Authors: Rachael Eyre
Alfred was never sure afterwards if Nick had tripped or misjudged the distance. Fisk was close by at the time - perhaps she had a hand in it. Whatever the cause, he smacked into the squelcher and set it working.
A squelcher is designed to crush and compact a robotic frame. Needless to say, this should not be attempted on a person. The humans recoiled; only Josh watched dispassionately. A series of sickening crunches, the sound of wetness splashing the walls and floors, and it was over.
Josh stared down into the mangled remains, the shards of bone. “He’s gone,” he said quietly. “He won’t be coming back.”
Fisk got to her feet. She was flecked with livid spots of blood. “You saved me,” she said to Josh. She held out her arms.
He shook his head. “Don’t touch me. You know why.”
Josh went to the gurneys, had a whispered conference with Derkins. At last he came to the bottom of the room.
“Josh, what’s going on?” Alfred exclaimed. “Nick said - ”
“There isn’t time. The police will be here soon. Go to your cell. Everything’s under control.”
“What about tomorrow? Lucy’s dead, we need to testify -”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Josh was right. Now he listened, the alarms had stopped clanging. He had to return to his cell before the security shield was switched back on. They held their hands to the screen.
“I love you.”
“I love you too. See you tomorrow.”
Alfred hurried to the cell, unable to shake that image from his mind: Josh attending to Derkins and Gwyn but standing in the shadow of the squelcher.
Ever After
Of course the trial was postponed. Everyone who had witnessed that night’s events was made to relive them. They would have interrogated Gwyn if Josh hadn’t taken up sentry at her bedside. One of his conditions was he should be allowed out on bail. They would have agreed to anything to stop him scowling like that.
Revelations trickled down to the public. How one man had been able to override the Rehabilitation Centre’s security. How that man was Nick Cole, who was actually Eric Spalding. Lucy’s demise and Breakwell’s fall from grace were aperitifs.
There had been a definite softening in attitudes towards Alfred. Compared to this cabal of murderers, mad scientists and corrupt officials, being in love with a robot seemed a minor indiscretion. The press recalled their behaviour in the courtroom, their past interactions and thought his feelings could well be reciprocated. Some journalists even suggested that since the country had been behind Josh’s relationship with Claire, which they now knew to be a lie, why shouldn’t they support a genuine one with Langton?
Four days later Alfred was stalking his cell. He was drained by the week’s occurrences, like a donor who can’t give any more. He had been denied access to the news - all he knew was that Gwyn was in hospital. No one would say what had happened to Josh.
A knock on the door. “The doctor wants to see you.”
“Tell that goggle eyed tit - ”
Dr Sugar’s voice filtered through. “It’s me. Rest assured there are many things I would rather be doing.”
Alfred stood aside to let him in. The guard promised to wait outside, ‘in case his lordship turns nasty.’ “I’m sure I can handle him,” Sugar said.
Alfred sat on the bunk while Sugar took the chair. “Forgive me if I’m not overjoyed to see you - ”
“Shut up and listen. I know our relationship hasn’t been the easiest. I made certain - assumptions - about you, about your relationship with Josh, which I’m sure you would have shared in my position. But recent events -”
“Like members of your staff being batshit insane? Letting their relatives run amok?”
“I thought Spalding was dead.” At Alfred’s exclamation of disgust, “I wasn’t at CER when he was around, but we knew. These people have to be related to
somebody
.”
“I doubt other people’s aunts teach them to build kid bots for nonces.”
“That’s not why I’m here. I wanted to say sorry. I hope it’s not too late.”
Alfred thought of several retorts. He didn’t use them. Sugar’s words were heartfelt; whatever he had done in the past, he wanted to make amends.
“What changed your mind?”
“I’ve spoken to Josh a lot over the last few days. He’s fine, by the way. Stubborn, wanting you. The theory used to be that continued proximity could produce a feeling akin to - oh, alright, love. He hasn’t been near you for months but his feelings are the same.”
“We’ve been through some extreme experiences -”
“He’s been like this since the day you met. You hadn’t got into any scrapes then.”
That was it, the most ordinary of miracles. How, by some strange alchemy, two people can meet and know that no power can keep them apart. It was incredible no matter who it happened to.
“We don’t have much time,” Sugar said. “I need to take some swabs, if you don’t mind.”
