Love and Robotics (36 page)

When Josh was out, she stopped by the apartment. Alfred was pacing the room, the blind down. He welcomed the distraction.

“I don’t like it here,” he said. “It’s too quiet. It’s stultifying.”

She dropped into the spare armchair. “I’ve got a job for you.”

She told him of her feelings, her suspicions. “Last night I was sure there was someone in the apartment. I keep hearing this whistle. He muffs up the last notes, like he’s doing it on purpose. He’s the only person I know who does that. Sounds dumb, huh?”

“Not at all.”

“I spent five years with that wackjob. I am
not
going back.”

“Who says you’ve got to?”

Alfred threw himself into the mission but asked one favour: that Josh was kept out of it.

“He won’t understand. He thinks a robot should stay loyal to their handler, even if they don’t like them.”

“Aren’t you –”

“No. His handler, I mean. That honour belongs to Dr Fisk at CER.”

              “But – ”

“I love him. I think he loves me. Nothing can happen.”

“That
sucks
.”

He smiled grimly. “You get used to it.”

She hugged him, laughing at his stupefaction. “We don’t have the Code. No wonder you guys are such screw ups.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. Not all of it legal.” He pressed a panel in the side of the bookcase. It flipped open and dropped a thin black case into his hand. “I want you to have this.”

At the bottom of the case was a pearl handled gun, scarcely bigger than a toy. “Holy shit!”

“I need your assurance that you’ll only use it if there’s no other option, and only against Nick. Now. Security.”

“Is it bad?”

He tapped the windows and doors. They sounded hollow. “This is a city designed for a non criminal, non violent population. I’ve gadgets hidden around my flat, but that’s because I’m paranoid. Could you draw this place from memory?”

“I think so.” She sketched it out, careful to emphasise hiding places, entrances and exits.

“Don’t leave anything out. Look for changes. Humans slip up, no matter how smart.”

“Nick’s always bragging about how brilliant he is. Pathetic, really. He must’ve been starved for affection in the orphanage.”

Alfred’s pen froze. “He’s an orphan?”

“I think so. Some kind of special school. Marsden, Marling? Something beginning with Mar. He said no one respected him when he was a kid - they treated him like he was subhuman. He’ll make them respect him now.”

She’d unnerved Alfred but didn’t see why. He explained he could install a system that detected intruders but was invisible to the keenest eye. “By hook or by crook, we’ll nail the evil scrote.”

“Do you think he’s evil?”

“After the way he’s treated you -”

“Maybe all handlers act like that. I wouldn’t know.”

“If that’s the case, the whole mess needs a shake up. From a human perspective, yes. I’ve never met anyone who made me so sick to my stomach.”

“That’s just a feeling -”

“Our ancestors knew what would hurt them by instinct. It’s a pity humans have lost the knack.”

Alfred wasn’t one to bullshit. Now he had promised to help, he was committed. He wished he could confide in Josh, but waging a war against a dangerous sociopath was definitely what Sugar would call “trouble”.

He began by researching Capricorn Industries. Starting as a small concern, word spread until there was a clinic in every district. It believed a fine line distinguished humans and robots and the sooner the species merged, the better. Of course it had schisms. The main one seemed to be between those who thought humans should enjoy ‘congress’ with robots and those who thought they should ‘sublimate’ or become them. The operation cost upwards of 500,000,00RM. If you didn’t agree, you could still benefit from a ‘techno-inspired’ outlook. If you attended this ten step program, price 100,000 RM, life’s bounty could be yours.

There was frustratingly little about the man himself. Behind the headlines - he was the youngest billionaire in history, he donated vast sums to charity - was a void. He’d arrived seemingly from nowhere and what he did in his spare time was anyone’s guess. He was pictured with various pneumatic beauties, all with a strong look of Cora. If you asked Alfred, anyone who went around noisily doing good works had something to hide.

At times Alfred was close to giving up, but then he remembered Cora. Fingers rattling her saucer, shoulders tense, her quiet anguish. Lying in bed one night, Josh’s comforting weight on his arm, he saw what he must do. It was simple, impulsive, idiotic. Suicidal, if he was honest.

He may have been enraged by Nick’s behaviour towards Cora, but your average Arkan wouldn’t think like that. Even in the land of liberty, a human outranked a robot. They wouldn’t see the cruelty and the degradation, the remorseless campaign. They’d see an owner asserting his rights, taking back what was his.

Humans looked after their own. You couldn’t get as influential as Nick without breaking eggs. Whatever they were, he would find them.

Alfred announced his trip beforehand. “I’m going to Astaria. Will you be alright?”

Josh reacted like an eager puppy. “Can I come?”

“Not this time. It’s business.” As Josh deflated, “I need you to look after Cora.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think - ”

Alfred held up his hand. “When everything’s sorted, we’ll go, and do whatever you want.”

Josh kissed his cheek. “Be careful.”

The first thing Alfred did in Astaria was to go into one of the clinics. He knew what to expect. You passed into a booth and had your cells regenerated. Alternatively, you made an appointment and they ushered you to one of the private consultation rooms.

At first you thought they only hired people who looked like film stars. Even when you noticed a likeness between them, you’d assume they were an extremely beautiful, inbred family. It was only on closer inspection you saw they had been enhanced: part human, part artificial. Who knew what you’d call them now.

He had to do something. By standing in the lobby, pretending to read a brochure, he drew attention to himself. He could tell by the appalled expression on the nearest assistant’s face she had seen him.

One of the men stepped into his path. He was so handsome, it was indecent - hair sculpted, face cut like a medallion.

“I -” Alfred began to excuse himself.

