Eager, p.5
Eager, page 5
Mr. Bell cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
The professor turned to him and smiled almost sadly. “Love, loyalty, kindness, joy, compassion, courage, fear, envy, anger, loss…”
“Feelings?”
“But robots don’t have feelings, do they, Dad?”
Gavin’s father shrugged and looked uncomfortable. The professor continued as if he hadn’t heard them. “You can’t teach those things in computer simulations.”
“You want us to teach—” began Mr. Bell.
Professor Ogden said, “I am not asking you to be its teachers. I am asking you to be its family. EGR3 will learn right and wrong just as your children are learning.”
Gavin could tell by his dad’s face that he was at a loss what to do. He looked as if someone had offered him a fortune and wanted him to eat a rattlesnake in return. Gavin wondered what was the big dilemma. There were many questions that he was longing to ask and he found himself crying out, “But what exactly can it do?”
His father looked at him in surprise. “Gavin …,” he admonished.
“No, no, it’s a good question,” said the professor. “Here I am, asking you to help raise a robot, and yet you came to me in the first place to ask for help.” He laughed. “It struck me as a most fortuitous coincidence. Most fortuitous. You see, EGR3 really can’t be left to its own devices. The moment your father explained that you wanted an assistant for—what’s his name? Grumps—I realized this could be the answer to our problem. It sounds to me as if Grumps is actually very able, apart from his timing problem. He just needs a bit of help, as you say. EGR3 will make an ideal assistant.”
He noticed Gavin’s crestfallen face. “Still waiting for an answer to your question? Tell me first, young man,” he said kindly, “what can you do?”
“I … I don’t know, at least, I know some things, that is …,” stammered Gavin.
“I’m sure you can do many things. But you know, you are still growing up. Well, I would say the same thing about EGR3. We must wait and see. Wait and see.”
While he was speaking the professor had moved closer to the board. He put his head round and beckoned. A figure appeared.
Gavin and his father gasped. For a moment it looked as if a carefully arranged pile of narrow rubber tires were walking toward them. Then they identified a face that had wide rubbery lips, a nub of a nose and round eyes looking somewhat startled.
Professor Ogden was beaming. He placed his hands on the shoulders of the new arrival and announced in an unexpectedly tremulous voice: “Let me introduce you to EGR3.”
“Can I really come home with you? Are you really going to help me learn about life?” The robot’s male voice was warm and surprisingly expressive. “And Professor Ogden says you have another robot…. But I’m forgetting my manners.” He stretched out a rubbery hand. “How do you do, Mr. Bell? And you must be Gavin.” The lips parted in a smile. “I’ve never met a boy before.”
A short time later they were standing on the steps outside the professor’s house, saying goodbye.
“Is there anything else we need to know?” said Mr. Bell nervously.
“I don’t think so,” said Professor Ogden. “I’ll call you in a few weeks to see how things are progressing.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Gavin.”
“I thought I saw something in your lab, a sort of ball….”
“You did,” said the professor carelessly. “Sphere.” He made a move to shake Mr. Bell’s hand and Gavin understood that the subject was closed.
“Could I just ask one more thing? What happened to EGR1 and 2?”
The professor turned back to Gavin. He looked pleased. “I wondered if you would ask that. Let me see, how to put it in a nutshell? Our first model, EGR1, was very successful at learning. Unfortunately each time it learnt something new, it forgot its previous knowledge! We tried everything to improve its memory, but to no effect. We had to dismantle it.” He sighed.
“And EGR2?”
Professor Ogden brightened up. “A great improvement. We learnt from our mistakes and this next prototype could remember everything she learnt. However, that is not necessarily always a good thing. What was worse, she considered every bit of information to be fact. Now, you and I know that cannot be true. If I say it’s a lovely day, and you say it’s cold and wintry, which is the fact? Yet we are both describing the same day.”
“Sounds like she couldn’t reason properly,” observed Gavin.
“That was part of the problem, yes.”
“So did you dismantle her too?” said Mr. Bell.
