Love and Robotics (58 page)

Josh again. “You’re good friends, aren’t you?”

He took his pipe out of his mouth. “I suppose so.”

“Do you know him better than me?”

“You
are
his wife.”

“Don’t beat about the bush, Lord Langton.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a liar.”

He banged his stick against his leg. “I’ll not be insulted on my property. I don’t care if you’re married to him.”

The words were torn from her. “Are you in love with my husband?”

He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“He loves me as a friend, that’s all.”

“I want my marriage to work. I promised in front of the Mayor, my family, the networks. I couldn’t stand the shame. If you don’t help me I’ll out you as a Transgressor.”

“Claire -”

“Ms Howey to
you
. I’ll die before anyone takes him from me.”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

They shook on it. Both felt as though they’d made a pact.

“Best to go back,” he said. “They’ll wonder where we are.”

They splashed up the driveway, heads bent against the wind and rain. “Finally!” Gwyn said. “We were going to send out a search party.”

She didn’t say Nanny had hissed, “Handbags at dawn,” or Bill was running a book about whether they’d killed each other. Alfred was wearing his most wooden expression, Claire a glassy smile. Josh appeared, a feverish look in his eyes. As he opened his mouth to speak, Claire hooked her arm through his. “We ought to get goin’,” she said. “It was nice meetin’ you.”

Alfred and Josh shared a distraught glance before she marched him out of the door.

It was a week since Claire’s ultimatum. Half finished projects were scattered around Chimera. Alfred had been reprimanded at the Assizes for inattention. He’d stopped eating, barely slept. His hipflask called.

Claire
was the one who could make Josh happy? Who would hold him when he had nightmares? Alfred didn’t believe in Thea, all the bowing and mummery, but he believed in marriage. Yes, this was a dumb show, legalised prostitution, but still marriage in the eyes of the law. More than he could give Josh.

Never mind that as he’d met Josh on the steps, as their wrists brushed at lunch, he’d seen the artificial watching him, wanting him. The urge to pull him into a corner and make up for lost time was overwhelming. Instead Claire confronted him, as she had every right to. It was having to deny it that hurt him most - claiming they were just friends. Friends who held hands. And kissed. And made love.

He read the question in Josh’s eyes. If he’d touched him, if he’d kissed him, he would have returned it. It would have been sweet, easy, and pure - if it hadn’t been for Claire.
We’re going to be miserable for the
rest of our lives
.

Even then, that hadn’t been the clincher. He’d always had problems with addiction, and Josh was the last and greatest. He’d still believed they could be friends. He’d hate it, Josh would hate it, but they’d get used to it.

He was summoned to Lux for the annual conference. Normally he found it a ball ache, but it was a relief to escape his gloomy thoughts. He paid closer  attention to taxes and other folderol than he had for many a year. He kept the wisecracks to a minimum. Perhaps he’d drawn too much attention to himself. The third and last day, the Prime Minister asked to see him.

The Yellow Room was empty when he let himself in. There was none of the casual mess of last time. This was a stateswoman’s office, with an oppressive smell of beeswax. There was no sign of Colin the lizard. Perhaps she’d had him stuffed.

He prepared himself for a long wait. He leafed through a magazine, drummed his fingers. The clock chimed a quarter past seventeen as she came in, talking on her beebo. Her smile faded as she saw him. She snapped the organiser shut.

A year in office had changed her. Her hair was threaded with grey, worry lines seemed etched into her face. She wore a sharp indigo dress touched up by a string of pearls.

“Langton.” No smile, no handshake.

“You really put down the rabble today -”

“This isn’t a social call. Keep to the subject in hand.”

“You haven’t said what it is.” Though he could guess.

“Do you remember our last talk?”

“In the main part -”

“I’m not asking for a summary. You’ve completely ignored -”

“Your remonstrance?”

“Last time we spoke, I said certain influences were swaying your judgement. Now I have every reason to believe your affection -” the word made her gag - “has become inappropriate.”

He was playing with the dragon lighter - an involuntary action, though he was pleased to see it annoyed her. “Well?”

“I didn’t hear a question.”

“You know my feelings. I blocked that farcical marriage every step of the way. To think how we fought for equal rights, only to grant them to this freak show!”

“I quite agree.”

