The Robots
or
The Five Strands
or
Artificial Heart
by
John Eider
Copyright 2016 John Eider
Day 1 – Rockfall
Chapter 1 – Danny
In the recent past...
Or only a few years hence...
The explosion had been sudden and unexpected. One moment Danny’s colleagues had been ahead of him, entering the mineshaft. The next, Tim, carrying the dynamite, had been a blur of pink dust, while Charlie behind him had been thrown back against Danny, like the wet, dead thing he already was.
Danny opened his eyes to darkness and dirt. There he lay beneath Charlie, as the echo of the explosion started to fade. Already though, sections of the wood-supported shaft that had survived were beginning to groan. Fresh plumes of dust were falling over them, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the roof fell in.
His thoughts were basic and logical, as if he had regressed to childhood: ‘I can see the dust, so there is a source of light.’ Danny looked towards the tunnel entrance, and saw that he could still see that postage-stamp of sky.
Next, he felt Charlie on top of him, Danny thinking, ‘He has no heartbeat. This means Charlie is dead.’ Next, Danny tried to move Charlie off him, and found that only one of his own arms responded to instruction. He proceeded with as much dignity for both of them as was available in the situation.
Once stood up, Danny looked for Tim; and saw that what pieces of Tim he could see were scattered and separate from each other. And so, in his simple logic, he calculated, ‘This probably means that Tim is dead as well’ – for the moment Danny’s thought-processes were no more sophisticated than this. The world around him was a smear, the concepts too large to calculate.
Danny couldn’t allow himself to be transfixed by the scene. He turned, and moved toward the daylight, through the swirling dust of that ruined chamber.
Once outside, the sun blinded him, as his shaken senses struggled to keep up. Already though his mind was getting sharper. He reasoned: ‘My friends are still in there, but I can’t go back in.’ Even as he stood at the entrance further rumblings sounded within the tunnel, bringing fresh gales of dust from the mine.
He also knew that he wasn’t going to call anyone to the scene, or go looking for help. This made him sad, even though he knew that there was nothing that the emergency services could have done for his friends. But still, to leave them in there felt like dishonouring their remains. It made the moment even bleaker.
There was no one else outside – his party had travelled miles to the mine without seeing another person, this he could remember. Danny also knew that occasional rumbles of blasting were a common sound in those hills, and so there would be no one looking for them until they were late home that afternoon.
Danny would not wait for the search party; he had to look out for himself now. There was no way that they could find him at the scene: they wouldn’t know that inside him a hundred silent sensors were sounding at full volume; but they would see that his forearm was a mess of carbon fibre in a shroud of folded, glistening fabric. ‘I cannot let myself be found.’
He tucked the shirt sleeve of his bad arm into his trouser belt. Mercifully, he found he still had his backpack around his shoulders, albeit crushed and torn. A line of trees crowned the hill above the mine. ‘I have to reach the trees.’ With his wits increasingly about him, Danny pulled the bag tight with his good hand, and started to run.
Day 2, Part 1 – Eris
Chapter 2 – Gawain Beck
‘You have to be gentle with them when they’re little. If you bump them they won’t grow right.’
Doctor Gawain Beck had been thinking on those words since Ashlie Bellow, his fellow grower at the London Arboretum, had uttered them earlier that day. He had opened the door to their shared laboratory greenhouse, and nearly knocked her over, along with a tray of seedlings in hydroponic fluid that she was carrying.
‘You have to be gentle,’ she repeated. ‘I’m sure you could be, if you wanted.’
She was speaking of the tiny green growths in clear liquid; but Beck knew that there was more behind her words. The seedlings were held in a grid of small cups, which even after twenty years of studying and teaching biology, to Beck still resembled nothing more than a baking tray.
‘The new batch,’ he whispered.
‘Sorry, Gee?’ asked Ashlie.
‘“Be gentle” – I’m whispering it to myself; my new mantra.’ But he dashed out into the greenery of the gardens before she could get her hopes up. Instead she called after him,
‘But that wasn’t the way you were heading.’
Ashlie had laughed at her erratic co-worker. With disaster averted, they had each got on with whatever they were doing around the facilities. Beck loved the Arboretum – he often joked that it was the last patch of green space in Greater London that wasn’t a Royal Park. Between the high metal-framed greenhouses built in Victorian times, were white, light-filled study-huts. Here their workbenches were forever in danger of being lost to encroaching foliage.
In a small corner-room was the desk that Beck liked to occupy when he needed thinking-space. A cheese-plant had been pushed back to give him room to open out the folders he was meant to be studying. Yet he had read the first page of plant growth data three times through without it sinking in. Instead Ashlie’s words stayed in his mind.
‘If you bump them they won’t grow right.’
However, it wasn’t the seedlings’ early development that he was pondering; nor his colleague’s subtle tones – he was far too disciplined for that... he told himself. Instead, it was the past that preoccupied him.
‘Don’t worry: your secret’s safe with me.’