A shadow passed over the professor’s face. “One day we took her for a walk and came to a road. I said the road was clear and we started to cross. Just then my assistant cried out that a convoy was coming. We humans crossed safely or jumped back onto the curb …” He broke off.
“And the robot?” urged Gavin.
“Paralysis, I’m afraid. Poor EGR2 was so caught up trying to work out which fact was true—reconciling the two beliefs, as we say—that she couldn’t move. Then … crushed by a lorry.”
It conjured up a horrible picture.
“What a waste,” remarked Mr. Bell.
“Not entirely,” said the professor with a nod in EGR3’s direction. The robot had been waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps. He looked up at his creator with a grateful expression. Professor Ogden smiled affectionately, but briefly.
“Time to go,” he said.
CHAPTER 7
Fleur and Marcia had emerged from the ocean floor and were stretched out side by side on Marcia’s large bed. They still wore their simulsuits and had the sensation of lying on warm sand. The sun was high above them and they could hear the gentle lapping of waves. Huge butterflies in dazzling colors flitted across the beach.
Fleur turned her face lazily toward Marcia and was disappointed to see that her friend had sat up and was pulling off her helmet. She did likewise and began to unzip her suit.
Wordlessly Marcia left the bed and opened a drawer of her desk. She pulled out a sheet of paper and with surprising care, almost tenderness, laid it on top of the desk. She chose a thick charcoal pencil and began to sketch, covering the paper with swift bold strokes. Fleur didn’t dare interrupt. She sat cross-legged and waited.
“You can talk to me,” said Marcia. “I can still draw.”
“I was just thinking about the beach. Those smells—coconut and lemon and something piney … I wonder if it’s really like that.”
“Simulations are OK but they’re nothing like the real thing.” Marcia’s expression was casual. Fleur looked at her with wide eyes but she carried on sketching as if she hadn’t noticed.
“How do you know?” said Fleur. “Have you been there?”
Marcia laughed. “Of course. We all have, lots of times. And not just to beaches. Art galleries, museums, famous buildings, ski slopes…”
“But how … There’s not enough petrol. How did you get there?”
“By plane.” She turned round to face Fleur. “You don’t know anything, do you? There’s still enough good oil around, although it’s very expensive to get at it. LifeCorp bought up all the fuel companies and decided to keep it a secret.”
“Why?”
“To save the decent petrol for the important people—the government and the technocrats,” said Marcia. “We don’t want you lot traveling the world, you’ll spoil it. Besides, the oil would soon run out. So we only let you have the recycled stuff and that’s only good for cars.”
“But you’re not—”
“Important? Of course I am! I’m the relative of a technocrat. Anything my dad does, we can do too.”
“What about the rest of us?” said Fleur dully.
Marcia shrugged. “You get to go on holiday and travel to places. You just can’t go far because all you have is recycled petrol.” She gave a little shudder as if she could smell the choking fumes. Fleur felt a mixture of anger and bewilderment. Why had her mum and dad never told her this?
“Does everyone else know?”
“Don’t be silly!” cried Marcia. “I told you it was a secret.” Her face took on a wild expression, and before Fleur knew it she had jumped onto the bed beside her and seized her wrist in both hands. Fleur tried to get free but her friend pulled her arm behind her back, and the harder she struggled the tighter Marcia’s grip.
“You mustn’t tell anyone,” Marcia hissed in her ear. “Promise? It’s for your own good. You’ll only get into trouble, and so will I.” She twisted Fleur’s arm further as if to underscore her point. Tears pricked Fleur’s eyes. She nodded. Marcia released her arm.
“We’d better go downstairs,” she said lightly. “Your tin can will be here soon.”
Something fiery welled up in Fleur. She was not going to walk away from Marcia just like that. “As a matter of fact,” she declared, “we’re buying a new robot. Gavin and my dad are finding out about one this very minute from a world-famous expert. I don’t expect we’ll have an ordinary robot like Boadicea.”
