Love and Robotics (55 page)

“I want to get rid of her.”

“Good man.”

Josh touched the restrung fiddle. “Will this work?”

“Perry wasn’t harmless. It’s worth a try.”

Josh propped the instrument beneath his chin. His hands shook. “Listen, ghost. You don’t like us and we don’t like you. You’ve caused no end of grief -”

Alfred kept his eyes on the mirror. Did the chandelier shiver, or was it his imagination?

“We’ve had enough. Leave Gwyn alone, do you hear?”

Yes, he could hear it chiming. At the same time the ceiling bubbled, dripped something onto Josh’s face. He put out his tongue and licked it.

“It’s blood.” He trembled so much he couldn’t play. The fiddle clattered to the floor. “I’m frightened -”

“Thank Thea.”

Alfred stiffened. In all the stories he’d heard, nobody had mentioned her speaking, but this was how Kathleen Shaw would sound. The voice of a cold dry throat, emptied of life and compassion.

“Ms Shaw?”

A horrific giggle. “Hello, Langton! I never thought I’d meet a male member of your family -”

“Alfred, don’t -” Josh whispered.

“- but you hardly count, do you?”

“Show yourself.”

“Why? It spoils the fun!”

Puss streaked into the hall. Alfred couldn’t blame her.

“She wouldn’t have been any good. Only a well regulated mind can survive being fucked. Just like you want to fuck this little bitch -”

The voice mellowed, became soft and tuneful. Josh stopped quivering. The blood was black against his face. The eyes he turned towards Alfred weren’t his.

“Get out of him now!”

The artificial took a step towards him. “Do you
fancy
me, Alfred? Do you want to screw me right here, on the ballroom floor?” He smashed his lips against his.

Alfred pushed him off. “Get back to yourself. I know you’re in there, love -”

“
Love?
” The voice was Josh’s, but the laugh a cruel, mocking one he would never use. “Why would I want
your
love? You sad, pathetic old bastard -”

“Stop it. I’m warning you.”

“It’s simple, Langton.” His lips didn’t move. “There’s only one way to save your boy toy. Take the gun in your pocket and shoot him through the head. I’ll leave Gwyn alone then.” Josh’s fine mouth twisted. “Or maybe not.”

Alfred reached for his gun. He focused on all he saw that wasn’t Josh. The snide turn of the lips, the creature staring out of his eyes. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I can’t.” He tossed the gun onto the ground. “I won’t hurt him.”

He closed his eyes. He heard somebody scramble for the gun, waited with his fists clenched.

“My dear.”

It was a sick joke. He wouldn’t look.

“Hello, ghost. I’m the S20, better known as Josh Foster. I want my body back.”

A gun shot. Alfred opened his eyes to find Josh on the floor, a bullet hole in his cheek. Foul smoke spiralled from the wound, up into the air.

“Ow. Stupid ghost.”

Alfred stumbled over. “You’re alright? You’re not hurt?”

“Nothing I can’t fix.”

“I thought - oh, Josh-” 

“You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I wouldn’t want to.”

The excitement of the night over, they prepared for bed. Josh clung to Alfred’s arm outside the guest bedroom. “Stay. Please.”

“I can’t -”

“It’s the last time we can.”

Josh didn’t put the light on. Alfred was glad: he didn’t want to think of everything he’d done to make this Josh’s room, how everything might have been different. They collapsed on the bed, drained.

“Sorry that got heavy.”

“Still better than the gaming hall.”

They settled into their old positions: Josh with his head on his chest, an arm around his waist. For some time they didn’t speak. He thought Josh had gone to sleep when, out of the shadows, came the question: “Do arranged marriages work better than normal ones?”

“Depends. At least if you’ve never been in love you can never fall out of it. Lots of marriages are stupid kids having a fling. Once that’s gone, they’re stuck with a construct they don’t understand. At least this way you know what you’re getting. On the Volka Isles there were girls who didn’t see their husbands until they lifted their veils, and they screamed if they were old or ugly. Some carried daggers just in case.”

“I don’t feel I know Claire. I like her but is it enough?”

“It’s a start.”

“I feel like I’m missing out. Cora says -” he jerked, agitated - “she doesn’t think artificials fall in love. Is this it? The best I can expect is a girl I sort of like?”

“What do you want instead?”

“I don’t know! Passion. Somebody who understands me.” Realising the provenance of those words, he changed tack. “Like
The Clockwork Opera
.”

