‘And here she is, eight years later, still fifteen and still happy. I do believe that.’
‘Don’t people notice her not ageing?’ wondered Beck aloud.
‘Who? We see nobody but the summer tenants, and they don’t pay us much mind. As for the townsfolk, they might just think she’s petite – some women wear child sizes all their life.’
‘And were you ever planning to move her back?’
Schmidt looked down as he answered, ‘I hoped she might want something of adult life, and ask for it herself.’
‘But she never did?’
Schmidt shook his head, ‘But then, when there’s so little of adult life for her to look forward to just now...’
‘Yes, it must look pretty bleak to her,’ conceded Beck,
‘To a lot of teenagers, I expect,’ the older man half-smiled, ‘though most don’t have her option.’
Chapter 88 – How are you all?
Professor Schmidt paused, then asked,
‘And how are you all?’
‘Well,’ answered Beck. ‘All well. Functioning, at least.’ What more could he say? ‘At least as far as I can tell – I’ve only met them again these past few days. Chris has a cut to his arm that needs joining.’
‘We’ll do it this evening.’
‘And Ellie’s elbow is fraying.’
‘Amazing that that hasn’t happened more with them. Though I’m not sure how we’d fix that here. And no more on Daniel?’
Beck shook his head.
‘Poor boy.’ Schmidt walked to the window to appear in silhouette against the flat white light. Beck joined him, to find the Professor was watching Victor, on his own in the garden, leaving the artifs to their reunion.
‘And what’s this one’s story?’
‘He worked with Ellie, they fell in love.’
‘For real?’
‘It seems so. They were already on the run before we met them. He could have dropped her at any time.’
‘Thank God he didn’t. And now he’s caught up in all this?’
‘He doesn’t seem to mind.’
‘Well,’ presumed Schmidt, ‘he can say it was an adventure at least. For why else do anything, at the end of the day?’
The old man asked, ‘So, what will you do now?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘They’ll be here any day.’
‘We haven’t brought them with us.’
To which the Professor shook his head,
‘I don’t mean that. I mean that they’ve renewed their efforts. We’ve been on borrowed time these eight years. The moment I saw that shooting business in the paper, I knew it was over. A burst of new interest will see us sniffed out.’
Beck asked then, ‘You’re not angry with me, for causing it?’
This took the elder statesman back, he asking,
‘And how in God’s name are you responsible?’
‘I was interviewed for a whole day. I told them everything.’
‘Everything? Everything of what?’
‘I told you, everything!’
Schmidt asked rhetorically, ‘These were the people who had already once questioned you? Who tore our home and our lab apart? Who I had to destroy the frames to stop falling into their hands? And this before your meeting Chris again, or Eliza, or me? And before you knew that any of us were still alive?’
Beck nodded along, hoping this was going the right way and would deliver the release from guilt that he was craving. Schmidt concluded with,
‘Then what did you tell them?’
Beck thought about it, and answered, ‘Nothing!’
‘Then how could I be angry?’
Beck wanted to cry then, and shouted out,
‘I was so annoyed with you.’
‘I understand.’
‘And yet, I always knew why you did it, why you left me. You had to keep her safe.’
‘Yes.’
‘She looks happy,’ conceded Beck, calming down.
‘She loves her roses.’
‘Yes, she must. And any issues?’
‘Emotional or technical?’ asked Schmidt.
‘The latter are probably most pressing.’
‘Without a strip-down, in a year at least one of her knees will go.’
Beck was shocked by the answer, though the Professor was always never less than direct.
‘Lock?’ asked Beck.
‘No, more likely slowly seize. It may feel like arthritis, could even see the joint move in its socket. It won’t be nice for her. Chris isn’t breathing.’
Beck was remembering what it was like to be in the room with a genius. Lightning-sharp topic changes, and always right to the point. Beck explained,
‘He had an accident, damaged his chest. It knocked out his breathing and his circulation.’
The old man laughed, ‘When has a doctor ever said that of a patient so lightly?’
‘He repaired it himself.’
‘Or that!’ Schmidt took this in, before again changing the topic,
‘You know, before this week I had been thinking of finding you all, only to suggest that it might be time to give ourselves up.’
Beck shook his head. Schmidt continued,
‘Of course, now the shooting reminds me why we never can. And so the only option for them is death. A slow death, as piece by piece every part of them breaks down. Once that starts, then discovery is inevitable.’
But Beck wouldn’t have it,
‘They’re resourceful, you haven’t spent time with my two. They’re so self-sufficient you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Enough to rebuild themselves without a lab?’
Any answer Beck might have given was interrupted by the arrival of one of the topics of their conversation, Chris asking,
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Of course not,’ answered the Professor. ‘How are you, my boy?’
Chris looked around himself, ‘This all solves the puzzle of Anna. I did wonder where you’d taken her. You’d had this place planned out before?’
The Professor nodded.
‘And were you talking of us back there?’
‘You overheard?’ answered Beck. ‘Who else would we talk about?’
Chris pondered, ‘Anna faltered a little in the other room just then, as she went to get up off the floor.
‘She’s in a very old frame, older than any of the adult bodies,’ explained Schmidt.