Beck looked up, startled, to see another of the team with a smile on his face. A man needed a sense of humour to cope with a name like Eric van de Vertrouwde, and was a Fourteenth Earl to boot, his family having come over with the Dutch. Though he was more often known around the gardens as Digger. He asked,
‘Jesus, Beck. What’s up?’
‘Seed variegations.’ Beck grabbed at the folders, as if they held the guilty secret his friend had just joked about.
‘Well, I’d believe you; millions wouldn’t.’
Digger, with an armful of plant pots, sat down on a second stool at Beck’s desk. Despite his family funding half of the costs of the Arboretum since its formation, their son and heir loved nothing more than earning his nickname, and he could often be mistaken by visitors as a general handyman.
He might be asked a question like, ‘Have these been watered?’ or ‘My man, could you carry these to the car?’ Upon revealing himself, these visitors would generally be mortified. Yet he would joke with them once the misunderstanding had been cleared up, asking, ‘Is there anything you need doing? A bit of heavy lifting?’
And they would laugh awkwardly, ‘No, Your Lordship. Thank you, Your Lordship.’ It was about the only time he enjoyed his title.
Now though Lord Eric sat and asked his friend,
‘You’re not thinking about Ashlie again?’
‘I told you last time, no.’
‘And I told you last time that you pair have an easiness that you might find hard to find again elsewhere.’
‘Eric, I’m married.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
Beck defended his marriage, ‘I have easiness with Sarah too.’
‘If you say so.’ But Digger wasn’t convinced. Beck looked at him, but Eric didn’t leave. Instead he asked,
‘If it’s not your marriage, then is it about that business years ago?’
Beck was shocked. Where had that come from? Had Eric read his thoughts? Either wa
y, he had no words, as Eric continued,
‘But we’ve never spoken of it, Gee. And you can’t deny that you arrived here under a cloud. I was only messing about Ashlie, forgive me. But we both know that you’re not right.’
‘Please, Eric, don’t.’
Eric raised a hand in calming fashion, yet didn’t stop speaking, instead only changed tack,
‘Did you know I had to be security-vetted to offer you this job eight years ago?’
Beck nodded, he did know.
‘And they watched my house for a year after we hired you. But I didn’t care about that. All I saw was a brilliant botanist to add to our staff. And a man who had done something wonderful, but who had seen the world fall in on him as a result. They should have given you the Nobel Prize for what you...’
‘Stop.’
‘But you built a person, Gee, a living person.’
‘Don’t, Eric.’ Beck couldn’t breathe. And this time Eric knew he had to stop. Beck explained, ‘I can’t think about those times. If I do then I can’t be calm, and I have to be calm to keep going. Do you see?’
‘Calm isn’t living, my friend. Calm is surviving.’ But Digger sensed his friend needed time, and so offered, ‘I only mean that you can’t live your life under this cloud. It’s been years, Gee. Longer than I should have given you. You know we’re going to have to talk about it sometime.’
And with a final reassuring smile, Eric the Digger went off with his plant pots.
Chapter 3 – Sarah Beck
That night, Beck went to the cinema with his wife. Later, as they lay in bed, she asked him,
‘So, if I asked you five questions about the film we’ve just seen, would you get two right?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Where have you been this evening?’ She curled up next to him, not easy with him lying on his back with his hands folded behind his head. ‘You certainly haven’t been with me.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He brought his one arm down to hold her. He had never been able to fault her for tenderness.
She queried him, ‘It’s not anything, you know... like before?’ Her voice was muffled by his chest.
He squeezed her harder, but couldn’t summon anything like reassurance in his voice,
‘No, no. Nothing like that. Something today just reminded me of it, that’s all.’
This alarmed her even more, ‘What, you didn’t see one of them, did you?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. You’re making us both worried now.’
‘Sorry, Love.’
‘It was just Ashlie at work: I nearly knocked some seedlings out of her hands, and she said something about how, “If you bump them when they’re little they don’t grow up straight.” Something like that, I can’t remember exactly. But it just set me remembering, you know, about whether I was right to do the things I did...’
He could have said more, but she stopped him, ‘You did everything you could for them, you know you did. Whatever people said you did wrong back then, there was never a suggestion of a lack of care.’
Beck didn’t like his biggest secret being discussed so openly, which Sarah, who knew everything about him, normally knew better than to do. Yet another part of him, now that the gates were open, was keen to push on through them. He continued,
‘Eric said today that I haven’t been right.’
‘Well, you haven’t been, have you?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
This did the trick for him, acknowledging his feelings and so releasing them; although she needed one last piece of reassurance,
‘Gee, you’ll tell me, won’t you, if things are going to get bad again?’
She knew the answer anyway. But before her husband could offer comforting words she heard their youngest calling for his Mum from the next room. He had an arm in plaster from a fall, and had had trouble sleeping. She went to him, having recently grown used to fetching drinks and whispering stories till the lad dropped off.
When Mrs Beck returned to her own bed, her husband was asleep.
