Love and Robotics (17 page)

“Yes. I wanted to undo the harm I had done.”

Nobody spoke. The Toaster’s conscience was purged. Josh wondered what they should do. Lying was wrong, he’d known that from his earliest moments. In the normal scheme of things he would be punished - but Alfred blew a raspberry at the normal scheme of things.

“We won’t judge you,” Alfred said. (“Says who?” “Shut up, Josh.”) “You’ve done your penance.”

The Toaster shook their hands - “Thank you, bless you -” and hurried down the path. An arthritic sound from the gate and he was gone.

“There’s gratitude for you,” Josh said. “Are we really letting him go?”

Alfred threw up his hands. “Who has he harmed? Don’t say his dad. Parents who don’t accept their kids are scum.”

“His readers. He deceived them.”

“Does it matter who wrote something as long as people enjoy it?”

“I suppose not,” Josh said doubtfully.

“You don’t get my slide rule, by the way.”

“Bother! So unrequited love
can
happen.”

Alfred looked down from his great height. “Don’t doubt it.”

Beginnings

Alfred was up a ladder in the hall, his arm in the grandmother clock. It had been breaking down for months. It began by striking the wrong time in falsetto; now the clockwork knights who came out and duelled had gone haywire. The idea was the heroic “western” knight should decapitate the swarthy “eastern” one - Nanny always complained how racist this was - but the Jarkan knight whizzed round and popped back inside like a hyperactive mouse.

He and Gussy used to sit on the stairs and watch the battle. She cheered on “Sir Anastasia”; he had a sneaking affection for the little Jarka. Josh liked the clock too. Sometimes they played a game of guessing which hour would strike next. He’d caught him opening the case to watch its workings. Maybe he could donate it to CER.

Hopefully that would do the trick. He adjusted the weights, stood back and closed the face. Time to see how Gwyn was getting on with her packing.

“Are you sure you want to live on campus?” he’d asked. “You get some right scrotes in halls.”

“The whole point is the experience. I’m twenty five, not eight.”

“I thought the point was another degree.”

“You know what I mean.”

To be fair he’d spent his undergrad days getting entangled with unsuitable older men; the degree had been incidental. Gussy ribbed him mercilessly about his Second. It wasn’t until his dad revealed he’d only gained a Third that he stopped feeling inferior.

A house without Gwyn. Like many topics that affected him, he struggled to articulate it. He only knew that as he saw more things disappear from her room, a treasured chapter of his life was coming to an end. Oh, they’d still go to classical concerts (his choice) and agricultural fairs (hers). They’d pick up clapped up junk and get it to work. They’d drink each other under the table, tease each other. But it wouldn’t be the same.

Why was he sitting on top of the ladder? He climbed down and kicked it away. It was only then he realised the speakertube was pealing. He picked it up. “Chimera.”

“Is Josh there?” No salutation, no niceties.

“Who is this?”

“Dr Fisk. Is Josh with you?”

“He’s well camouflaged if he is.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“Not for a week?” No wonder he was going round the bend with boredom.

“Lady knows where he’s got to. Thank you for your time -”

“Josh is
missing
?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Apparently Josh had been “moodish and difficult”, asking provocative questions and refusing to wear the clothes they’d laid out for him. He’d been late for a shoot and barely spoken, answering only yes and no. He had a session with Malik but sketched throughout, putting the sheets down once the hour was up. “You’re the psychologist,” he’d said.

Alfred suppressed a smile. “What does he do in the evenings?”

“How should I know? Sometimes he goes to the pictures with Pip Profitt.”

He made a mental note to speak to Pip. “Can’t you find him another flat? He must think a bomb’s going to whistle through the window any moment.”

“
You
might have pots of money to splash around, but we’re not so lucky. It was a mistake to let him live alone. Clearly it’s fed his ego and made him dissatisfied -”

“Where’s this ego everyone keeps harping about? He’s completely self
less
, if you ask me. It’s not unreasonable to want things humans take for granted -”

“He’s
not
human. I care for him, but it’s fantasy to pretend he’s anything more than a machine.”

