The land running down to the trees was arid grass and sun-parched meadow, quite a difference from the English lawns that George had tended in his earlier life, serving his masters and mistresses in the old country. He pondered this, remembering happy times.
Then, just for a moment, a pinpoint of piercing light.
‘There,’ called his employer. ‘Proof.’
‘A lens,’ judged the assistant. ‘You suspect a paparazzo?’
‘The Chief of Police would have taken care of them. So I wonder who this is, George? Is he a Juju Man? An Odd-Bod on the horizon?’
‘Sorry, sir?’
‘Ignore me, George. Just remembering old stories.’
George was left at odds and ends, which wasn’t a situation he appreciated. He suggested,
‘I’ll call the Chief of Police now, sir. If you wish me to?’
But no instruction came. Eventually his master offered,
‘No, George. Let him give himself away.’
‘Very well.’ George then advised his master in a breezy manner, ‘Mistress is out with Oman, sir, and I have deliveries to collect. But I can stay?’
‘No, George, I’ll be fine. He’ll come no closer.’
And so George left his master as instructed, alone and watching the horizon for Juju Men.
Chapter 15 – Ingrid’s Playmate / Life Behind the Curtain
‘You ask of Ingrid Pitt?’ announced Miss Eris. ‘A transcendent talent. You knew her well, but did you ever see her on stage?’
‘No,’ Beck had to concede.
‘Well, I did, when I was a girl, and I doubt I will ever forget it. In terms of this operation, then right now she holds no interest for me, except to illuminate what an extraordinary man your mentor was, and what a life he had lived.’
Eris continued in admiration, ‘Though for me personally, then what a woman in herself! A rare beauty, an icon of her age, and a tool in the propaganda war. Proof that the West had got it wrong, and that the East German state loved its people and gave them artists like Ingrid. Proof of how freedom from capitalism could unleash the arts, and of how the liberating spirit of socialism could express any human desire, as embodied by the roles she portrayed on stage.
‘And they sent her off around the world to demonstrate this – though always with an invisible leash around her neck, twitching, waiting to snap her back to the GDR.’
‘Sounds like we’ve stumbled on your heroine,’ observed Beck. Was Eris finally giving away something of herself?
‘Maybe,’ she concurred. ‘Yet every love story needs its hero too. And here he was, Schmidt. A scientist behind the Iron Curtain. A questing mind restrained, restricted, as you say, Doctor. Living in the workshops of the past, seeing all that the world had to offer from behind rusting bars.
‘Only allowed out of the country to conferences and meetings. Yet becoming world famous despite it, and welcomed with open arms the moment that government collapsed.
‘And somehow, in that hard, mean society, they found each other. Talent found its likeness and its opposite. I know the story, Doctor Beck. The brain snared by beauty, the scientist and the swan of the stage. And all the time loving in secret.’
But here Beck had to interject,
‘Never secret, they were only ever open about it, whatever the risks.’
‘Forgive my turn of phrase.’ She corrected, ‘Of course they were open. In Eastern Germany there was only ever “open”, the state left nothing closed. Though mightn’t it have been kinder to have simply kept them apart? Instead they let them have their stolen weekends, but they listened, taped, recorded everything.’
Eris diverted from her narrative to ask a question,
‘You know your social history, Doctor. They were both in professions allowed to travel. So why not defect?’
He answered, ‘Because their families would have been persecuted.’
‘Quite right. And so they held on till the Wall came down, and then she fled to the West End stage, and he came bounding after her.’
‘There was rather more to it than that,’ added Beck. ‘The University of Southern England offered funding, premises, assistants like me.’
‘A unique assistant you might have been, Doctor. But he’d have found funding anywhere. And then there was the plastic patent money. And it was that money that bought you your Audi headrests, and which built your blessed five.’
Beck mused, ‘Then it was very precious money indeed.’
Chapter 16 – Personal Advances
‘I’m sorry for taking your arm earlier.’ A man had sidled up to the reception desk. It was Victor again, of the Sales Team. ‘And I didn’t mean to snap at you.’
Ellie looked up, but couldn’t change her expression; as he continued,
‘It’s just that this spreadsheet stuff absolutely kills me, and you just “get” it. I’m hanging on by the skin of my teeth.’
She suddenly saw fear in his eyes. But then he undid all his good work when he said,
‘It’s embarrassing having to ask the receptionist for help.’
She snapped in pique, ‘Oh, I’m sorry I’m so embarrassing.’ But even as she said those words she didn’t recognise herself. ‘No, I don’t mean that,’ she corrected. Meanwhile, Victor was crumpling at the other side of the counter.
Angela had gone, and they were quite alone, a fact that Ellie guessed Victor had waited for before coming over. He then risked digging himself into a deeper hole, though somehow got away with it, with,
‘I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being a receptionist, it’s a good job. But you’re not happy in it, are you. I can see it in your face. Most people don’t notice these things. As long as we turn up every day and do the job then they don’t care if we’re happy or not.’
She brightened slightly, even as she told herself that his kindness couldn’t possibly help her with the true reasons for her unhappiness. He continued,
‘I mean, most of the girls you’re on reception with are only here a few months. They get themselves sacked for bad timekeeping, or move on to other things. Though you’re the cleverest of the lot.’