Marcia gaped at her. Fleur stuck out her chin and swept out of the room and down the stairs. Mrs. Morris was standing at the bottom. “Going so soon?” she said. “Wouldn’t you like to stay for supper?”
Fleur always thought her smile was a bit like a robot’s— designed to be flashed on and off. “No, thank you,” she said, determined not to stay a minute longer in the Morrises’ hellish house.
The walk back seemed to take forever. It was dark now and lights blazed from the technocrats’ houses, but the sense of enchantment was lost.
At home she flung off her coat and went to the kitchen to fetch a drink. Grumps was at the table making scones. He had attached a thick metal hook to his arm and plunged it into a bowl of flour and margarine. His arm vibrated slightly as the hook worked the dough. “Good evening, Miss Fleur,” he said. She ignored him and went to the fridge, slamming the door behind her. By the time Grumps had raised his features into an expression of surprise, she had left the room.
Her mother stopped her as she was halfway up the stairs. “Are you all right?”
Fleur nodded, tight-lipped, and carried on up without looking at her mum. Mrs. Bell made to follow her, then thought better of it. Whatever had happened, it would no doubt soon blow over.
Fleur lay on her bed and seethed. Yet again Marcia had been horrible to her. Why did she put up with it? So that she could boast about her friend the technobrat and experience the latest technology before anyone else? She was ashamed to admit this was true. On the other hand … Fleur mentally ticked off Mar-cia’s good qualities. She made Fleur laugh (sometimes even when the joke was at Grumps’ expense); though she was sharp-tempered, it never lasted long; she was full of energy; she made wonderful things; she was pretty; and she took Fleur on simulated adventures. The underwater trip had been fun….
But that isn’t enough to be her friend anymore, Fleur told herself angrily. She wondered whom she could call to tell how unpleasant Marcia had been. It was hard to think of anyone. She had been so flattered by Marcia’s attentions that she had neglected her other friends. They would probably laugh at her comeuppance now.
“House,” she said. A green light appeared on the wall beside the door. “Is Gavin back?”
“No,” said the house, “I believe he is out with your father.”
“I know that!” she snapped. “Switch off.”
There was a knock at the door. It had to be her mum. Mrs. Bell came in, a concerned look on her face, and sat at the end of the bed. “Shall I rub your feet?” she said, and gently kneaded the soles of her daughter’s feet until Fleur began to feel like a small child again.
“Mum, why can’t we go anywhere?”
Mrs. Bell’s hands were still for a moment. She stared at Fleur. “What do you mean? We have holidays, we visit our friends….”
“Not very often! We don’t even go to the city, and that’s next door. And Gavin and I never go out on our own. Sometimes I feel cooped up like a stupid animal.”
“That’s not true, Fleur. You went on your own to Marcia’s house today.”
“Marcia’s house! That’s hardly seeing the world!”
Her mum said brightly, “You can go anywhere you want on the gobey—the pyramids, the Taj Mahal…”
“But it’s not real, is it? And it’s always the gobey that decides what it’s going to be like. You don’t see the ugly bits, or smell anything horrid….”
“You can always ask the gobey to show you.”
“It’s still not the same!” said Fleur. “And we don’t even go anywhere in real life. It’s been ages since we went to Scotland to see Gran and Granddad.”
Mrs. Bell smiled resignedly. “We have to wait our turn for tickets. You know there’s not much fuel.”
“There is for Marcia and the rest of the technocrats. It’s not fair!” Fleur caught her breath as she realized what she had said.
Her mother stopped massaging altogether and looked at her gravely. “How do you know?” she asked.
Fleur lowered her eyes. She didn’t want to relate what had happened at Marcia’s house. Mrs. Bell’s expression became wistful. Then it changed to the look she used to have when telling Fleur a bedtime story. She gave a sigh.
