The Mysterious Case of Betty Blue (6 page)

The servant inclined its
head.

“
Yes, Madame?”

“
Get that policeman on the
phone.”

“
Inspector
MacBride?”

She nodded.

“
That’s the
one.”

“
One moment
please.”

Olympia stood uncertainly in front of
the panoramic view, the entire floor ringed by glass. It was one of
the better views of downtown Union City, New Jersey, part of the
Metropolitan New York area.

“
Hello. Gene MacBride
here.”

“
Inspector.”

“
Yes, Mrs. Cartier?” The
fellow was desperately trying not to sound impatient.

She understood that.

She was desperately trying not to
appear impatient with him and the police in general.

If only someone could tell her, for
sure, what had happened. She was a bit surprised to get through so
fast. People always complained about the service. Of course, those
people weren’t the Cartiers.

“
I was just wondering if
we had any new information. On Betty.”

“
Ah, no, not really,
Missus Cartier. These things have a way of resolving themselves,
one way or another.” He paused. “If the thing fell in the river or
something like that, it would float. It has a transponder and
emergency beacons. But the opinions we’re getting from the company
and other experts is that it looks like some kind of
malfunction.”

They had told her, and her husband, the
same thing. This was all based on her statements. What she knew—all
she knew, really, was that Betty had been there a few minutes
before, and then when next she thought of her, Betty was
gone.

But why?

And how?

The hallway cameras showed her opening
up the door and walking out as if it was the most natural thing in
the world. Which it was, as all of their servants came and went on
a routine basis. 

The only problem was that Betty didn't
come back.

“
The insurance company is
going to be a problem.”

“
Ah, yes. Why do you say
that?” The Inspector was sympathetic.

The Cartiers were important
people.

“
All you can do is to file
the report, I mean the claim, and if necessary, get a lawyer. But
they’re just looking to cover their—ah, you know, backsides,
Ma’am.”

It struck him just what the problem
really was.

“
It’s okay, Olympia. I
understand. You’re worried about her, of course. They're very human
in appearance. It’s no wonder people take a shine to them. Am I
right?” The caller was very quiet, and her eyes were on the virtual
floor between them. “You’re sort of worrying rather needlessly
about Betty, don’t you think? And of course there’s all this
pressure, right?”

Pressure to settle with the insurance
company, pressure to prove a warranty issue with the manufacturer,
pressure to sue, pressure to make a complaint, provide information,
talk it over with the husband, pick out the new model, maybe with a
few upgrades or a new colour or hair-do or something. He understood
the situation well enough.

She felt violated. There was something
in this world beyond her immediate control and it could be very
humbling, an unfamiliar mental state to one of her
class.

She didn't know what to do about it,
but time healed all wounds.

Put a little spit on there and walk it
off, lady.

Inspector MacBride had seen a few
little old ladies and their lost-doggy issues, she
realized.

There was the hint of humour in her
voice when she responded.

“
Well, Inspector. It
really is kind of a mystery.” Olympia took a deep breath
and then made up her mind as to whether to say it or
not.

He would think her quite
mad.

“
ButI
mean, why? Why in the blue blazes would she just up and
walk off like that?” She was positively fuming over it.

The fact was that she had been hurt by
Betty’s leaving.

“
Well. That really is the
question, isn’t it?”

The manufacturers would be asking
themselves the same sort of questions, and probably not liking the
answers too much. Too much at stake—too much market share, too much
liability, too much that could go wrong in a hyper-paranoid world
that was nevertheless addicted to what people called tech as if
they knew how it worked or could actually grind out the smallest
and simplest component in their backyard machine shop.

There were millions of lesser robots
out there, and there had been recalls in the past. There were the
inevitable horror stories making the rounds.

The Inspector’s calm visage nodded
thoughtfully in her panorama screen, as other detectives milled
around in the background of the shot.

“
That’s definitely one of
the questions we’re asking, Olympia. But we’re, ah, you know, a
little bit out of our depth, and that’s why we’re talking to all
the experts.” When we get a minute, it would be better not to
say.

Hopefully she got it in the diplomatic
sense.

“
I keep wondering if it
was something I said…” There was a tone of wonder
there.

She really was wounded.

He suppressed any quick changes in
expression as best he could.

Lord, love a duck—and that time, he was
afraid he wasn’t quite fast enough in the controlling of his
demeanor.

***

“
Call from Mister
Cartier.”

Olympia looked up from the settee,
overstuffed and upholstered in lush red velvet. It carefully
replicated a piece that could have graced Versailles at the time of
Marie Antoinette.

“
Thank you,
Darryl.”

“
I’m Stephen.”

“
Ah. Sorry.”

“
That’s quite all right,
Madame.”

The screen flickered and lit up
again.

Her husband, looking long and lean and
all of his fifty-seven years at that moment in time, was in the
back of his car. It looked to be somewhere on the Turnpike. Any
turnpike. In any city of the world, and it probably was.

Quite frankly, she had forgotten where
he was supposed to be, today.

“
How are you,
dearest?”

“
Oh, fine. And how are
you, lover?”

“
Shit. The usual, honey.
Gump’s flying in from Rio. He says he has to see me straight away
and that it’s, and I quote: important and
confidential.”