She couldn’t help but smile. He continued,
‘And that’s what I mean.’
Suddenly she was confused, asking,
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why we’re so similar. The way we think. I want to help you, Ellie. I want to help you to be happy.’ He breathed deeply. ‘Would you come out with me?’
The silence killed them both, he babbled.
‘Tomorrow? Any night you like, anything you want to do.’
But she couldn’t speak.
Just then Angela burst out of the canteen with a gale of laughter following her. At this, Victor turned and left. Ellie called after him, ‘I can’t.’ She hoped she’d said it kindly.
‘What’s up?’ asked Angela, seeing Victor leave. ‘Oh, him. Poor lad. I think you need glasses, girl. He’s had his eye on you for months.’
Chapter 17 – Mechanical Proof
‘So what’s left?’ asked Beck, after Eris had been silent for an age, pondering. ‘The history of the project?’
‘We have all that,’ she answered. Her frustration was making her bitter. ‘Meanwhile you tie me up with tales of eight years ago, all the while keeping me from the urgent task of tracking down your beloveds now. Very clever, Doctor Beck.’
‘I really wasn’t thinking that many steps ahead.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you were. You are very simple now, aren’t you?’ (He bridled.) ‘By which I mean, for a former mind of his generation – you’re probably still about average. Though your brain has gone mushy with your vegetables. You were never a grower, Beck. Don’t pretend your career didn’t end with the project.’
‘So what do you want?’
‘Hmm, your robots. You claim there’s no one in the world to help them. So they’re doing rather well on their own. What I need from you then is anything to help me catch them now. Any other nugget of their systems or ha
rdware that could pose a vulnerability.’
‘I told you everything back then.’
‘Yes, like you told us about their damage signals?’
He nodded wearily, knowing he wasn’t going anywhere.
‘Good, then let us wet our whistles,’ she poured them both a glass of water from the jug, ‘and we can begin.’
Beck suddenly felt a burst of anti-establishment feeling, declaring,
‘And what if I just choose not to help?’
She answered softly but firmly, not skipping a beat,
‘This isn’t a loyalty question: you’re not giving them up, as they’re not yours to give up. They were always the property of the University; and since then, special legislation makes them the property of the Crown, until such time as their identity as conscious individuals can be verified and their citizenship granted.’
‘During which time you’ll keep them locked up?’
‘During which time we’ll keep them very comfortably, and fully maintained; not living on the run and patching themselves up with cycle repair kits.’
He took the point on the chin, though muttering,
‘A gilded cage is still a cage.’
‘Doctor Beck, you have no responsibility to them. Lose that feeling, and you will find all this so much easier.’
At this Beck gripped the arms of his chair even tighter. Although his overall mood was impassive, his indignation had nowhere to go.
Eris continued,
‘And there is also the question of your own future.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, the London Arboretum. It’s such a draw for tourists, and I know that you’ve become attached to the place...’
‘I’m free to work where I want.’
‘...but it must be so hard to keep it running. And what with all their fundraising efforts.’
‘Eric does okay.’
‘Yes, with the half-a-million each year that the Department of Agriculture grant him.’
Beck pushed at the arms of his chair and half-stood. Sergeant Forrest flinched, but Eris didn’t move, just explaining,
‘Did you ever think that we just let you back into the wild? You were always our man, and we kept you where we could see you: safe and in clear view, with no thoughts of grand escapes, thankful of your second chance and knowing full well who had allowed it. And the trade-off for the chance to put in all those years of service at the gardens was that, if or when the situation arose, then we would know where to find you; and that you would know you were to be... helpful.’
‘Lord Eric knew about this?’
‘It was always a part of the agreement; and with no reason why it can’t continue.’ Eris urged, ‘So please, can we get past this infantile stage, and continue?’
Beck felt sick. He looked clearly at the situation: even the last few secrets he’d been trying to hold back had been revealed, and his clever, canny robots were giving themselves away left, right and centre.
Furthermore, the sense was growing that the game was up, and that no matter what he did he would never be allowed back to his life at the Arboretum.
He needed something, and he needed it right then. And then a mind flash,
‘You want mechanical proof?’
‘Yes, anything you can tell us.’
‘Then how about their actual mechanism? Or at least a part of what would become their mechanism?’
‘Go on,’ she said, quelling her enthusiasm.
‘Well, for that you’ll have to let me out.’
Chapter 18 – Field Trip
‘No, I don’t believe you,’ Eris had said at the conference room before allowing Beck to leave. ‘We turned that University upside-down. And Schmidt smashed the extra frames at your country hideaway – not one piece of your materials was left for us to seize.’
‘Well, you’ve mentioned five pieces already.’
‘Gah. And you’re as sure as hell not leading me to any of them.’ She lost her temper, frustrated that he had her over a barrel. If Beck was telling the truth, and there was a forgotten storehouse of materials locked up somewhere, then she had no choice but to follow him. And if he wanted to keep the location of this trove a secret until they got there, then she had no leverage to demand otherwise.
But if he was lying... he would suffer.
