Love and Robotics (76 page)

Josh slipped his hands beneath his shirt and ran them down his spine. Alfred turned and, breathing hard, cleared the desk with his arm. He lifted Josh up and pushed him onto it.

“It’ll break!” Josh protested.

“Do I look like I give a damn?”

Soon they were naked. They kissed as though famished. Every movement, every groan said ‘I love you.’ When Alfred came he howled as though his soul was leaving his body.

A light flooded the drive. “They’re here,” Josh said.

Half in a dream, they helped each other with their clothes. Josh didn’t want to let go - he clung to his lover’s hand, his arm. Alfred whispered urgently: “Hide.”

The artificial was so pale, you could see the workings beneath his skin. “I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to see. Always remember -” Alfred kissed his forehead, his nose, his lips - “you’re the best adventure I’ve had. I don’t regret a moment.”

Josh wiped away the streaks of silver running down his face. He nodded. He kissed Alfred one last time and disappeared into the shadows of the house.

Fists pounded on the front door. “Open up!” a voice shouted.

Nanny had been waiting in the hall. She came forward and laid her hand on Alfred’s shoulder. “I love you. Be brave.”

“Love you too, Lulu. Look after them for me.”

He pulled back the latches and stepped out. Two scaly, brutish men in off white reared up. Gentlemen of the Night.

“Are you Alfred Wilding, Lord Langton?”

“I am.”

“We’re taking you into custody for crimes contrary to the natural law. This order may not be revoked -”

“Grizzly? What are you doing?”

It was terrible. Gwyn had been walking back from the stables, looking for him. Now she hurled herself upon one of the Gentlemen. He drew out his weapon and fired. She twitched on the grass.

“You fucker!” Alfred snatched the stun gun and clouted the Gentleman round the head.

“Now, now, Langton.”

For the first time he noticed the glossy vix behind them, the figure leaning from the window. “Prime Minister.”

She shook her head in mock pity. “I warned you, but did you listen?”

He knelt beside Gwyn and checked her pulse. “Will she be alright?”

“She’ll live. Quit the heroics and go with them. There’s a good boy.”

He had no choice. Nodding to Nanny and Puss, he followed his captors into the prison craft.

PART FOUR

BOUND

A Brand New World

The craft swayed, close with the stench of shit and vomit. Alfred sat in the corner, his mouth dry. When he banged on the partition for water they laughed and slid it shut. First it was too hot, then too cold.

He didn’t pass the buck. If he hadn’t given in to passion - but he could no more have done that than not bled, or breathed. Josh had suffered those bleak, lonely months at CER. Now it was his turn.

Daybreak. The natter of birds, temple bells. The craft juddered to a stop. “Lord Langton?”

He stood, slowly and painfully. The door was winched open, letting in glaring sunlight. “Are you ready?”

Rubbing the tag they’d soldered onto his wrist, Alfred followed the wardens into a cold bright morning, a filthy yard.

“Welcome to your new home. First class facilities, full catering, wild life -”

“Get fucked.”

“That’s no way to make friends.” The guard held the gate open.

Ducking his head, screening out anything he didn’t want to see, Alfred tailed them inside.

Alfred knew the drill. His belongings were confiscated, he underwent a cavity search (“Pretend I’m your bum bot,” “Bet you like this.”). Pleasantries dispensed with, he was pushed into what looked like a doctor’s surgery. “The guv’ll be with you in ten,” they said.

He did a circuit of the room. A model ship on the fire place. A plaster Lady Thea. Fake leather armchairs, a walnut desk. A speakerstick. He sat in the chair in front of the desk, scratched his neck. He hoped he hadn’t caught fleas.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

He knew that voice. Pigeon toes pattered across the carpet, followed by the lumbering footfalls of a guard.

“We meet again,” the nasal whine continued.

“Is that seriously how you enter a room? Can’t you think of something more original?”

“Wilding always liked his little joke.”

Alfred stared at the one member of Enforcement he’d hoped never to see again: Eustace Lucy, Chief of Perversion Prevention. Ken’s Transgression was Lucy’s first major case; it had made his career. He’d barely aged. Still vain and dandyish, wearing a pilled suit and tie. He still resembled a weasel with syphilis.

Alfred tried not to notice that the blind was down, or that the speakerstick had disappeared. “Captain Lucy. What a coincidence.”

“Not at all.” Lucy shed snakeskin gloves. “It’s my heart’s desire to see you crawl.”

“Is this legal?”

“Not in the least.”

“What if I had you exposed for corruption?”