“
I wonder what that
means.”

“
I wish he wouldn’t call
it a loan—it grates on me. That’s all I’m saying. Charity I can
understand. Gump just pisses me off with all of
his gyrations. So how was your day?”

“
It’s still early here.
But so-so.” Olympia waved over a servant, pausing theatrically at
the archway, the luncheon trolley all poised to strike.

“
It’s still early there?
In other words one of those kind of days. Okay, listen up, Honey. I
doubt very much if we’ll get back tonight.” Her husband was on a
trade delegation to Sumatra or something, she recalled.

Somewhere like that, but she had her
own interests and so she never had to be bored if she didn't want
to. Doyle was a good husband, a good provider, and more
importantly, as she was independently wealthy in her own right, he
had never embarrassed Olympia. While he might have had the odd
fling over the years, above all, Doyle would be
discreet.

“
Yes, not unexpectedly.
We’ll just have to do without you.” Her favourite dwarf Sylphie
crawled into her lap.

The young robot had a fetal-alcohol
syndrome look about the eyes and forehead, and Olympia stroked her
hair as the child looked up in a kind of cheerful worship which she
would never outgrow or tire of.

Olympia was allergic to dogs and cats,
and for some reason the artificial ones had never appealed to
her.

The robotic boys and girls were
different, so much more satisfying.

They were like dolls that could talk.
And you could switch them off if they became
insufferable.

***

Danvers was on the line again. He was
pressing them to accept a replacement for Betty and sign off on the
claim.

Robots and other chattels were covered
under the household policy unless otherwise specified. The Cartiers
had top-of-the-line coverage, as he kept reminding her.

“
Well, then. Why can’t we
let the police have a little more time?” Olympia had always liked
Betty Blue.

She was one of her favourites, if not
the favourite, among her household servants. That one had always
had a kind of personality, not like some of the others. Admittedly,
the kitchen staff and maids were less expensive models. They
weren’t designed to interact in anything other than the simplest of
ways. But Betty was a personal companion, designed and programmed
as such.

And she really had been special,
Olympia had to admit. Darryl, Stephen, Missy, they were all well
enough in their own way. It was true they were very much
individuals. Olympia wondered if any of them had ever thought of
walking off, but she doubted it very much.

There was that ineffable something
about Betty.

Betty asked a question once in a while,
and while the others did that too, Betty’s seemed a little
deeper.

Betty was looking for meaning
sometimes. Betty had asked why once or twice, giving the impression
the answers were unsatisfying.

Betty was more of an intellectual
challenge.

Some of the others were just looking
for answers and instructions, or the simplest acknowledgement. It
was a kind of artificial neediness. The robots were looking for
feedback of an infantile nature.

They were looking for reassurance, so
that they would be better able to anticipate—and to
serve.

Poor Betty Blue.

Was it something I said?

She really couldn’t think of anything,
damn it.

***

Devon entered the room with a bright
and cheerful look on his face.

“
Devon! Have you seen
James?”

“
Ah, yes, Auntie. James is
on the kitchen level, polishing silverware.” He stopped there,
looking puzzled. “Oh, yes. Scissors.”

“
Ah.”

“
He should be all right on
his own for a while, Ma'am.” Devon went to a side-table and pulled
out a drawer.

“
Hmn.”

“
What?”

“
It’s funny how you can
never find things when you need them.”

“
Ask one of the servants,
dear.” Devon was a nephew, and a perennial visitor to the lair,
especially when he wasn’t in good odor at the Ivy-League school he
had attended off and off over the last eight years.

Some day her nephew was going to be a
doctor. As for Olympia and Doyle, they were childless by mutual
choice. Pregnancy gave you stretch marks, sagging breasts and there
was the whole diaper thing. All that was years ago.

***

Night or day meant nothing to Scott of
course, and yet it was ironic.

All that technology. They could give a
robot eyes and sell them to anyone with the price of
admission.

“
Women, eh—”

But you could not teach a blind man to
see, and there were none so blind as those who would not
look.

“
Well. I really got to
hand it to you, Buddy.” The security guy was apologetic. "I admire
you, I really do."

What a fantastic sense of
humour.

Funny as fucking hell.

The guy really was
priceless.

Fucking unbelievable.

This little side-branch station closed
at eleven p.m. and the man had been sitting there patiently waiting
for his girl for how long the guard didn’t know. It hadn’t escaped
his notice that the man had a white cane and a rather forlorn look
on his face.

“
Well, what are you going
to do, anyways?” There was a catch in Scott’s voice, when he
realized that this meant the station was closed and they were
kicking him out.

Betty had specified this exact place.
Hours had gone by. She wasn’t there. Sooner or later, he had to
move on.

It was a simple equation. Just a few
symbols, all in a row inside of your head. It was a language that
anyone could understand.

“
I’m real sorry, man.
There’s a park just across the street. You can sit and watch the
entrance and maybe she’ll show.” The guard’s voice trailed off.
“Sorry.”

“
It’s okay. I’ll be fine.
At least it’s not raining.”

The guard had his doubts, as he’d just
been out there and the fine pricks of wet coldness were
unmistakable.