don’t worry,