“When I was your age, Fleur, everything seemed to be collapsing about us. Our food no longer nourished us, we couldn’t move for traffic, the rivers and seas were polluted, trees were dying, there were floods and earthquakes and hurricanes and drought…. Much of it was our fault. And while people all over the world were getting richer, a lot of the poor were getting poorer. Some people went on buying and buying things they didn’t really need as if that were the answer to all our problems.
“My mum and dad did their best. They decided that what really mattered in life was their family, their friends, and helping others. Lots of people thought the same and they tried to live more simply….” She broke off. Fleur’s eyes were fixed on her face, which was both thoughtful and sad.
“When I grew up, I didn’t think they’d done enough. Your dad thought the same. There were thousands of us, young people … we demanded healthy food, clean air, but most of all, a fairer system. There was no gobey, but we had something similar and suddenly the whole world could talk to each other. We didn’t want anyone to suffer to produce food or goods for us, whether they lived next door or the other side of the planet. It felt as if everyone was our neighbor.
“Then the petrol began to run out and the real changes began. The air grew cleaner, but we couldn’t use our cars anymore or travel long distances. We began to live as we do now, growing our food locally, and working nearby, with people like ourselves.”
“But there are still poor people and rich people. Look at the people in the city! And the technocrats have everything.” Fleur thought with bitterness of her visit to Marcia.
Her mother stroked her hair. “Did you really think we could have created a perfect world?” She placed her hands in her lap and looked toward the window. “One thing didn’t change. We still turned to the government and the scientists to solve most of our problems. It was easier to do that than change ourselves. Many people thought the new technology would be the answer. The robots came and life did become easier … in some ways.”
“Is that why the technocrats are so important?”
Her mum nodded. “They hold the secrets. They make the technology, they understand it. We let them make the decisions for us so we accept that they have certain privileges, like travel.”
“So everyone knows?”
“They don’t teach it at the learning center, but you would have found out sooner or later.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Marcia thinks we’re old-fashioned.”
Mrs. Bell gave a wry smile. “We certainly don’t live quite as they do.” She stood up. “I’m sorry, Fleur,” she said softly. “We did our best.” She paused at the window, looking out at the night sky as if answers lay beyond the stars. “Gavin and your dad aren’t back yet. Do you want something to eat now?”
“I’ll wait. But I’m not hungry.”
Mrs. Bell bent down and kissed her daughter on the forehead. Her mum seemed so forlorn that impulsively Fleur threw her arms about her neck and kissed her in return. When she was alone again, she hugged her knees to her chest and tried to imagine herself back in the depths of the ocean. Only, this time it would be for real.
CHAPTER 8
There was a disturbance in the house. Glad of a distraction, Fleur ran into the kitchen, where the noise was coming from. Her mum and dad and Gavin were there, their mouths open.
Grumps stood by the table, the dough hook still on the end of his arm, plastered with dollops of flour that were gravitating toward the floor. He didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on a strange white object, about Fleur’s height, in the center of the kitchen.
“What a beginning!” exclaimed Mrs. Bell. “I hope it isn’t damaged.”
The object began to shake itself, throwing off small clouds of white dust.
“I am mortified,” said Grumps. “I intended to switch off my mixing mechanism. Instead I seem to have turned it to full speed. I cannot explain why.”
Mrs. Bell exchanged a glance with her husband. “You were taken by surprise, Grumps. It isn’t every day we have a new robot in the house. I certainly wasn’t expecting one tonight.”
The white object continued to shake. A pair of rubbery hands revealed themselves and clapped together tentatively. Large drifts of flour fell to the ground. The hands clapped again.
“Try jumping up and down,” said Gavin. The object obeyed and the air was thick with flour. Fleur was appalled at the figure that emerged. She looked at her mum to see her reaction, but Mrs. Bell seemed determined to be positive.
“Wonderful, now we can see you properly…. He’s very rubbery, isn’t he?” she added involuntarily. This was true. The robot’s arms and legs, which appeared to be a series of rubber rings, on closer inspection turned out to be single pieces of rubber compressed into a concertina. His body was metal, the color of tarnished bronze. His head was round and rubbery and his neck another series of rubber rings.