Chapter 4 – The Wrong Appointment
The next morning, Doctor Beck was again absorbed in his work. He was further occupied by a field trip he was organising for his team. And so he thought little when his Research Director, Professor Ford, wasn’t in her office for coffee and a catch up, as she was most Tuesday mornings. The Professor, as well as Lord Eric when he wasn’t lost among the herbaceous borders, had offices in a Georgian building just across the road from the Arboretum.
‘She is in, Doctor Beck,’ advised Sonia, the Professor’s assistant, ‘but was called into another meeting.’
He looked up to the floor above where he knew they held their discussions.
‘Oh no, it’s not upstairs,’ corrected Sonia. ‘It’s with the Governors. They’re at the City Offices.’
The City Offices were where the charity’s finance and fund-raising operations were based, and were little more than rented rooms where their accounts were registered. The workers there saw nothing of the Arboretum – though their staff-passes allowed them to do so for free in their own time. Not that many used them, for most were career-focused City-heads or part-timers making phone calls. Once a month the Governors also met at the City Offices.
‘They’ve gathered early,’ mused Beck. ‘The Monthly General Meeting isn’t till next week. No worries, I’ll catch her later.’
Beck paused at Sonia’s desk to take in the view of the greenhouses across the road, before he carried on back down there.
In his study-hut, among the fronds of the cheese-plant, he found his own diary. It had been left open as a reminder to himself that it was the Project Heads’ meeting that day at ten. Anything Marjorie Ford and he had to say to each other could be shared as they walked to that meeting. She would always call for Beck first, giving herself a chance to look over the gardens – she was a natural scientist herself, who often lamented the fact that her job took her away from her beloved spores and flora.
Yet as ten o’clock came, there was still no sign of Professor Ford.
‘Where is she?’ cursed Beck, concerned about getting to the conference room on time. But as he reached for the phone to call Sonia, she called him,
‘Oh, good,’ she gasped. ‘You haven’t set off for the Project Heads meeting yet.’
‘No, I’m waiting for Marjorie. Is she coming?’
‘Oh, yes, she’ll be there later. But you’re not going – the Governors want to speak to you next.’
Beck nearly dropped the phone. Sonia continued,
‘Don’t worry about the Project Heads’ meeting, I’ve made your apologies. The Governors are in the fifth floor at the City Offices. You know the way there?’
Sonia had been in post three years – she wouldn’t have known that Beck had been interviewed and vetted at the City Offices, so knew the way there perfectly well.
‘Yes, no problem. Okay, thank you.’ As Beck replaced the handset, it rang again. It was Professor Ford. She sounded as though she had been running and was flustered. Beck had never heard her out of breath like that in all the years they’d worked together.
She started,
‘Thank God I caught you, Gee. You’ve had the call? I’ve just left the City Offices. I’m in a cafe, I couldn’t call before.’
‘Marjorie, what’s this about?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you’ve been in there all morning...’
‘...and I still don’t know!’ The Professor’s tone changed suddenly to one of care and motherly concern, ‘Gawain, we’ve worked together a long time. We trust each other. So answer me honestly: are you in trouble?’
Beck was staggered. ‘Marjorie, I swear to you I’m not, and that I have no idea what this is about. What did they ask you?’
‘All about you, Gee. Nothing but you.’
Beck felt he was slowly melting into the floor, but wasn’t given a moment for reflection. Professor Ford was rushing her words,
‘Anywa
y, we don’t have long to talk. I have to get back to our building for the Project Heads’ meeting, and you’ve got to get to the City Offices. I knew they’d have Sonia summon you the moment they were finished with me – I don’t think they wanted me give you too much warning, but they couldn’t have held me there without revealing that something serious was up.’
‘Marjorie, what are you talking about? This is the Directors, they wouldn’t...’
‘It’s not the Directors, Gee. It’s their meeting room, but it’s not them. It’s a woman, no one I’ve met before. And I think she has a policeman with her, plain clothes.’
‘Oh, Lord.’
‘But let me say this quickly. You’ve just promised me that you don’t know what this is about – but I think I might do, Gee.’
She was talking in a rushed whisper now, going so quickly that Beck was worried that his boss, his friend, would hyperventilate,
‘Doctor Galton spoke to me first.’ (Beck knew Doctor Galton to be the Head of the Board of Directors.) ‘He was coming out of his own interview. He looked like a man who had just been told his new house didn’t have planning permission, and that he might have to pay for its demolition into the bargain. He told me, “Tell her whatever she asks, there are no secrets within those four walls.”
‘I spent two hours up there, Gee: unprepared, with no one on my side of the table – just as she planned it, that woman. And all she asked about was you: your time with us, your work, your staff relations – I hadn’t a clue what it was about.’
‘But who is she?’ asked Beck.
‘She introduced herself as a “Special Advisor”. I don’t know in what field she Advises, Gee, but she must be very Special, when right at the end she asked about the artifs.’
The word struck silence in the pair.
‘That’s from your former work, isn’t it, Gee? Your old job before you came here? How many people know that word?’
‘Not many,’ he muttered. ‘She used that exact term: “artifs”?’
‘Uh huh.’ (Beck could visualise the Professor nodding down the line.) ‘Not “robots”, not “androids”, not “simulacrum”.’