It wasn’t going the way she wanted. Bristling, she reached into a nearby bureau and brought out a dossier.

“My sources inform me that despite the S20’s marriage, you’re still paying it foolish attentions. You’ve refused to listen to reason. Perhaps this might persuade you.”

She slit the file with a letter opener and laid buff sheets on the table before them. “A pardon.”

“I haven’t -”

“Read it and see.”

His eyes travelled down the document. He put it aside. “Why now?”

“Call it the right psychological moment.”

“You mean, if I stop seeing Josh -”

“Clever boy.” She had the distant, ironic smile of a ship’s figurehead. “There are forces you can’t dream of, Langton. Even your dubious fame can’t save you.”

He was never sure afterwards if it was a conscious action or not. All he knew was he sparked his lighter and slashed it through the document, leaving it to smoulder.

Olive was apoplectic, aiming a further file at him. It grazed his cheek but he carried on walking. If that was how they were going to play it, there was only one thing he could do.

Alfred went to the speakertube in his library. “Lux 2937.”

His voice travelled through the air, over the countryside, across the city. It shot down the tube to Azalea Heights. He pictured Josh sitting in the flat, brooding out of the window.

“Alfred?” He hadn’t spoken. “I was thinking about you.”

“I’ve been thinking too.”

“Oh?”

“There’s no easy way to say this, but -” Alfred closed his eyes. “I can’t see you anymore.”

No more talking, laughing, putting the world to rights, sleeping in his arms - him inside me - never again -

“You can’t - there’s got to be a reason -”

His hair, his body, his walk, his smile, those eyes, his dimples, his hands, his kisses, his voice, his laugh -

“You can’t be so dependent on me. You need other friends.”

“I don’t
want
other friends. Is it Claire? We can still -”

Never told, never shared, never thought, never did -

“We can’t lie to her. It’ll be wrong.”

“I don’t care about Claire!” Josh cried. “Don’t you get it? I want
you.
Please don’t leave me.”

“I have to. I’m sorry.”

Goodbye, my love.

Josh knelt by the tube, his shoulders shaking. That couldn’t be it, he couldn’t
have gone. He kept pressing the number, hearing the pitiless voice:
This tube is not receiving calls.

“I love you,” he whispered.

That’s
what it meant. It wasn’t a cheap song or one of Claire’s forgettable movies. It wasn’t roses drooping on a newsstand, a ploy to sell perfume. It wasn’t being tied with red string to a girl you barely knew. It was wanting someone to never change, never leave, never die.

“I won’t give you up.”                                

                                                          
Passing Through             

Freedom. No more looking over your shoulder for that backsliding son of a bitch. No more hearing doors clang, sleazy comments about road testing a bot. This was the life: sprawling in a hot pink vix, goading the driver to jump the lights.

Cora was in a good place.

It was four months since the landmark ruling. Nick’s behaviour had amounted to provocation; her actions were justified as self defence. She’d run into Esteban’s arms, eager to make up for the time she had lost.

              She was swamped with offers. Talk shows, miniseries, book deals - it seemed murder only pepped her persona. She shrugged them off. Nothing meant more to her than her music - she had to get a new album out before the fans moved on. She was in the recording studio twenty two out of twenty four hours, writing and fine tuning and throwing away.

              Esteban had to be stern. “Chica, you’re wearing yourself out. Take a holiday - I’ll look after things. Is there anywhere you want to go, see?”

There was only one answer. “It’s time I saw Alfred and Josh. I owe them.”

It was her first time in Lila. The reduction in scale was startling: the sky seemed to have shrunk and the buildings were like toys. The people were uglier, more harassed; robots were scarcely tolerated. She had a rude awakening when she tried to flag down a fly. It shot past, splashing her from head to foot.

“Asshole!”

“Don’ take bots,” the driver roared, unrepentant.

Fortunately the next driver had no such issue. “Cora
Keel
?” he stammered.

“Uh-huh. Azalea Heights, please.” That was the address on her last letter from Josh. She wondered why he wasn’t at that pile of Alfred’s, there was more than enough room, but CER probably wanted to hush it up.

The man drove in star struck silence, constantly peeking in the mirror. When they reached their destination he fell over himself to help her with her luggage.

“Thanks, babe.” She raised her shades and winked. “Calling on an old friend.”