‘One of the first we built,’ noted Beck
‘I’d hoped you might have had a lab,’ observed Chris.
The Professor laughed, ‘This isn’t Thunderbirds, I have no underground facility. I fear the County Council may have noticed the builder’s lorries.’
Chapter 89 – Sensory Analysis
It was the early afternoon, and a day since the shooting. Back at her office, in the basement of their huge and faceless building in the capital, Miss Eris was surrounded by papers and blinking screens. From the next room she could hear the murmuring voices of her surveillance team.
This had once been her superior’s office. Beck and the Philosopher General had been right; he was long gone. Though it hadn’t been her efforts that had done for him, not really; it had been his continued lack of success in the artif case.
And then, before her boss had been aware there was a vacancy, his superiors had asked her whether she would take on his role? This was the man who’d taught her everything, and the job had been too much for him. And knowing this, still she had accepted.
Once upon a time then, into these rooms she would have been beckoned, to discuss whatever issue was absorbing the old chief; and to this end she now beckoned Forrest. He appeared at the partition edge, and asked,
‘Any ideas, boss?’
‘No bolts of lightning. What do you have?’
He waved the papers he was carrying, explaining, ‘Backgrounds of thirty-nine people whose faces were recognised by our scanners over Marsham High Street.’
‘So
, people already on our system?’
‘Yes. There’s nothing promising though. Most have done no worse than attend Robot gatherings or post on blogs and websites.’
‘So, exactly the sort of people we were expecting to find. And none of them have been acting strangely? None gone missing since?’
‘Well, there’s a few who haven’t turned up to work today. But then that’s hardly surprising when they had no advanced warning to arrange travel for yesterday. We won’t know for a few days if they’ve really gone off the radar.’
She shook her head, but then gestured to her computer screen,
‘And given the absolute uninformed garbage that’s appeared on the Robots sites since yesterday, then I don’t believe a single one of them has contact with the targets.’
‘Enthusiastic amateurs,’ he lamented. ‘There’s something else though.’ Forrest disappeared a moment, reappearing with further papers. He brought them to Eris’s desk and rifled through them, explaining,
‘There were three cars stolen from Marsham and its surrounding area yesterday. One turned up this morning with its alloy wheels removed and the interior set on fire.’
‘Joyriders,’ she cursed.
‘Another was a Japanese import sports car, of a model known to be stolen for order and taken abroad. Nothing found on this one yet.’
‘And far too inconspicuous for people on the run,’ she reasoned.
‘It also had a crack alarm system,’ added Forrest.
‘Well, that didn’t foil the auto thieves,’ she noted.
‘Ah, but they would have bought along specialised car-breaking equipment.’
She understood. ‘So, not a quick fix for someone needing a speedy getaway?’
‘No.’
‘And the third?’
At this, her colleague’s face brightened,
‘A five-year-old estate, sixty-thousand miles on the clock, dents on both passenger-side doors, and an owner who’s secretly only hoping it never turns up again, so he can buy a new one with the insurance money.’
Eris summarised, ‘An old estate, room for all of them, utterly anonymous.’
Forrest smiled at his victory. ‘I thought the same – we’re putting the numberplate through the traffic camera computers now – if it’s been picked up by any camera in the land, then we’ll know about it.’
Eight minutes later, in her team’s main room, these results were eagerly anticipated by Eris. In the meantime, she was leafing again through printed stills of the man – the robot, the artif, Christopher? – identified as having no body-heat signature, and who moments after that identification she had seen with her own eyes, standing beside Beck outside the cafe.
She had seen no other models to compare, except for the blurred shots that came in sporadically from agents following Bradley in Tunis and other places. And still this one transfixed her. It was something in his height, his seriousness. And she marvelled at the way he blended in. But how, once pointed out to the viewer, then by his very self-determination, the viewer’s eyes would be drawn to him and could not be torn away. As she could not now tear hers from the photographs, muttering,
‘You look nothing like our man in North Africa, Mister Robot. No, you’re quite a different type.’ And repeating, as she had said to the Philosopher General the previous evening, ‘I think you’re Christopher, I think you’re Christopher.’
Eris was convinced. And it made sense too that he was partnering Beck, when, from what the Doctor had told her just three days ago, this was the kind of operation for which he was intended and at which he would excel.
One other thought though was that she had been convinced that Beck was not already in contact with Christopher at the time of his interview – his answers had been too open, and his sadness at losing touch with his second family had been too genuine. He had been told of the warning signal telling that one of them was injured, and in a flash he had asked, ‘Which one?’ This had betrayed an absolute uncertainty for their futures.
So then, they had somehow since made contact out of nothing, within hours of Beck being under Eris’s supervision. This with Beck’s family, his office, his computer and his phone all being monitored. This annoyed her intensely,
‘Not on my watch,’ she muttered. ‘Not on my watch...’
But Eris’s musings were interrupted by her colleagues.
‘Here it is.’ The technicians were already scan-reading the stolen car data as it poured across the screen,
‘Two sightings,’ called the lead tech Nell, ‘but hours apart.’