“I thought you hated it.”

“I hate the ending.”

“The measure of a good opera’s the number of stiffs at the end. Oh, and the tunes.” Alfred started to hum
No Girl Can Resist These Charms
. Josh joined in.

“See? You don’t like it but you remember the words.”

“I remember everything. It’s the bane of my life.”

“I’d love a perfect memory. I never remember where I put things, then Gwyn yells at me.”

“Do you know anyone who had an arranged marriage? Did it work out?”

“Well -”

“Come on.”

“I was a bodyguard for the Iri royal family. Prince Farukh was twenty four. His father despaired: he wanted to hand the throne over but Farukh refused to settle down. One of the conditions of being Sultan is you have to be married. Farukh wanted to carry on hunting and drinking with his friends. He didn’t care if he never succeeded.”

“Doesn’t sound too promising.”

“He
was
a handful. A lot of the time I acted as go between, ferried rude messages back and forth. When this had been going on several months, the Sultan reached the end of his patience. He dispatched his miniaturist to paint pictures of the princesses from neighbouring sultanates. When he came back there was a definite winner: Princess Saida.”

“Going by her portrait? She could’ve been horrible.”

“Young men aren’t that discerning. The Sultan had decided: the princess would be shipped over within the month, ready to marry Farukh as soon as she arrived.”

“They were going to marry him without his permission? That’s outrageous!”

“He was my friend despite his faults, so I let him know the day the princess was due to dock. I’ve never seen anyone as furious. He knew his father was at a special service - thanksgiving for the impending nuptials - so we got on horseback and raced towards the dome. He spat swearwords and lashed his horse, vowing all kinds of desperate measures. He’d take poison. He’d set the dome on fire. He’d never be Sultan, never.

At the city gates we met a procession of ladies on horseback. They were beautiful and splendidly dressed, pressing around a lady whose face was covered by a veil. Farukh barged into the middle and plucked it off.”

“Well?”

“She was exquisite. Since he was a far from unfortunate young man, she was equally taken with him. By the time they were married they were madly in love.”

“Oh.” Josh was pleased. “I like that ending. It’s a keeper.”

“You could say that.” No need to say the Iri royal family had been slaughtered two years later in a revolt, or that he’d slept with Farukh several times. Josh liked his stories to be tidy and idealistic, preferably with a moral. No wonder this business with Claire ruffled him.

What did he want for Josh? He knew what
he
wanted, but that was selfish. Josh deserved a sweet loyal girl, bright and good company. It could be the making of him.

They could still see each other. There wouldn’t be any harm in it. Normal girls didn’t think about this sort of thing; it was an exotic vice
other
people practised. Certainly not Josh’s eccentric old friend. Nobody over the age of fifty had romantic feelings.

He wanted him to be happy, honestly he did. It would just kill him to see him happy with somebody else.

“What are you thinking about?” Josh asked. “You keep sighing.”

“Nothing much.”

“It’s my bachelor party. I command you not to be sad.”

“You’ll have to try harder.”

Green eyes gleamed in the darkness. Warm lips brushed his, hands slid inside his shirt -

Alfred pulled away. “Don’t.”

“I can’t once I’m married, and I want you so much.
Please.
See it as your wedding gift.”

The awful thing was, he was tempted. Josh was so near. He could make out the line of his throat, his head thrown back. All he had to do was climb on top of him, coax him open. It’d be better than a silver teapot -

He couldn’t. How could he go back to friendship after this? Survive on the memory of one night for the rest of his life?

“No.”

Josh took his hand and traced it down the front of his shirt. When he didn’t respond, he started to grind against his lap. Damn it, now he was massaging him through his trousers, biting his fingers. He sucked the last, staring at Alfred intently. “I’ll do anything you want.”

Alfred pushed him away. “I’m not doing it.”

“I thought -”

“What? I fancy you? I don’t want to be a one night stand or share you with Claire.” His voice thickened. “I want to be your lover. Me, nobody else. I can give you passion and understanding, if you’d let me.”

“CER says love’s between a woman and a man -”

“I’m fine to fuck but not worthy of a relationship? Thanks.”

“I didn’t say that -”

“You did.”

“Okay.” Josh sounded miserable. “I promise to keep to myself.”