“I’m a huge fan, Ms Keel. Are you working on anything?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve a bevy load of new material.” She swung her legs out of the vix, adjusted the strap on her handbag. He saw the gun’s handle and gulped.

“That’s what happens when guys are mean to me.”

She knew his eyes were glued to her butt as she strutted up the walkway. Capitalise on your assets. It wasn’t a crime.

Twenty, twenty one, twenty two - they’d missed twenty three, she hadn’t realised Lilans were so superstitious. Twenty four. She stabbed at the button and when nobody showed up, held it down.

“Keep your knickers on!” somebody groused. The door swung open. A small brunette was towelling her hair dry.

“Wrong house. Sorry to disturb you -”

“Are you Cora Keel?”

“Uh, yeah -”

“This is amazin’! Josh has told me so much about you!” The girl launched herself at her. “I have to call everyone I know - ”

“Freaking out here -”

“I can’t believe it. Cora Keel in my flat!”

Cora was stumped. The girl had mentioned Josh, so she couldn’t be a stranger, but who the flip was she? Another artie? She had the big vacant eyes and twittering voice, but her smell gave her away - human. She sat down on the sofa while her host continued to fuss.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you are -?”

“Oh, sorry! I’m Claire. Josh’s wife.”

Wife???? “How long -”

“Five months,” she preened.

Josh had a wife.  Cora cooed, it was what you did, but inwardly she was pissed. More than pissed.
Fuming.
She knew what she’d seen. Famously broad minded, she hadn’t broken a sweat when she saw the boys going at it on the table. About goddamn time. Pity that dickwad had shown up, but then Nick had never had a sense of timing.

Justice demanded they had a happy ending. Their relationship was the sweetest thing she’d seen, a love story for the new age. He’d traded that in for
this?
Playing house with a silly little girl? She’d neuter him when she saw him. As the talk dried up and she found herself examining a crystal fish in distaste, Claire sprang to her feet.

“He’s back!” Roguish wink. “Let’s make it a surprise.”

“Sure.” Cora folded her arms and waited.

Josh’s voice wafted across the room. “Claire, I’ve lost my card -”

“The third this month,” she scolded. “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on.” Her hand shot to her mouth. “Sorry!”

“Isn’t it latched properly?”

“A figure of speech, treacle. You’ve got a visitor.”

The next they heard was a whoosh and feet landing opposite the flat. Cora had never seen a door open so fast.             

“Hell - oh.” Josh’s face had fallen, but perked up in time. He snatched her hands. “Cor! You look fantastic! How long have you been in Lila?”

“A few days. I’ve only just stopped feeling shonky - you know what hubs are. I’m having a nice conversation with your wife.”

He had the grace to look abashed. “Having a good time, girls?”

“It’s been an eye opener.”

He shifted. Whatever he said next would be a lie. “Cor and I have a lot of catching up to do. She’ll want to see the sights. Do you mind?”

“Oh. Okay.” Claire patted his arm. “Don’t keep him out too late!”

They didn’t speak until they were outside the apartment. Josh went to take her arm but she blocked the gesture. “I’ve fallen through a crack in and wound up in Lala land.”

“Cor -”

“Let’s not have it out here.”

It was Josh’s turn to call a fly. Cora waited for the driver to bundle them inside and join the midday scrum. “You’re a dolt.”

“Don’t be mad.”

“What do you expect me to be?”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, so you’re not married to some screechy bimbo? I dreamt the last hour?”

“Where have you been, though? It was on veebox and everything!”

“I don’t watch that crap,” Cora said. “Why should I? There’s no shows for arties.”

“That’s beginning to change -”

“Really? Name one decent show with a bot in it.”

Josh filed through his memory but drew a blank. Robots were either voiceless extras or comic relief; he had yet to see one with its own storyline. Claire loved a hokey old sitcom called
My Flatmate’s
a
Robot
, where a slobby single man lived with an uptight artificial. She rolled on the sofa as Fergus the artificial struggled with irony.

“You have a point,” he sighed.

“Yep. If you’d said
In Love With My Robot Maid
, I’d’ve given up the ghost.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“There’s a guy. He’s in love with his robot maid. It sucks. Anyway,” her eyes flashing dangerously, “ I can’t tell you how to live your life. But when it comes to hurting someone I care about ‘cause you’re chicken shit -”

“What did you call me?”