‘Then they’ve avoided the main roads,’ said Forrest, who was supervising things. ‘Any pattern?’
‘One’s fifty miles outside of Marsham that evening. It looks like they travelled north to start with.’
‘To start with?’
‘Well, the next sighting’s two hundred miles south, and only six hours later. That’s almost on the coast. Get the atlas,’ called Nell to her eager assistant. ‘I’ve driven past there. If memory serves, then it’s a pretty empty area.’
Eris knew a break when she saw one. Forrest was already calling for the car.
Chapter 90 – Christopher’s Repair, Anna’s Conversation
‘I only have the basic tools.’
Professor Schmidt was standing at his workbench with his back turned to Christopher, who was sitting in a raised chair in the centre of the room.
‘I understand,’ answered Chris.
‘I had more at the old house.’
‘I remember.’
‘I can only fix the outer layer; you might still have damage signals there.’
‘I’ve already turned the signals down in that area,’ replied Chris, rolling up his sleeve.
‘You always were remarkably prosaic about things.’ The Professor lifted the bare arm, saying,
‘It might be easier with the shirt off.’
‘I’ve other scars, ones I’ve fixed myself.’
And the doctor didn’t press the patient on the issue. He did note though,
‘You’re not breathing. And your skin is cold. I’m afraid I haven’t the tools for those.’
‘I didn’t think you would have.’
Returning with an air hose, Schmidt blew black dust out of the wound, before giving it a visual inspection. He offered what bedside manner he could,
‘Well, you’ve been in the wars, lad. It looks quite a clean cut. You didn’t catch yourself on a coat-hanger then?’
‘I cut it to convince someone.’
‘Ah yes, you picked the space above the wrist adjustment bolts. You knew we humans would be squeamish of seeing that.’
Christopher maintained his stoical resolve, as Schmidt replaced the air hose on the workbench, returning with a soldering iron that had been warming in its metal cradle,
‘This won’t be flawless. You’ll see the scar.’
Again, there was no change in the patient’s demeanour. Chris stayed immobile, explaining, ‘I’ve done worse to myself.’
Schmidt instructed, ‘Pinch the two sides together, as straight as you can.’ He brought the burning metal rod to the golden vinyl, hovering over the surface for one final moment, just long enough to ask,
‘Now, you’re sure you have those sensors off?’
Meanwhile, in the main room of Rose Cottage, the chairs and table had been pushed back as if for a dance. Yet instead of cutting a rug, the occupants were lying on the floor surrounded by car batteries.
Both women were there as Beck arrived. Victor was recharging himself also, in his human fashion, asleep on a sofa near to Ellie. His arm trailed down to the floor, and his hand was in her hand. However, while he was dumb to the world, she and Anna were wide awake.
‘Why do you use the floor?’ asked the Doctor, standing by the door.
‘Habit, maybe?’ answered Ellie. ‘It also helps to have all the muscles totally relaxed.’
Beck didn’t pester her further, for she bore a look of serious concentration,
as if working something out. Instead, he lay down on the bare wooden floor beside Anna. She smiled and turned her head to him, their faces inches apart.
She asked him, ‘What can I do to help you, Doctor?’ as if a little girl playing shopkeeper with her parents.
‘You can help me by telling me everything that’s happened to you since I saw you last.’
‘For research?’ she asked.
‘No. Because I’ve been away too long. And only hearing all you have to tell me can make up for it.’
She smiled, and answered without moving her body,
‘Well, we left the day before the others. I didn’t know where to at first, though I could tell the Professor was worried. He felt very guilty for abandoning you.’
‘He knew we’d cope,’ grimaced Beck. ‘What happened then?’
‘Well, we travelled around in hired cars, staying in horrible hotels. I hated it. Until one time he stayed awake all night, not speaking, just watching at the ceiling. Which was odd for me, having him up with me. Before he said,’ she put on a gruff man’s voice, ‘“It has been long enough, we can go there now.”’
‘Go where?’ asked Beck
‘Here!’ she answered. ‘The happiest place on earth. Oh, Doctor, is it all over?’
‘We might have to leave, yes.’
‘You won’t all go again?’
‘We won’t leave you. Whatever happens, it will be as a group.’
Anna rolled over and hugged him, her head to his chest, and let her eyes water to dampen his shirt.
‘Doctor?’ She looked up after a little while. He looked back into those infinite pools, they reflecting back her same soul, whatever age she was, and whatever frame she was in: part-child, part-genius, part-seer beyond human experience.
‘Yes, Anna?’
‘Nothing,’ she smiled, and hugged him again.
Chapter 91 – Africa – Time to Leave
That afternoon Bradley was again indoors and again waiting on Ingrid’s return. Only now he had the newspaper to brood over, and others found by Oman on a jaunt round the towns to find a friendly – or at least un-terrified – shop owner.
Faithful George was again Bradley’s sounding-board and confidant, as the master mused,
‘I’ve been reading this article, George: “THE ROBOTS: WHAT DO WE KNOW?” It says: “The current excitement stems from new rumours of a warning signal transmitted to the Robots on Tuesday of this week, though who sent the signal to them and what it signified remain a mystery.”’