“Who will people believe? A respected Enforcement officer or a bolt licking old bum stabber? You’re not stupid, unnatural proclivities aside.”

“I don’t have proclivities.”

“Oh?” Lucy licked a finger and opened a file. “‘
The accused has committed sundry acts of intercourse with an artificial. This amounts to abuse of public property, coercion
and seduction -’”

“When was this written, 1800?”

“Doesn’t paint a pretty picture.”

“Josh isn’t property, nor was he coerced -”

“Only what sexual predators have been saying for centuries.”

“We’re in a relationship. We deserve the same rights as any couple.”

Lucy swung his designer boot, finger up one nostril. “No correctly functioning bot would have an affair with a human. Certainly no human in their right mind would shag one.”

“What’s the point of this meeting? To gloat and flick bogeys?”

“Funny you should mention noses. I’m a great believer in payback.” Lucy clicked his fingers and the guard loomed. “Sutcliffe, do the necessary.”

Alfred had two seconds to dive beneath the table. Lucy hauled him out, strong for his weedy frame. “Anyone asks how this happened, you fell.”

He gritted his teeth as the fist connected with his nose. The pain of it shattering, the shock of the blood, was excruciating.

“Oh, by the way,” Lucy said airily. “Even it up. I didn’t know he was left handed last time.”

The guard trudged behind Alfred and wrenched his hand behind his back. He bit down on his lip as he felt three of his fingers snap. Bowing to the guard, Alfred turned towards Lucy. He stood there, blood coursing down his face, hand limp, and smiled.

“What’s so funny?” Lucy demanded.

“Perversion Prevention. Funny career choice. What’s your vice, Lucy? Livestock? Kids?”

The captain’s lip curled. “Give him to the screws. We’re done.”

Days passed. Alfred scrutinised every inch of his cell. A narrow bunk. Scruffy shelves. A slop bucket and a chair. When he wasn’t reading or smoking, he took refuge in memory. Teaching Gwyn to swim. Nanny’s stories, helping her to bake. The time he and Ken were interrupted in the university library and he’d hidden beneath his gown. Pretend games with Gussy, where the laundry became a tent in the Lucci rainforest. Putting his head by her pregnant belly and receiving an almighty kick. Five months later Gwyn was born.

And of course, Josh. Waking him by tickling his feet. Staring at that man he’d knocked out in disbelief. How he’d put his fingers to his lips after their first kiss, treasuring it. How he could look angelic, then say something filthy. Sitting on his lap, cheek against his, as he read aloud.

Alfred was lying on his bed one afternoon, reliving their walk of Augustin’s wall, when somebody knocked at the door. He sat up in surprise.

“May I come in?” The voice was cultured, far removed from the guards’ surly tones. Everyone knew they were the dregs of the army, too violent or unstable to carve a living elsewhere.

“Yes -” more out of curiosity than anything.

A little man came in. Horn rimmed glasses, mousy hair thinning on top, a polysuit with damp patches beneath the arms. “Lord Langton?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Dr Neal. I’m here to discuss a few things, if that’s okay?”

“Make yourself at home.”

Neal looked at him. “What happened to your nose?”

“I fell.”

“Really.” Face like an elderly baby aside, he was no fool. “Any side effects?”

“None.”

“Good.” The doctor spread a file on his knee. “Do you mind telling me why you’re here?”

“I’m in a relationship with Josh, an artificial. By many people’s lights that’s wrong.”

“What’s your opinion?”

“You know my history?”

“I know your sister was Lady Augusta, and your, uh, friend -”

“Lover -”

“- was Professor Summerskill. It must have been hard.”

“You know, you’re the first person to say that? Everyone else thinks we were having threesomes with arties. Before Josh I would never have considered such a thing.”

“What changed?”

“Have you
seen
him?”

“No doubt he’s attractive -” Neal glanced at his wedding band.

“Don’t worry, doctor. I’m not going to corrupt you. He’s sweet, kind and
good
. Better than any human I’ve known.”

“Does he love you?”

“Yes.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I know the official teaching is that robots can’t love. I thought anyone who got involved with one was a Deviant.” At Neal’s raised eyebrow, “Including Professor Summerskill. But Josh shows me in a hundred ways. The way he looks at me. The way he touches.”

Neal blurted, “The authorities want us to have a session twice a week. See how you’re settling in, getting on. Which direction you want to take your case.”

“Do you know when it’s going to court?”

“They need to gather evidence. They’ll call upon the scientists at the Centre, the lady Mr Foster was married to.”

Alfred pictured Claire in the witness box, shrieking blue murder. “Poor girl.”