Alfred wondered if he’d ever have a conversation with Josh’s doctors without wanting to brain himself, or them. “Josh is missing,” he reminded her.

“He was giving a tour today,” the parched voice continued. “Three hundred school children. He was in the middle of answering a question when one of the children flicked ice cream onto his scarf. I thought he was going to hit him, but he said, ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ He walked out before anyone could stop him.”

“Which scarf was it?”

“A gaudy silk thing with clocks on it. Far too poofy.”

“I gave him that.” Josh was very attached to his possessions - unsurprising when he had so few. “Nobody’s seen him since?”

“Pip’s tried his flat. I thought he must be with you.”

“When was this?”

“Thirteen o’clock. It’s most inconsiderate.”

She dropped out. Did CER only hire the socially inept? Perhaps they’d spent so long working with machines they’d forgotten how to interact with people.

His hand felt wet. He glanced down and saw he’d caught it on the clockwork; it was bleeding onto the carpet. Hand bandaged, he hurried upstairs and knocked on Gwyn’s door. She was lying on her bed, playing games on her powerbook.

“I wouldn’t ask normally,” he said, “but I don’t see what choice we have. Josh has wandered off. He wouldn’t come here without a message so he must still be in Lux. Could you run me down there?”

Picking up on Alfred’s anxiety, Gwyn drove faster than usual. There were complications - toll bridges, accidents, the Mayor painting out the signs - but he didn’t grumble.

You really have changed
, she thought. All thanks to an insipid little robot. She liked Josh, but in an impersonal way. If she put her arms around Puss, she had a good idea what she was thinking. With Josh there was always that wall - the sense that while the wheels were grinding, nothing of value was coming out. While Alfred felt this queer devotion ...

He liked waifs and strays. If somebody was weak or friendless, he saw it as his duty to help them. Once she’d admired this impulse - another reason why she loved him more than anybody in the world. In recent years she’d grown to resent it, partly because she suspected she was another charity case. Yes, she might have a special place in his heart, but if he helped any old bugger, it wasn’t very flattering, was it?

They followed the untidy scrawl into the city centre. Lux never felt real to her; it made her think of a girl with too much makeup. She knew it best on veebox: heritage sites, the Forum in session, anything ugly tidied away. Yes, there was Jerry Etruscus, but even the handsomest face could sprout a cold sore.

Alfred called it “down town” with an eye roll and a shrug. He’d developed that knot in his neck, the frown lines on his forehead. Not everything had changed. He was still happiest amongst real fields and skies.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“What?”

A hundred vixes were blaring. One swerved past and scratched the Mirage’s paintwork. She noted the plate. “Close your eyes,” she ordered.

Alfred obeyed. She shot down several backstreets, hitting something. She didn’t look. “Are you alright?” she asked him.

“I don’t have time for headaches.” He opened his eyes. “Arcadia Row? How did we get here?”

“I know a few short cuts.” While other girls memorised song lyrics and dances, she knew every road and every service dock in Lila.

“Ever thought of becoming a fly driver?”

“Having the same conversation with tons of people? I’d go mad.”

Completely without warning, somebody stepped out in front. She braked so abruptly, she bashed her head against the control panel, Alfred against the ceiling. She caught a glimpse of silk scarf and billowing coat.

“Wasn’t that Josh?”

Alfred would never behave like normal people. He was getting out of the vix in the middle of rush hour, ignoring the sirens. “Catch you later,” he mouthed.

Great. Now she’d have to find somewhere to tether. It was hard work, having a nutter for an uncle.

Alfred didn’t notice which building it was until he came to the ticket booth. The lighting, the shoals of schoolchildren, guides dressed like skippers. Lux Aquarium. He’d come here on rainy days when his parents were visiting the capital. Nanny invented voices for each creature when he was little, making up stories about their lives under the sea.

Electric jellies. Dart fish swimming in formation. That repellent thing they claimed was a mermaid. The khala squid. Bottle noses bopping a ball between themselves. Of course there were differences. The stingers weren’t in an open top tank after several fatalities and the guides were robots with names like Emmy and Carrie. Where was the cuskor eel? He scoured the depths of its tank but it was nowhere to be seen.

