Крис Бекетт: The Holy Machine

‘No thank you.’

Lucy was wearing her little, sleeveless denim dress. She settled on the bed, tossing back her hair, curling her legs up underneath her, in that graceful, teasing way that I normally found irresistible.

She smiled.

‘You look tired. What do you want to do, George? Talk a bit? Shall I tell you about what I used to get up to with those naughty sisters of mine? Or do you want to watch me undress? Or do you just want to…’

‘You’re not real, Lucy.’

She laughed, apparently unabashed.

‘I mean, look at this stupid room,’ I said, ‘Those books. You can’t even read can you?’

‘I can read. Sometimes visitors like to write things down they want to do, if they are feeling a bit shy. Would you like to do that George?’

I grabbed one of the books from the shelf and flipped through the pages: Science Fiction in the Twentieth Century .

‘ The characters lack depth ,’ I read, opening it at random, ‘ and it’s obvious that the relationships between them are of much less interest to themselves or the author than their relationship with technology. It is as if the latter has become a substitute for… ’

I flipped impatiently to the table of contents.

‘Go on then,’ I said. ‘If this is your book, tell me the names of some twentieth century science fiction writers!’

Lucy smiled: ‘Heinlein, Asimov, Aldiss, Ballard…’ she began.

I was surprised and, very grudgingly, impressed by the thoroughness of her programming.

‘You could have got that just from the contents page. Okay then: Asimov, Heinlein… Tell me some of their books!’

Lucy looked at me with her beautiful, gentle eyes.

‘ I, Robot ,’ she began, ‘ Stranger in a Strange Land… ’

I tossed the book aside.

‘Oh well, so you’re programmed to load up information. So what? You’re still empty. It’s not even as if Lucy is the only person you can pretend to be is it?’

‘Do you want me to play another role? The menu is there beside you.’

I picked it up.

‘ Jolene ’ I read, ‘ A real hard bitch from New York City… Rigmor: The Swedish Doctor who likes to be in charge… La Contessa… ’

I shrugged.

‘Okay then, let’s see you do La Contessa .’

The transformation was instant and total: body language, facial expression, everything became languorous, sensual, aristocratic…

And when La Contessa spoke it wasn’t just the accent that was different, but the voice itself, deep and husky, completely unlike Lucy in every way…

‘I am so ashamed, but I need sex now. Do you understand me? I need eet very badly. My husban’, thee count, he ees a good man, but he ees – ‘ow can I say? – too good…’

‘Alright then, be Rigmor .’

Again, instant transformation: Rigmor was stern and stiff and harsh.

‘Please to remove your clothing, and I will begin the examination…’

‘Oh for god’s sake, forget it. Just be yourself…’

Be herself? Herself?

The face of the syntec suddenly became slack and empty. Its limbs froze. Its mouth hung slightly open. It was like my vision of the syntecs in the lounge after the customers had all gone home.

‘I mean be Lucy !’ I cried out in horror.

Lucy smiled. She tossed back her hair. She asked me what I’d like to do now?

Ruth was off in SenSpace. Well, if she expected me to get her out of there, she could think again. She could decide for herself whether she wanted pressure sores.

Charlie came humming out of the kitchen. He couldn’t speak any more, so he just hovered near me waiting for instructions. I ordered a drink.

The TV was still switched on. The President of Illyria was on the screen: stern President Ullman, emerging from the Executive Council Building flanked by Goliath security robots.

‘Our state is a refuge for Reason,’ he announced, in a hoarse, slightly shaky voice, ‘a place where Reason can shelter until the rest of the world recovers its senses. In the old world, Reason was humble: it took its place beside archaic and irrational beliefs and trusted to the human race to be able to see the difference. Then the Reaction came and we were asked to renounce Reason on pain of torture and death. Never again will we be humble, never again will we leave Reason undefended, never until we have rooted out from the world, once and for all, the causes of irrationality.’

He hesitated here. He was an old man. He fumbled with his notes.

‘Illyria is the most powerful state on Earth, not because of its size or population but because of Reason. Religion and irrationality can only raise frightened rabbles. The power of Reason created the jet engine, the atomic weapon, the energy source of cold fusion, the speed of Discontinuous Motion, the formidable systems of cybernetics.

‘And we will use our power. We will not tolerate the destructive power of irrationality and superstition in our midst. We will never again be fooled by talk of tolerance, or seduced by the idea that irrationality and superstition are decorative and harmless.’

And again he hesitated here, not through confusion or tiredness, I now realized, but through an effort to contain his immense rage.

‘I make the following decrees with immediate effect,’ he went on:

‘One. 4,000 known or suspected troublemakers in the guest-worker community will be expelled tonight to their countries of origin.

‘Two. No assembly of more than three guestworkers to take place in any public place, on pain of deportation or imprisonment.

‘Three. Possession of religious emblems to be punishable by immediate deportation.

‘Four. There will be a total ban on the publication or distribution of documents and electronic materials promoting irrational and superstitious ideas, or undermining the defence of Illyria in any other way.

‘Five. Our armed forces are to be maintained in state of red alert until further notice. We will respond without mercy to provocation by any other state.

‘Six. With immediate effect, public funding for the Unskilled Labour Replacement program is to be doubled.’

He lowered his notes.

‘I attach the utmost importance to this last decree. The program has not proceeded with sufficient speed. Illyria has been distracted by voices criticizing the expense of this program, and by malicious and unfounded rumours of technical problems.

‘No expense is too great to ensure the security of our state. And, just as our external security depends on our armed forces, our internal security depends on the possession of a reliable labour force. We must end our dependence, once and for all, on uneducated human beings.

‘In support of this last decree I will appoint tomorrow a new Secretary for Labour Replacement, who will answer directly to myself. The publication of reports and opinions critical of the program is henceforth a criminal offence.’

The President turned to one of the Goliath robots, which passed him one of those clay figurines.

Ullman held it aloft and slowly ground it into dust, declaiming as he did so: ‘No spirits, no ghosts, no angels or devils, no god, no heaven, no hell, no mysteries, no holy books! None of that is to be suffered in our Illyria. Only those things which can be measured, only those ideas which can be tested against empirical evidence!’

I was utterly exhausted. The voices became blurred and confused. Ullman’s muffled voice seemed to be shouting up from the bottom of a deep hole in the ground. When the commentator’s voice-over came on, I had the vague impression that we were involved in some sort of rescue bid here at the surface, and that perhaps I was being asked to find some rope. I’d have to watch out though because otherwise I might…