Sleep proved elusive that night. Alfred lit a candle and walked the halls. He felt the reproach of lines of Wildings, ghosts with Gussy’s dark eyes and his unruly mane.

All my lads get married in the end.
He’d met them years later, grey and harassed with a gaggle of kids, their wives scowling in the background. Gwyn served a similar purpose for local girls - a stepping stone to married life. The last degeneration of the Wildings. Who knew where Chimera would go when they were dead.

He’d wanted Josh to be different. He knew, hand on heart, the artificial would be his last. He didn’t want anybody else.

The day before the wedding, a package arrived at Josh’s flat. Claire signed for it, eaten up with curiosity. Obviously a wedding present, it was only addressed to Josh. She hovered until he agreed to open it.

“Well?”

He fumbled with the paper - waxy yellow, wrapped with a familiar messiness. The string fell away.

“What is it?” she asked, eying the plate critically. “If it’s you know who (she always called Alfred that), you’d think it’d be dearer. You could get that from a flea market.”

He traced the dragons with his fingers. Golden scales, tails like comets. The lovers torn apart by an arranged marriage.
Even old mandarins have their limit.

“Stick it on the pile,” she said. He slipped it into his satchel when she wasn’t looking.

When she had gone, he stared at the plate until shutdown.

PART THREE                                                                                              LOVERS

                                                             
Red String

When Josh woke that  morning he sensed something was different. He opened the curtains and blinds, washed and fixed his hair. It wasn’t until he stepped from the shower that he saw his likeness in the corner, trussed up in a wedding suit. Peacock blue with caramel shoes and tie, an orchid in the buttonhole.

Shit. Here at last.

He dragged the suit on. It seemed tight. The last thing he needed was buttons popping off on his wedding day. Now that was sorted, he couldn’t get his hair to lie flat. Squirt of gel, flick of a comb, dab of powder.

His last morning in the flat. He remembered Alfred leading him through it, his anxious grin. Everything it stood for: freedom, adulthood. He had convinced himself he’d be happy to move into a flat Claire had found. “At least there’s not a friggin’ great hole in the roof,” she pointed out.

That’s what it represented: something that was his. So much of marriage seemed to be about dividing your life up, making you less than you were. Even the vows reeked of ownership: “I transfer myself, body and soul, to you.” You went in as So and So, Esquire, and came out Her and Him. Encumbered with a certificate and a ring like a manacle. He’d never thought it would happen to him.

He walked the familiar rooms, smiled at favourite parts of the murals. Touched the furniture, memorised their texture and smell.
“Goodbye, washer. See you, hoover.” It wiggled. “See you, lamp.” A pity he couldn’t keep it. He liked the stained glass effect, how it shone a carousel of pictures along the walls.

One hour fifty eight. Sienna would never forgive him if he was late. He had to go.

The drive down from Chimera had been awful. The traffic oozed with painful slowness; honking and swearing got you nowhere. Fortunately Gwyn knew a few side routes. 

The further they went into Lux, the tighter the grip of wedding fever. Street parties tucked into marzipan hearts. Billboards exploded into stars. The words ‘CONGRATULATIONS’ and ‘LOVE STORY FOR TOMORROW’ blazed on node screens. Bands, Josh and Claire masks, effigies. Wheelies and godfreaks had pitched outside the town hall. Alfred and Gwyn read the placards.

“TO LIE WITH A ROBOT AS WITH HUMANKIND IS AN ABOMINATION - Book of Thea, Prophets 23:74.”

“STOP THIS OBSCENE TRAVESTY!”

“The Temple and I were on the same side all along,” Alfred muttered. “Who knew?”

Gwyn tethered two blocks away from the town hall. She sweated in her uniform, her cap too tight on her head. “Come on, Grizzly. What’s the point?”

His nose was pressed against the glass, eyes rooted to a checkpoint a hundred yards down the road. “One last look.”

“What do you expect? He’ll run in, tell everyone it’s been a mistake and elope with you on the next crossing?”

By the flush suffusing his neck, she saw he’d imagined exactly that. Honestly. A man his age, behaving like a teenager.

“Listen to me, it’s no good. If he’d rather be with some tarty hairdresser -”

“Beautician -”

“- whatever, he’s not worthy of you. What would Uncle Ken think?”

“He’d be having a bloody good laugh. Here I am again. Alone.”