“The first session will be next Tuesday, same time.”

“Thanks.” Hearing the bolt slip into place, Alfred lay down and closed his eyes.

***

Josh was lost.

People bayed outside the gates. Meals were strained, all conversation conducted through Nanny. When he turned on the network or veebox, he heard cackles at Alfred’s downfall.

Alfred was everywhere. He’d find presents and messages hidden in books, pockets, places they’d spent time together. There were other traces. The bed they’d loved in - he never used the guest room now. His shaving gear. He found red hairs in the basin and didn’t want to wash them away. He wore Alfred’s dressing gown despite Gwyn’s complaints. He sniffed it and it was like being hugged by him.

Puss was his constant companion. She slept on the end of his bed, woke him with a lick or bat of her paw. She insisted upon following him when he went on walks. He tried to put her off, thinking how conspicuous they must be, but one afternoon changed that.

It had been a week since Alfred’s capture. Josh had spent the morning trying to get in touch with other artificials - first by concentrating, seeing if he could pick anybody up, next by going on the Storm. After three fruitless hours he laid the powerbook aside. Puss sprang from her den in the corner and loped after him.

The heat wave had resumed soon after Alfred’s arrest. Even in the deep of the woods it was sullen and airless. Puss was starting to pant; he sprayed her with the water canister. Nothing stirred. The only sounds were a bird calling in the distance, what sounded like a hive nearby. Perhaps he could find it, bring Nanny honey. She’d like that. It might even put a smile on Gwyn’s grim face -

Puss was at his side, tail bristling. Silver spheres jittered above their heads, swooping down and flashing. Papbats.

Josh found himself sprawling full length on the grass. He thought one had struck him, but Puss pinned him to the ground. They lay like that for five minutes. He watched red ants march across the soil. The dirt was dry and powdery against his cheek. Puss’s heartbeat was deafening.

The papbats scouted the area, puzzled. How could their prize have vanished? Some dropped to the grass and rolled. One stopped inches from Josh’s eye. He willed himself to be still. Puss closed her eyes and pretended to doze. As her breathing slowed and her head lolled, he hoped she hadn’t convinced herself.

The papbats conferred. One gave a signal. They soared into the air, spread out to mimic a flight formation. Josh didn’t dare get up until they were out of earshot.

“Good girl.” The hug he gave her was wholly inadequate. He could never thank her enough.

***

Josh was too disheartened to try contacting other artificials. He roamed the halls for half an hour, never admitting he was bored. “There’s no boredom, only borin’ people,” Nanny always said.

Here was a room he hadn’t been in before. He pushed it open and found himself staring at a collection of apparatus. A fixed electribike, handles on the ceiling, hoops. It was only when he spotted a set of dumbbells he realised. He’d seen Alfred surfacing from here - dabbing his neck with a towel, balancing a weight - but never watched it in use. Gyms, what normal people did instead of Thingummy.

He’d only meant to put his head in. But imagining Alfred in here, working up a sweat, he felt him. He could almost smell him. He leant against the leather of the multi gym and kissed it. He raised his shirt over his head, hugged it to his bare chest -

A stifled cough. He straightened up, nearly cracking his head. Gwyn was looking at him with distaste. “Something on veebox you should see.”

She’d used up her word count for the day. She held open doors on the way to the kitchen but didn’t speak.

Considering the changes recently, the kitchen was a reassuring constant. Twin wafts of baking and brandy greeted them, the veebox bleated in the corner. “Watch this,” Nanny said, flinging her washing up gloves aside. “
Up
,” she commanded the box. The sound cleared.

It was that show they talked about in the Pond,
Crispin Clay
. An evangelist turned talk show host, he bombarded his viewers with sleaze for two hours, then offered them absolution. “Bless you all!” was his sign off each week, beaming as fake tears sleeted down.

“Can’t think where our guest’s got to.” Clay rolled up his sleeve to reveal a diamond studded watch. “Shall we give her another five? While we’re waitin’ ...”

The church funded Clay’s show on one condition. He could cover whatever topics he liked provided he toed the party line. He couldn’t acknowledge that climate change was caused by anything other Thea. Technology was blasphemous, artificials doubly so. Above all, the sanctity of the traditional family, especially the threat posed by -

“Gays! They infiltrate the media and recruit your children! Join me in a special edition of Gay Watch!”

A jeering tune started up. The sinister silhouette of a man appeared, scratchy cartoon people recoiling. 

“It so happens this ties in with today’s story. It takes two to connect, after all. Gotta say I always had my suspicions, but this week we’ve been offered
proof
.”