‘Well, I don’t think we can hold that against you. However, you might remember that amongst that beautiful landscape a very few small mining operations are still licensed to operate. One of these suffered a cave-in yesterday afternoon, killing two men. A third man was with them, but appears to have survived and cannot now be found. The police in the area are looking for him presently, half-medical emergency and half-manhunt.
‘Again, Doctor, you may be wondering, “What of this brings the agency to my door?” And what it is, is this. At the same time as the rockfall, an unusual radio signal happened to be detected in the area. Very low-frequency, far-travelling, and needing quite specific equipment to be able to receive it.
‘Government Communication Headquarters monitors such things; as it has done since the Cold War when Russian spies sent messages home by radio – yes, there really were such people. Can you believe it?
‘But I digress... for this very specific signal had only been detected by GCHQ once before, several months earlier and from somewhere in the vicinity of South London...
‘Our database is very sophisticated. It plots every case in space and time to build a picture. We hadn’t previously linked the detection of the first signal and the bicycle store break-in – why would we? One rogue signal means nothing, and a lot can happen in London on a hot summer’s night. But now this second signal locked the rock-fall and the break-in together, inextricably.
‘And this is where yours truly came in.’ She placed her hands flat below her neck. ‘Perhaps these robots of yours so fascinated me eight years ago that I never quite forgot them, Doctor Beck. Perhaps the memory has lingered in my mind ever since, just waiting for the next sign that they were out there, that I might get to meet one.
‘Over time this hope of mine has faded. I even began to doubt that they were real, or were any more than the fevered imaginings of a doctor who had gone too far and lost his mind. That is until I looked at these two cases, unrelated by context or geography. I boiled it down to what each story told me, what they had in common, and there it was. Here were two men both injured and not injured: one able to break into a store undetected while clearly incapacitated, another surviving a rockfall that killed his colleagues.
‘I allowed myself a moment of conjecture – the supposition that these were not men. I’m afraid for you that at that moment it clicked.’
Chapter 8 – Transmission
Beck sat quiet, taking it in, well aware that he was the one in the room who knew nothing. Eris continued, as prepared as if reading from cue cards, continuing,
‘And yet, I wondered, “What of these radio signals detected each time?” And so I decided that the signals must have some connection to your creations. And that this must mean, Doctor Beck, that when you spoke to my senior eight years ago, you neglected to mention that when one of your robots get injured then they give off a silent alarm.’
‘My God.’
‘If we can just confirm this, it will make things so much easier.’
He nodded.
‘Thank you.’
He asked, ‘Which ones were they?’
‘We don’t know. Definitely males, although the bicycle store CCTV didn’t pick up a face. Meanwhile, the mining operation is a cottage industry, too small for a computerised personnel system with staff photographs. Although colleagues describe the missing miner as being of average height, average build, though stronger than he looks, and with sandy-coloured hair. Which one is he, Doctor?’
But Doctor Beck was silent.
‘The video suggests that the bicycle thief was a tall man, so unless they have the ability to change their proportions...?’
Beck shook his head.
‘...then we appear to be looking at two different individuals. I have to congratulate you, Doctor. Two out of the five still operational after eight years. You really over-engineered them. And these are only the ones we know about.
‘And both appear to have survived whatever hurt them. I guess the bicycle repair kits were for the London-one to patch himself up?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘I wonder: do they give off this signal only when injured, or also when they die?’
Beck couldn’t answer.
‘Please, Doctor.’
He countered, ‘And do you often speculate on the mechanics of death for those close to you?’
‘Please.’
He gave in, and answered, ‘The alarm is triggered by any of their major systems turning critical. Yes, this could be at the moment before death.’
‘And if their death is instantaneous?’
He answered as he had no choice,
‘Then that moment might be very short-lived. You might have missed a signal.’
‘Regrettable, though unlikely with our technology. However, even in that scenario, you needn’t worry yourself unnecessarily, Doctor. I was thinking on the topic before you got here: I speculated that what you’ve just confirmed to me may have been the case. And even if we missed the briefest burst of an alarm, then there would still be the... remains. And even if those remains fell into hands other than ours, then there would be rumours of this technology appearing again somewhere around the world.
‘This hasn’t happened. So the augurs appear to be good, for the other three at least. There seems no reason to believe that they are not still going strong. And the activities of their injured brethren suggest you programmed into each of them quite enough guile to survive.
‘However, the garden is not so rosy for our walking wounded. Each have suffered awful injuries. One may have fixed himself, but we have no idea for how long these repairs will hold. Meanwhile, the second has survived a serious incident with who-knows-what damage. Doctor, I wonder...’
He cut her off,
‘I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s too much. You tell me that three of my friends I thought lost might be alive; and that two more are dying? You make my life sound like a warzone.’
‘Of course. We can take a break. Though I can only give you ten minutes in here alone. Sergeant Forrest will remain outside.
A look of wonder entered her eyes as she got up to leave though,
‘But it’s fascinating, isn’t it? To know they’re still out there, somewhere...?’ She gestured to the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And with that, she left.