By then, though, she had regained enough composure not to say that out loud.
An hour later, and they were travelling through London midday traffic toward Beck’s alma mater, the University of Southern England. He and Eris were in the back of an executive Jaguar, in glorious glassed-off isolation from even her driver and Sergeant Forrest in the front seats. But Beck guessed the car would be fitted out with cameras and a wireless Internet link to her agency’s mainframe. And so he knew that he was still as much under observation as he had been in the conference room. This impression was hardly helped by the eyes of Sergeant Forrest flashing at him in the vanity mirror on the back of the passenger’s sun-visor.
‘Could you have picked a worse time of day to send us on this mission?’ Eris asked Beck.
‘I didn’t really have the opportunity to plan ahead,’ he answered. ‘And I want some promises before we get there.’
‘Well, we’ll see about that when I see what you’ve brought me.’
‘No.’
She gasped. But this was no mere petulance from Beck. He had a plan now, and for that certain buttons needed to be pushed. He went on in his self-justifying vein,
‘I mean, it’s over, right? Whatever borrowed time I’ve been on has been called to an end. For whatever reason, you’re treating me like this today – I no longer even pretend to understand your motives. But after today I’m useless to you. Where will I go? To prison, or be disappeared?’
She groaned, ‘This is England. No one gets “disappeared”!’
‘I’ve been disappeared, the man I was. He’s nowhere to be seen.’
‘Stop being dramatic.’
‘Well, do you want to see this thing or not?’
‘Yes,’ she confirmed.
‘Then I want a promise.’
‘Okay then, I promise.’
‘No, not just words. I want confirmation.’
‘Well, I don’t have a Bible handy, so what should I swear on?’
‘Just say it in front of witnesses, wind down the window.’
‘You’d really have me do this?’ she asked.
Beck’s silence confirmed that he would.
‘Okay.’ She pressed the button to slide down the glass partition, and asked the driver, ‘Charlie, the Doctor here is worried I’m going to disappear him. Where are you going to drop him off today, when we’re finished?’
‘Right back home with his wife and kiddies,’ chortled the man.
‘Thank you.’ Turning to Beck, ‘Good enough?’
He nodded like a child told he wouldn’t have to visit a hated aunt tomorrow. She pressed the button again to re-seal the divide.
‘Well,’ she breathed again. ‘I’m glad we have that sorted out.’
Beck breathed too. For this was a one-shot deal, and he couldn’t put a foot wrong.
Chapter 19 – History
After Beck’s minor outburst had been settled, Eris soon regained her composure, and her fondness for questions,
‘With this traffic then it looks as though we’re stuck in each other’s company for a little while yet. Maybe we ought to go over the history after all? And it might be useful after all this time.’
‘Okay,’ groaned Beck. ‘Fire away. Anything to save the boredom.’ Though it was tension he needed saving from. She began,
‘So, you and Schmidt found this mutual interest, but what did you do with it? I mean, you both had to earn your keep at the University.’
‘Right. Part of the deal when Schmidt chose the University of Southern England was for there to be the creation of a new Department of Industrial Design. Within it Schmidt took up a Professorship in Physics and Mechanical Science
s, and this meant he had to teach. My job was to assist with lessons and tutorials.
‘Above and beyond this though, were our new-found interests. These took the form of a special project, a part-time secondment from our regular duties, and funded partly by a special grant from Sir Arthur Wheeler, the old Director of the University, whom Schmidt had around his little finger.’
‘How so?’
‘Schmidt was a scientific superstar, a refugee from behind the Iron Curtain; and then he went and chose Wheeler’s university – Wheeler would have given Schmidt anything.’
‘Perhaps he gave him too much?’
‘Perhaps. Anyway, it wasn’t all University money – there were Schmidt’s own funds of course, and other funding sources, whose nature I wasn’t to discern for a while.’
‘And what was the special project?’
‘To give it its full title, “Research into the Patentable Applications of New Technologies.” Schmidt convinced Wheeler of how valuable it could be to the University to get patents on uses of some of the new materials coming out at that time. Such as the new EVPs...’
‘EVPs?’
‘Electro-variable-plastics. Basically the thing that lets you press a button on your car seat and the foam expands to wrap around your sides. But it was new then, and they spoke a lot of how it might be used in areas where a controlled, variable charge could affect a piece of material in a predictable way: for instance, a pulsing current animating a replacement heart valve; a rubber tube around a knee providing movement in a weak leg; even synthetic muscle. After all, muscle is only electrically variable flesh, contracting and releasing when the signals come and go from the brain. So why couldn’t we think about replicating it? A couple of patents taken out on items like these, and it would have paid for all our other researches for years to come.’
‘So how did it work?’
‘When Schmidt took me under his wing as his apprentice, the idea was that as I worked toward my doctorate so I would begin taking classes myself, mentoring and tutoring undergraduates. We created new after-hours classes in our new Department of Industrial Design. And just as Schmidt and I were of different disciplines, so we opened up the classes to any student at the University.
‘We treated the whole thing as extra-curricular, a break from their main courses. The whole point was that it should be fun and social and different. But we made sure that the students would gain credits toward their main courses, in whatever way possible.