Whisky coloured eyes skipped past him and locked onto somebody else. “We’ve talked about this, Ms Velasquez. I don’t want there to be any unpleasant scenes.”

Alfred wasn’t surprised he’d escaped the man’s notice. The woman was dying. Her long black hair was falling out, her face had lost any semblance of humanity. Her starved lips kept wetting themselves, desperate for moisture.

“Please.” Her voice blew through her. “If I could speak to the Father ... ” The Father was what Capricorn groupies called Nick.

“You know that’s not possible.”

“Ever since they changed my heart I’ve been growing sicker. It’s six months almost to the day. Look at me!”

The man flicked her from his sleeve. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Go.”

“No, I’m embarrassing you. The whole shitty lot of you.”

She left slowly and painfully, spitting in one of the flower arrangements. Alfred was waiting for her.

“Madam, I would be honoured if you would speak to me.”

She looked him up and down. “Who are you? A journalist?”

“What would you say if I was?”

“Better than nothing. I’m at my wit’s end.”

“You’ll get a lunch out of it. And you’ll have done me a good turn.”

A macabre smile. “I’ll never understand fellas.”

Carmen Velasquez wasn’t a saint. She took off her shoes the instant they sat down, belched and farted like a woodwind orchestra. She gobbled up the doughnuts, shamelessly spun out cups of coffee. She knew Alfred was recording her but deliberately stalled.

“When you’re at death’s door,” she said, “you don’t care what people think. How old would you say I am?”

Alfred shrugged. He’d never been good at guessing women’s ages. “Sixty?”

“I’m fifty.” As he stammered apologies, “No bother. I know why you think so.
I
think it, looking at this in the morning.”

He dropped his voice. “Do you mean what you said in the clinic? Your implant is making you sick?”

She struggled with her buttons, pulling her blouse open. In the middle of her chest was a dull glow the size of a golf ball. It clenched and unclenched, audible if you leaned in close. Spiralling outwards were yards of dead and decaying flesh, running down her torso like fault lines. When she judged he had seen enough she buttoned it back up.

“When I took it to the doc, she was like, ‘That’ll teach you’. I went for a second opinion and they said to cut it out. Like I had spare hearts lying around!”

“Why did you have it done, if it’s not too -”

“Indelicate? I’m showing my tit to a stranger, do you think I care? I was slowing down, feeling weak. Irene, that’s my neighbour, she’s like, ‘Why don’t you go to one of the Capricorn clinics?’

First time I went in that clinic, I thought it was heaven. They were so understanding - they really seemed to care. They did a body scan and went, ‘The problem’s with your heart, Ms Velasquez.’ They called me ‘Madam’ - time they brought that back ... Where was I?”

“They said you should have a heart implant,” Alfred prompted.

“It seemed a lot - 15,0000 - but I’d a bit put away. The operation couldn’t’ve been easier. I went to sleep, they stuck it in. No side effects. The first few weeks -” She had to stop and dab her eyes. “Sorry. You must think I’m a silly old woman.”

“Not at all.”

“I hadn’t been so active in years. I walked, I swam, I caught up on everything I’d missed. I couldn’t have been happier.” 

“What changed?”

“I woke up one morning and couldn’t get out of bed. It wasn’t just tiredness - I physically couldn’t. I called in sick, thinking it was a bug. It was only that evening I guessed the truth.”

“Which was -?”

“Since I’d had my implant my heartbeat was strong, regular. I didn’t need anything to help me hear it. Now it was like it had given up. I looked down at my chest to be sure. It didn’t shine any more and the skin around it was starting to go black.”

“What did you do?”

“Kicked up merry hell! I got on the tube to the clinic, said I wouldn’t get off till I spoke to the doc who fitted the implant. It was a male doctor - never trust a man, I always say - and he didn’t listen. Said I was imagining it. As if!”

“Has that been their attitude since?”

She nodded vehemently. “I’ve tried everything. As long as you get my story out there, I’ll die happy.”

He turned off his equipment and shook her hand. “Keep in touch.”

Now he had to set the second phase in motion. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

***

Derkins was used to unusual requests, but even he must have wondered at an all expenses paid trip to Arkan. He didn’t ask the reason why until he saw Alfred later that day.

“Where’s Josh?” he asked, as Alfred came in and sat on the couch.

“We’re not joined at the hip. Cora’s with him.”

“Is that wise?”

“It’s the best I can do. They have my number.”

Alfred explained the situation as he saw it. “If this has happened with one implant, it’s bound to’ve with others. Nick is ridiculously elusive; there must be something he’s trying to hide. We have to get him to see us.”

Derkins choked on the fancies he was gobbling. “Us?”

“More specifically, you. People remember a mug like mine.”

“Why would Mr Big want to see me?”

Alfred had had four hours to think. “You’re an eccentric billionaire with a terminal illness. He’s wanted to do a full conversion for years but no one’s had the nerve.”

“Or been chuffing mental.”

“A breakthrough like that requires a press conference. We’ll wait for him to get into his stride and BAM.”

“Have you considered that peeing off a psycho isn’t the brightest idea?”

“He shouldn’t upset my friends, should he?”

They spent the next day crafting Derkins’ new persona. He didn’t mind this part, it gave him the chance to exercise his acting chops. He strode around his hotel suite, getting into character.

“Would a cane be too much?”

“Throw it in,” Alfred said over the top of
The Cog Chronicle
, Clockwork City’s only newspaper. It was a good thing Josh had taught him binary.

Two hours in the makeup chair transformed Derkins into a funniosity. He’d glued a prodigious wig to his chest and quibbled over a rakish moustache. Add to this a new suit, which made him look like a bookie who had won the lottery, and he was a monument to skeeziness.