She felt for him, she truly did, but it was ludicrous. You could dress up a machine as fancily as you liked, give it a name, but it’d still be a machine. It’d be like expecting the vix to love you back. “Five minutes -”

His arm jolted. Even in profile she recognised the soft, spoony expression that warned Josh was in the vicinity. “Go on,” she sighed. “If you must.”

Alfred stepped onto the cobbles, flinching at the light and noise. A street away the city’s population was letting off bangers. He and Josh were the only people in the plaza.

“Hello, trouble.”

Three steps and Josh had joined him beneath the maple tree. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I’m not, technically. Just a flying visit.”

“There’s room on my side -”

“Not my thing, weddings.”

“Not even mine?”

All Alfred wanted to do was hold him and keep the next few minutes from happening, but how? Would Josh go to him if he said the right words?     

“I’m going to miss you,” Josh persisted.

“You won’t even notice. Being married’s a full time gig.”

His friend was fretting. His lips formed half words, his shoe traced patterns in the dust. “We’ll still be friends, right?”

“That goes without saying.”

“How do I look?”

Alfred couldn’t focus on any one thing. The fair hair curling on his nape, the catch of his lip, the long lashes. There was only one answer. “Wonderful.”

What the hell. He’d never get another chance. He took Josh’s face in his hands and kissed his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks and finally his mouth. Josh returned his kisses. As they broke apart the artificial stared up at him, distraught.

Alfred had never been good with words. Now it came out in an inarticulate rush. “I mean it. I always have. I don’t care what the world thinks. I only want you.”

“I
can’t
.”

“Is that your final answer?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you should know.”

One more kiss, slow and lingering. He held Josh’s face for another moment, forehead touching his, then dropped his arms by his sides. “Go on. Your girl’s waiting.”

Josh nodded, lips clamped together, and walked down the street. An almighty roar went up as he turned the corner.

Alfred returned to the vix, where Gwyn was engrossed in a blood book. He raised his eyebrows until she took her feet off the control panel.

“How did it -”

“No ‘I told you so’s. Take me home.”

Josh drifted through his wedding in a state of shock. The band bellowed and yawned, a thousand citizens craned to look. Fisk smiled at him from the front row, her teeth gored with lipstick. Mandy sniffled. Pip was conspicuous by her absence.

Claire stood on the platform, her hair tortured into a hundred kinks. She’d dieted to fit into her satin backless dress. Jerry Etruscus swayed on his feet, drunk again. His wife nudged him and he moved from contemplation of Claire’s breasts.

“Marriage is the foundation of our society. It combines and enforces, fosters and engenders -”

They would be there for some time; the Mayor’s speechwriter was a thwarted poet. Jerry was sure to become distracted and start talking about his last holiday, or something funny that happened on the way to the Forum.

Claire shuffled up beside Josh and squeezed his hand. “I can’t believe this is happenin’!”

She, Claire Howey, was marrying the most desirable man in Lila. A beautician who’d barely passed Standard Certificate. She’d stood here six years ago to take her exams. She bit back an irrational fear the Mayor would ask about stalactites.

Her Josh. He was perfect. If only she knew what he was thinking.

If she
had
been able to glimpse his thoughts, she would have been hurt and astonished. Alfred beneath the maple tree. The skewed mouth forcing itself into a smile. Those lips on his, warm and real. The tears he hadn’t been able to stop, getting lost in his beard.

There was no going back. He’d broken his friend’s heart for the last time. If Josh could have touched where his beard had scratched, he would have. But if veeboxes up and down the country were capturing this, it’d look odd.

What was going on? They’d drunk from the crystal goblet, the Mayor had smashed it against the statue of Lady Thea. The citizens were giving them a standing ovation. He peered down at the scarlet cord attaching his middle finger to Claire’s. He was married. Though he couldn’t have said how it had happened.

Mindless grins. Hands tried to touch him. He had to keep time with Claire’s mincing gait, open the door of the craft for her. It took three attempts before every last scrap of pink satin fitted inside. Fisk stood on tiptoe, leaning through the window. He fought back the urge to shut it in her face.

“Make me proud,” she said. She kissed his cheek.

The journos loved it: look how maternal his handler is! Look at the affection between them! Josh hated the way she smelled, lavender laced with the stench of false teeth.

The window went up. Claire threaded her fingers through his. “Alone at last,” she said.

Part of him went into hiding. The other said, “Yes, sweetheart,” and put his arm around her.