Chapter 9 – Mechanical Devices
Once Eris re-entered the room, then Beck sensed the urgency with which she wished to conduct her investigation. This was no exercise in abstract robot theory – the chase, long dormant, had been re-joined. The artifs were ‘out there somewhere,’ and she wanted them, and as quickly as possible.
Her questions became short, sharp and to the point,
‘Since our department last spoke to you eight years ago, have you had any contact with the artifs?’
‘No.’
‘As of this morning, did you have any idea of where the five were?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know why one was in London?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know why one was in the Lake District?’
‘No.’
‘Can you think of any operational reason why a robot would be in either of those locations?’
‘No.’
‘Then speculate for me.’
Beck knew he wasn’t getting out of this. He answered,
‘These must be places where each had found a way to live undetected. Their primary goals these last eight years would have been to stay hidden and to survive, in that order.’
‘Really in that order?’
‘Christopher didn’t risk detection by the store’s security system until his injuries required it.’
Eris was smiling; and then Beck realised that he had given something away.
‘It’s fine, Doctor,’ soothed Eris, now in the ascendant. ‘I knew it was Christopher. You told us everything eight years ago. You built him taller than the others. We saw his height in the secu
rity film. Christopher, the third robot. Ah, yes,’ she noted, ‘your naming convention. Very neat that, using their initials, saving them the stigma of a number. Named in alphabetical progression. Or, at least until you got to Eliza and Danny. Remind me, why did you change the sequence?’
Burning red with embarrassment, Beck could only submit to the process, and found some comfort in it,
‘The girls’ names were meant to be special. Anna stood for “Anima”, the feminine life force, the psyche, the soul.’
‘Appropriate for your first.’
‘And ELIZA was a famous computer program, one of the first artificial intelligences. And so we named our Eliza in honour of her, although we built her fourth.’
‘And it was Danny in the rock fall, wasn’t it?’
Beck protested, ‘We don’t know that, there are three male robots.’
‘But Doctor, we both know exactly where Bradley is, and it isn’t the Lake District.’
Beck remained silent; and Eris, the clever interviewer, knew not to waste time butting a brick wall. Instead, she moved around it,
‘All right, so you maintain the fiction that Bradley isn’t abroad. He’s not germane to the discussion for the time being. But... you were explaining about Christopher?’
‘Not really. Just that... well, Christopher must have found his sanctuary in London, while one of the others must have found theirs in nature.’
But Eris wasn’t really listening. A small mechanical device had been whirring faintly on the table throughout their talk. Beck had imagined this to be a tape recorder. Now though Eris had her hand to her ear, and Beck realised that the device on the table was relaying their conversation to others behind the wall, perhaps at another location.
‘That’s fine,’ she said to these others and so also to the room. Turning back to Beck, she announced,
‘I’ve had people checking your breathing and body temperature. Neither denote lying or abnormal stresses. It’s clear you know none of this recent affair, there’s no question of conspiracy. Well, no worry.’
‘You mean, you didn’t believe that I was telling the truth before?’
‘You mean, you thought I wouldn’t check?’
Beck had riled at Eris, and Eris had riled right back. He was beginning to admire her in an odd way. She broke the stand-off and continued,
‘Not that we seriously believed you had had any contact – it would have been almost impossible for you to have kept up communications with them. Not that we keep constant tabs on you, you understand. Please don’t go from here with a complex. If anything, we’d rather forgotten about you these years... which isn’t a mistake we’ll make again.’
She held her hand to her ear again, then spoke,
‘Oh, and another thing we’ve just learned regarding the rockfall: the police received a nine-nine-nine call, from a woman. My team have heard the tapes, and they tell me that she was very clear on the matter: insistent of the location, and that there’d been an accident, and that the police must get there right away, but without a clue of what had actually happened or to whom. No local accent – no accent at all, in fact.’
Eris pondered a moment,
‘So, do you want to know what I think, Doctor? That this was another of your robots who picked up the radio signal. And so we can deduce that the message it transmits contains no personal identifying information, but does include location co-ordinates. Am I right?’
Beck’s silence gave her her answer.
‘And we have the caller’s co-ordinates too, or as good as: we know the junction box the emergency call came through from. So that’s a second of your number who’ll be in our charge by nightfall, whether you help us or not.’
Chapter 10 – Ellie’s Tale
Eliza had been a mouthful, what with that sizzling zig-zag zed, and had been quickly dropped. Now the name ‘ELLIE SMITH’ was displayed proudly on the identity badge of the receptionist at the busy office. It hung on a thin metal chain around the neck of the modest and attractive young woman whose photo it bore.
‘You never age a day,’ had joked admiring female colleagues over the years. ‘And that wonderful skin.’
She could only smile and thank them for the compliment, grateful the illusion had been so complete. And she was indeed proud of herself, of how she had been built. She liked her figure and her looks. ‘Though if only they had made me plainer,’ she oftentimes lamented.