“You might have a long wait.” Josh was leaning against the rails. He’d turned the scarf inside out but the pink stood out against the silk.

Alfred clapped his hand to his forehead. “You read my article.”

“Yes.” Josh wouldn’t look at him.

“Was that why you visited me in the first place?”

“Yes.”

“And why you asked those questions - Josh, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not going until I see it.”

“I was different then. What I wrote was stupid and arrogant - and wrong.”

At last Josh looked up. If it had been anyone else he would have said he was crying. “Do I have cold fishy eyes and skin like tinned meat?”

“Of course not. You have nice eyes -” The less said about his skin, the better.

“You thought that about all robots. Why should I be different?”

“You’re you. You changed my mind.”

Josh took his hand. “You’re hurt.” He unpinned the bandage and raised the wound to his lips, blowing on it.

“What are you doing?”

“Staunching it.” He did it back up and patted the cloth into place.

“What’s this about? It can’t be because some kid spoiled your scarf.”

“I’m tired.” Alfred’s grip tightened on his arm. “Don’t worry, I’m not having
those
thoughts. I’m tired of seeing the same faces, doing the tours -”

“What
would
you do, if you had the choice?”

“I’d like to wake up in a different city every day. See these animals in their habitats. I’m fed up with learning everything through magazines. I want - no, it sounds silly.”

“Try me.”

“I want to have adventures.”

At the word ‘adventures’, Alfred felt a rush of fellow feeling. Of
course
they didn’t understand him at CER. They had carrot juice in their veins, lived in a clean bare world of statistics. They didn’t know what it was to fall asleep under the stars or cross the desert. He knew what Josh needed - what
he
needed. “You and I are going on a grand tour.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s something women did in the old days, to broaden their horizons.”

“Just us?” Josh was looking at him as though he couldn’t think of anything better than his company. It was flattering, but frightening too.

“Just us.”

“I’d love to.”

School parties tramped down the corridor, marine life nosed past, but that was so much wallpaper. A curl had stuck to Josh’s forehead, his colour was high. Alfred couldn’t look at anything else. He’d never grow bored with that vivid little face.

“Excuse me?” One of the guides tapped his arm. Her badge stated her name was Carly and she was ‘happy to help’. “Are you looking for the cuskor eel? It died yesterday. We haven’t had time to clean the tank.”

Alfred shook his head. “That eel was an institution. It gave generations of kids nightmares.”

Carly was an early model - she couldn’t chat outside a script. “That’s nice.” She nodded to Josh and moved on.

It pricked the bubble of awkwardness. “That’s nice,” Alfred trilled.

“She’s only doing her job.”

“I know. In answer to your question: no, I’m not a robophobe. Satisfied?”

“Yes. Thank you. - Oh, look! They’re like little swimming pancakes.” They linked arms and had an accelerated visit; the aquarium was due to close.

“Do you think CER will mind?” Josh asked.

“About you running off?”

“No, us going away.”

“Hadn’t planned that far ahead, to be honest.”

Gwyn was reading a newspaper in the Mirage, looking as though she expected a long wait. She blinked as Alfred leaned through the window.

“Could you drive to CER? I’ll see you there soon.”

“If you say so,” she said dubiously.

They watched the vix disappear. “What now?” Josh asked.

“We need to get you home.”

They took a roundabout route: first the market, where they picked up a pineapple and cutlets, then Old Kemp’s Tobacconist. Not only did it sell several hundred types of tobacco and smoking paraphernalia, the cabinets gleamed with bottles of every shape, colour and size, holding every kind of alcohol.

Josh saw his excitement and smiled. “You’re like a kid in a sweet shop.”

“If the sweets were cancerous.” Alfred whistled innocently.

Josh forgot his annoyance once they were inside. “It’s like a museum.”

“Why not? Every Wilding for generations has smoked. My grandfather caught my dad smoking when he was fourteen and made him eat the packet.”