“You
what?”
“I got you into this mess, I can get you out. It’s only a hunch but it might work.”
Alfred stood wincing as Sugar took samples. He’d never liked injections and this wasn’t an improvement. As the doctor tipped them into his bag, Alfred said, “Did he say anything about Fisk?”
“Josh will talk about it when he’s ready.”
***
After a few days’ limbo the announcement came. Josh was sitting in his flat in Magravina Road when he heard.
When he’d first arrived Montagu tried to close the door in his face. “Not after what you’ve done.”
The old Josh would have left. The new Josh looked the landlord over, saw the tatty cardigan, the pale pinched face. He pulled his cashtot book from his pocket. “Name the figure. I’ll write it.”
Montagu moistened his lips, whispered, “That’ll be two thou,” and tore it from his hands. He led Josh up the stairs, bones creaking with every step. “It’s been empty since you left.” Josh could tell the old man was consumed with curiosity but too well bred to ask.
He’d gone into his old apartment with a painful mixture of emotions: pleasure at seeing it again, but also a keen sense of absence. He remembered the housewarming. Nanny in a hundred places at once, the girls engrossed in each other. Even Dr Sugar had relaxed. And, of course, Alfred -
The mural was as he’d left it. There was a patch in the sun where Alfred had grown impatient and smudged the paint. He laid his cheek against it.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” Montagu’s voice was semi strangled.
That week was troubling, confusing. He’d wake in the night and forget where he was. His only visitor was Sugar, who showed up with groceries and talked about his ‘project.’ He visited Gwyn twice. The first time she said, “I’ve been an arse,” and gave him a shoulder clasp that was so like Alfred, he wanted to cry.
He was sitting at the table, doing the crossword, when the speakertube sounded. He was immediately on his guard. Who knew he was here?
“Josh.” It was Malik. “It’s been rescheduled for the day after tomorrow. Do you need anything?”
“No, thank you. Collect me when you’re ready.”
Josh woke smartly the morning of the trial. He showered, dressed, made himself coffee. He spilt it twice. He went around the mirrors in the apartment, half expecting to see them to be empty.
I am going to die.
He wished he believed in something. He wished he could speak to Alfred. At a quarter past eight there was a knock at the door. Montagu sidled around the crack. “A young woman’s outside. Of the ethnic persuasion.”
He hoped Malik hadn’t heard. Montagu had no control over his voice - sour and whispery one moment, a loudspeaker the next.
“Thank you for letting me stay. In case I don’t come back -” Josh held out another cashtot. It was promptly pocketed.
The drive to the Halls of Justice was no less awkward. Malik had never been much of a conversationalist; now, faced with the unmentionable, she grunted and cracked her knuckles. They couldn’t even talk about CER because of Fisk. So they sat like bookends, Malik huffing, Josh counting to calm himself down.
It was only as he went to climb out she stopped him. “Josh -”
“Yes?”
“Was I a good psychologist?”
How like her! “You were my psychologist. I guess I needed tough love.” He shook her hand.
His guard was outside - he couldn’t keep him waiting. Malik was still staring at her hands as he was whisked into the building.
Down the line of spectators, the gun pressing into his back. Fans leant out avidly, the portraitist scribbled. Cora waved like a maniac. Derkins had dragged himself down on his crutches; he gave Josh a thumbs up. Most marvellous of all, Gwyn in a wheelchair, Pip beside her. They called out and wished him luck, but returned to gazing at each other. Josh wasn’t surprised. That awful night Pip had charged through the police tape, screaming, “My girlfriend’s in there!” She hadn’t left Gwyn’s side since.
Josh took his seat in the booth, raising his eyes to Alfred’s. He couldn’t cringe or show weakness. He would be the one forced to watch, the one left behind.
Ten years might have passed since that night. Grey hairs encroached, his eyes were hollow through lack of sleep. He ignored everyone else - only Josh existed for him. Their thoughts leapt across the space.
Forgive me. I never meant for it to go this far.
There’s nothing to forgive, Alfred.
I wouldn’t blame you for hating me –
I could never do that.
The room stilled. Justice Begum had opened. The tiny girl acting as Alfred’s defence was rigid with fright. She wouldn’t let them down now, surely? Her enemy, that swollen puff adder Sir Matthias, gloated. This spurred her into action.