To that end, she applied her own efforts. Cosmetics didn’t work with her construction anyway, and so she didn’t have that worry. But her long blond hair, tough and ungrowing, was as entirely stylable as any woman’s, though without the problem of it retaining the shape in which it had dried. Yet she wore it down and slightly over her face; or else tied back in a simple ponytail. Anything not to draw attention.
She could also choose her clothing: that day a simple skirt and patterned blouse, where others wore the bright shapes of the season. She could admire but not indulge, as she didn’t want the attention that these fashions could inspire in male co-workers.
At the reception desk she tugged at her cuffs – a nervous ‘tell’ that was related to the reason why she wore long sleeves each day.
‘You must be boiling,’ some would say. ‘It’s too warm in this sun.’
‘My arms burn up,’ she would answer, while looking coyly downward. For they didn’t know that a year ago she had found a tear in the crease of her elbow. This had since frayed, and she feared it could widen to open up across her entire arm.
‘Spun vinyl’ she was clad in, perhaps her creators’ finest invention. The stuff of old albums, molten hot, spun to thread, woven to golden cloth, and melted on while still warm, all done with the skill of a sculptor applying gold leaf.
And it had served her for eight years, without a moisturiser or anti-ageing cream in sight. Yes, her skin was a modern marvel – as impressive to her as the mind that illuminated her existence, or the carbon-fibre skeleton that formed her frame, or the rubber muscles that moved beneath that skin with the agility of an Olympic diver.
Oh, she thought again of all the things she could have done with such a mind and such a frame. Academia, athleticism, all the joys foretold in her gilded youth. Yet for the lion’s share of her brief existence – barely ten years in all – she had been hiding out in a job that she could perform standing on her head, and doing her best not to stand out.
For eight years she had borne this. At first being undercover had held a thrill of excitement, of being an outlaw, and the hope that it would soon be over. As the years had rolled on though, these hopes had faded.
Then this year she received the first emergency alarm from another robot. It had been a horrible business, received while awake in the middle of the night, in her lockup garage where she used the electric car recharge-point. Her finger, compelled, was tapping out the co-ordinates of somewhere that something awful had happened, though she knew not what or to whom.
She had got online to Christopher straight after. He responded within two hours, not to chide her for risking contact, but to say that the alarm had come from him, and to reassure her all was well.
For the intervening months, she had tried to believe this, until yesterday came another alarm. This time it was in daytime, and she’d had to dash out to a nearby park, where she could rest on the ground behind the hedges and trees, and leave her finger endlessly tapping against the broad roots beneath her.
Afterwards, she had told the office she’d felt sick and needed some air – which was for her as impossible as eating. (Which was another thing she had to cover in the office, forever claiming to have a big tea waiting for her at home, or to be watching her figure.) Yet at least the lie of illness also explained the awful emotional state she had returned in, and allowed her to skip off work early.
Once home, she did a stupid thing and called the police. She had an atlas open, and gave them the name of the nearest landmark to the co-ordinates she’d earlier been tapping. Yet she was proud t
o have done it, however ridiculous, however risky. ‘Let the artifs be found,’ she had said to herself, ‘let us be rounded up; let us suffer whatever fate at whoever’s hands.’ For it could no longer be worse than the death by a thousand cuts that she was enduring.
She thought about her fraying arm, and the shock with which she had detected her first fault, and how since that moment she had been faced with the prospect of her own extinction. She didn’t want to meet that alone. She wondered if the others felt the same, and whether they would want to gather again at some point, even if it meant to give themselves away?’
‘Ellie, I’ve got the Monthly Sales Stats to run again,’ said a colleague who had come over to reception. ‘You couldn’t lend a hand?’
‘Of course,’ she answered, shaken from her reverie. ‘Angela, could you watch the phones?’ Angela was Ellie’s current partner at the front desk, who duly nodded undemonstratively.
Ellie followed the Chief Sales Assistant back into the main office and to his desk.
‘Thanks Ellie, you’re a Godsend.’
‘No problem, Victor. Is it the Pivot Table again?’ With deft fingers she manipulated figures, amended formulas, and tabbed between workbooks. Soon the spreadsheet was behaving as it ought to, and was fit to be emailed to Victor’s boss.
He whispered to her,
‘You know this stuff better than any of us, Ell. Our team’s always got vacancies. Why don’t you apply?’
But she only looked downward, playing with her hair, and answered,
‘Aw, I like my current job.’
‘Really?’ he shot back. ‘Because I see you over there, and half the time you look bored out of your mind.’
She jerked back, shocked. This wasn’t the first time that they had had this discussion, but never before had Victor’s frustration got the better of him. As she moved away, so he took her arm to keep her there, saying,
‘You don’t have to be scared, Ellie. If you’re worried about the interview, It’ll only be with one of us,’ and he gestured across the desks of his team.
But she couldn’t speak. The shy, quiet girl she had adopted as a cover had become the real her. Embarrassed, Ellie pulled herself free and dashed back over to the reception desk.