“Chicken shit. Cowardy custard.”

“You’ve got it wrong.”

They realised they’d left the screen down. Josh reached across and pressed the button, watching the driver’s outsize ears disappear. “I’m
not
. Take that back.”

“Prove me wrong.”

Cora knew she had a flinty stare. Sure enough, he cracked. “How is he?”

“Stand me a drink and I’ll tell you.”

Cora’s case had been poison. If an appliance malfunctions, you return it to the manufacturer. If it’s an appliance with reasoning powers, the faster it’s squished, the better. She spent a month and a day in the artificial penitentiary, convinced her next walk would be to the squelcher. The thirty second day was different. She was plucked from the canteen and led to the speakertube.

“Coradora,” a hoarse voice said. “Who’s representing you?”

“Alfred?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“No one wants to help a trigger happy bot.”

“Lucky for you I like a challenge. I’ll be down in three days.”

True to his word, Alfred came to the penitentiary. He took one look at the conditions and spoke to the governor. Within two hours he’d put her up in the plushest flat in the city. They’d spent that first afternoon getting smashed before settling down to work.

“We need a several pronged attack,” Alfred said. “We rip Nick’s reputation to shreds. We make a case for the effect of a bad handler; I’ve tons of books about robot psychology. If that fails, I’ll whip off my shirt.”

“Strip teases in a courtroom?”

“I challenged a barrister to a duel once.”

“Save that for the summing up.”

Now she saw him in natural light, she realised how gaunt he looked. He hadn’t touched food, unless you counted the stream of spirits from his flask. “How’s Josh?”

“We don’t see each other anymore.”

That was all he had to say on the topic. If she referred to it, obliquely or otherwise, he’d shake his head and take a violent swig. Twice he drank till he passed out. He’d stand in the middle of the flat, not knowing how he got there. Yet he’d shuffle from this to a punchy defence, roaming the carpet and smoking incessantly.

“Why are you doing all this?” she asked the end of the first week.

He was in the kitchen, preparing malaza. He cooked like a single man - bung in as many ingredients as possible and see what happens. “Why am I doing what?”

“Nobody’s ever done anything for me without wanting something.”  

“I like you. You’re my friend. End of.”

“Can’t deny I need one. All the arties I know’ve disowned me.”

“I don’t do ‘mates’. If you’re my friend, I consider you family. You know what the Wilding motto is?”

“I’m not one for heraldry -”

“‘Cross Us At Your Peril.’” Realising he sounded creepy, he made himself antennae from carrot sticks. “Kill, crush, destroy!”

“You make a better robot than I do.”

Alfred was phenomenal in the courtroom. He read from the diary, played the recordings, exploded any integrity Nick might have had left. He didn’t resort to shock tactics. The stick and limp were proof enough. When the court had a break, the public wanted them to sign autographs.

“I’m too old for this,” he sighed.

“Crapola. They love you.”

“They love their idea of me.”

A squat blonde had been annoyingly persistent, constantly asking, “How’s Mr Foster?” When she continued to mither, he snapped, “Ask his handler.” She shrank into her seat, scribbling away. He was sure he’d seen her before but couldn’t think where.

The summing up took forever. He held her hand, slipped her his flask when no one was looking. At last the verdict came: cleared of all charges. He spun her around on the courthouse steps.

“Well, Alfie. What are you going to do?”

“Slip into oblivion?”

This was her last chance. “Josh loves you. Don’t chuck it away.”

“It’s too late now. At least we had a year together. I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.”

Josh shielded his eyes. “He’s right. CER won’t let us put a toe out of line.”

“Are you happy?”

“Am I fuck.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you swear.”

“There’s more where that came from.” He glanced around anxiously. "Maybe not.”

“Screw ‘em, I say. Have the boys for pleasure and the girls for babies.”

They did a spot of sightseeing, for appearance’s sake. Afterwards she dropped him off outside Azalea Heights, kissing him in the vix.

“It’s not the same, is it?” she asked. “Not with me, not with Claire.”

“No. What a mess: I have to commit adultery to be happy.” He frowned. “Why adultery? Such a weird word.”

“Only adults do it?” They divided their loot - she gave him a cross eyed rabbit for Claire. “See you around. Do what feels right.”