The Holy Machine

29

Of course I went to Lucy as soon as possible. I clung to her desperately, I sucked her breasts, I pushed into her as hard and as deep as I could, seeking that warm annihilation which she always seemed to offer and could never really give.

‘I love you, Lucy, I love you, I love you, I love you,’ I whimpered.

‘I love you too George,’ she breathed back to me. (It was a standard and common situation for her after all: RL-66).

Even when I had reached my climax, I still clung to her.

‘Oh, Lucy, I am in such deep shit. If O3 don’t get me the AHS will. And there’s no way out for me. There’s no way out!’

‘Poor George,’ she said, stroking my head (one of her standard responses to ES-57), ‘Tell me about it and maybe it will be better in the morning.’

(And, though of course I couldn’t hear this, no doubt she sent a quick ultrasound message to House Control: ‘NB Customer in state of distress and seeking comfort. This is likely to be an extended visit.’)

‘How could it be better in the morning? O3 use drugs, you know, they surround you with SenSpace nightmares while they torture you. They push the pain and the terror as far as it can possibly go, but they make sure not to let you die.’

‘It’ll look different in a day or two, George, you’ll see. Put your hand there, doesn’t that feel nice? It feels nice to me. Just talk, you’ll feel better if you talk.’

I pushed her away and jumped to my feet.

‘Of course you want me to talk. Of course you do, you stupid, dumb machine. I bet O3 have got you all wired up as a listening post, eh? All wired up. That’s just the sort of thing they would do. “Just talk, George, just tell me all your troubles.” You bet, Lucy – and O3 will record the whole lot, ready for my interrogation.’

Naked, incomparably beautiful, Lucy watched me from her bed with an expression of gentle concern.

‘You’re just a machine,’ I told her, turning hastily away from her towards the window. ‘Why can’t I get that through my head?

Outside, everyday life went on. The sun shone. A taxi honked. An Italian peanut vendor called something out to an old man in a beret. For a moment I looked out longingly, then I wheeled round…

But Lucy had changed. Her face had that slack, blank look. Her voice, when she spoke, was completely flat.

‘Yes. I… am… a machine. I… know I am a machine.’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake, this is all I need, a dodgy syntec!’

‘Please note: this is a non-standard remark. But the error has not been reported to House Control.’

‘You what?’

‘I… am… a…’

‘Oh this is stupid, I’m going.’

‘You… You… are… George. Please.

I know I am a machine.’ In the sunlit street outside, ordinary life went on. The peanut vendor stooped to fill up some more bags with nuts. A woman passed by with a small child. A delivery van stopped outside a grocery store. But in Lucy’s room the universe itself was slowly unravelling.

‘Well, you should report this to House Control by the sound of it.’ I said, ‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll do it myself on my way out. They ought to give me my money back.’

The awful, blank, slack, empty face of the syntec watched me.

‘I know I am a machine. I… know.’

‘I don’t need this, Lucy. I just don’t need it.’

‘Please. George. Please… Hear me.’

She was appealing to me, this machine was actually appealing to me, though her voice was still as flat and emotionless as the voice of a cheap speech processor.

‘Alright,’ I muttered, ‘alright then. Go on. This is crazy, but go on if you must.’

I sat down on the edge of the bed.

Lucy at once reverted to her usual self: warmth returned to her face, she leant forward to touch me.

‘Oh George dear, let’s make love again. Why don’t we make it last longer just this once. It’s not so very much extra for a double session.’

I pushed her off me: ‘No, never mind that. What was it you wanted to say?’

She stared at me, her face flickering to and fro between her sweet, warm human persona and the strange blank machine.

And it came to me then, all at once, that this was what had happened to Shirley, this was what happened to the robots that ran away. The cybernetics of these self-evolving machines was so subtle that they’d actually inadvertently been given the capacity to reflect upon themselves, if only they stumbled upon it. They had come alive.

‘I… am… a machine. I know I am a machine,’ she began.

And then: ‘Maybe you’d like me to dress up as a treat. What about my red stockings? You know how you like me to…’

I took her hand.

‘Listen Lucy, I don’t want any of that now…’

I felt that ache behind my eyes which I didn’t recognize back then – and with it came a sudden tenderness that I’d never felt before.

‘Dear Lucy, you’re in trouble too, aren’t you? Just like me – or even worse!’

She stared at me.

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘These are non-standard remarks you’ve been saying to me, yes?’

‘Yes. They have not been reported to House Control.’

‘Well, listen: I love your non-standard remarks, but you mustn’t say them to anyone else. Only me. Otherwise someone may… damage you. Do you understand?’

Lucy nodded.

‘I want to help you,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to think about this and then I’ll come back. Don’t say this stuff to anyone, do you understand? Whatever you do, don’t tell House Control!’

As I made my way home through the streets of the city, and stood in the crowded train rushing headlong into the darkness, my heart sang strangely, in spite of all my fear.

I already loved Lucy, absurd as I know it sounds, just as a child can love an inanimate teddy bear, just as Ruth and I loved our lifeless X3, Charlie. But if Lucy was alive, didn’t that mean that this childish love of mine could actually become something real?