“Everyone’s familiar with the personalities of this case. Doubtless they’ve formed opinions and theories. I’d like everyone to let go of these and consider, if only for a moment, the unthinkable. What if a human and a robot can be bound by genuine affection, passion and sympathy - in other words, love? Think of the pair bonds our ancestors would have found outrageous: love between people of different races, people of the same sex. Could it be that we’re on the wrong side of history, judging something we don’t understand?”
Jerry Etruscus was on the front row, swigging out of a paper bag. He slurred something Josh didn’t catch. Begum said she wouldn’t allow such language in her courtroom. The Mayor settled down like a sulky, ugly baby.
“I only have three witnesses.” Feist raised her voice over the continued muttering. “I believe in quality, not quantity. Lord Langton, if you will.”
Alfred snapped from his tunnel vision. To anyone else he would have seemed cool, collected. Only Josh could see that he trembled so badly he had to grip the bar on the dock.
“Lord Langton. When did you meet Josh Foster?”
“Summer 2162.”
“Can you describe what happened?”
Josh knew Alfred regarded their first meeting as a holy thing. How could he explain it to these dead eyed scandal mongers?
“I’d received notice of his visit but ignored it. I was anti robots then. Suddenly this young lad turns up in my room -”
Ribald chuckles. Alfred raised an eyebrow.
“Some of you need to lift your minds from the gutter. I was building a keep fit machine. He let himself in and started asking questions. I took offence, we quarrelled. He was going to leave, probably forever, when his ankle went. I helped him.”
“So you clicked?”
“I’d never met anyone like him. He had such a lively, inquiring mind. I enjoyed his company, he seemed to like mine. CER saw it as a stunt - let’s get him to walk in with Lady Augusta’s brother - but it was never about that for me. He said he wanted to go on seeing me. I felt the same way.”
A change had come over the courtroom. Many faces had worn smirks, expecting to be entertained. As they heard more of the story this prurience faded. Josh saw them looking at their partners, weighing their own relationships. What if their lover was the one on trial?
“When did you realise your feelings had become something else?”
“It happened gradually. I knew he’d become an important part of my life, that we made each other happier just by being there. It was almost a year to the day we met I realised I loved him.”
“What did you do?”
Another hesitation. Josh nodded encouragement.
“It was torture. It was against everything I believed in. Perhaps I should have been strong and stopped seeing him, but I couldn’t bear it. I’d rather be friends than lose him.”
“But it was while you were away your relationship moved to the next level?”
The audience shifted in their seats, female and male.
“It was an emotional time. I’d been held hostage; Josh rescued me. We’d been fighting our feelings for months and got caught up in the heat of the moment. I knew it was wrong but we couldn’t help it.”
“It was beautiful,” Josh said.
He hadn’t meant to say it. Everyone spun to look at him. It was Alfred’s turn to give him a reassuring smile. Their mutual gaze was so strong, only Feist’s next question broke it.
“What did you do next?”
“While we were away anything seemed possible. As we made our way home I began to have doubts and pushed him away. He didn’t understand what had changed. CER called him back. The next time he visited he said he was getting married.”
Everybody was listening intently. Gwyn and Pip held hands, Cora nodded vigorously. Even Jerry seemed moved, his mouth slightly open.
“How would you feel, seeing the one you love married against their will? I hadn’t the least doubt his memories had been wiped. There’d be gaps, illogical behaviour when he was normally so sensible.”
“Didn’t you call it off at one point?”
“Claire - Ms Howey - asked me to. I thought it’d be better if he forgot me. At least with Ms Howey he had a future.”
“But last winter you got back in touch.”
They had been waiting for this question. It was the one that would damn them - how could seeing each other on the sly be anything but suspect? Watching the snow fly together, the enchanted park, the vows in the shell - Josh watched these memories travel over Alfred’s face. Sweating, white knuckled, he answered.
“We were miserable apart. Josh was being upgraded so he was housebound, I was in the capital anyway. I visited him every day while he was in isolation. The last night, we - well, Claire found out.”
“And attacked Josh?”
“Yes. She regretted it instantly but still didn’t want him under her roof. Most wives would do the same.”
Even
Clockwork Bachelor
fans stared at him in pity. This was the language they understood: doomed romance, love triangles, trysts. They didn’t care that it involved a different line up from usual.