So this will be three parts, not two. It ran away with me (surprise surprise).
Thank you to: Winter-Grown-Lily, IggyButt, neighborehood, Jellybean-chan and two Guests!
Deity
II
The skin was changed: HMS Prospero was now HMS Mercury, a holograph fitted in the fashion of a late Victorian battleship, iron-bellied and grim. These were still fashionable outside the cities; and now that they were over the borders, it made sense to alter to something that would blend in. After all, the authorities would be looking for the Prospero, a rainbow-domed sloop.
Arthur raised the forcefield about the holograph heart - now in the shape of the Mercury, transparent and miniature. This he kept safe below decks - up above there was too much interference from other holographs.
He left the chamber, heading back up the steps. He wondered where Alfred had got to; still mooning about up on deck, perhaps. There was no-one for him to talk to, though. Everything was mechanised on modern ships and there was no need for a crew. Some of the bigger ones had navigator-bots but they weren't terribly talkative anyway; as it was, Arthur had always sailed alone. He preferred it that way: he could go where he wanted when he wanted and he never had to share out his spoils. Still, Alfred's company was very welcome. He had been planning this for quite some time, he a great pirate captain and Alfred his loyal hand, his lover and assassin. Together they would conquer the solar system.
Alfred was not on deck. Frowning, Arthur checked the subdued bridge (replacing the glittering dome) but found that empty, too; so he went to his quarters, wondering if maybe Alfred had retired. His system was old, after all. Perhaps he needed constant recharging.
Alfred was within his quarters - not recharging, just sitting on the bed very patiently...
...the way he did when he was awaiting a client.
"Alfred?"
Alfred sprang to his feet, beaming.
"Arthur! I've been waiting for you."
"I... can see that." Arthur took off his hat, hanging it on the hook behind the door. "Why are you holed up in here? I thought you'd want to... well, see the sights?"
"I wanted you to know that I'm grateful," Alfred said, coming closer. "For freeing me."
He didn't sound it, particularly. This sounded a bit rehearsed.
"You're welcome," Arthur said guardedly. He was wary as Alfred came to him and took his hands. "Alfred, I-"
"Hush." Alfred put his fingers to his lips, quietening him; then kissed him gently, quick and chaste. Just a taster. "I wanted to thank you, Arthur..."
Holding his hands, Alfred began to lead him towards the bed. He was slowly undoing his shirt one-handed, watching Arthur intently all the while. His blue eyes were dark, sultry (but it was an effect, a deliberate and electronic dyeing, Arthur had seen it so many times before).
For months and months Arthur had imagined this: when Alfred was finally his, taking him down to this chamber, owning him upon this very bed...
But now that it came to it, he found himself resisting. The gild had come off the image - because in his fantasy, Alfred hadn't behaved like this, business-as-usual. In his mind, the sex, the reunion, would have been more victorious, more hard-won - because Alfred, now freed, wouldn't have wanted sex, it would have been the very last thing on his mind. To persuade him into bed, unpaid, would have the homecoming. Then - yes, then - would Arthur know that he was loved.
"Alfred, no," he said quietly. He felt desperately sad all of a sudden and held back, making Alfred falter. "Not... not so soon, it's-"
Alfred shook his head.
"But I wanted to thank you," he said.
"I know." Arthur pulled free, running his hands through his hair. "It's just... well, you don't have to... you know, thank me. Like that, I mean."
Like a transaction.
"But I don't know how else to," Alfred said. He seemed quite frustrated. "Arthur, I just-"
"Well, you can just say it," Arthur cut in. "Can't you?"
"But you're not happy," Alfred argued. "I can sense it. And I'm grateful to you so I want you to be happy."
"Th... that won't make me happy."
"It will." Alfred nodded. "It always does."
At this point Arthur knew he would be cruel to suggest otherwise - even though, of late, he hadn't been going to Alfred for sex but for his company.
"Yes," he said faintly. "Yes, of course it does."
"Then let me." Alfred seized on him again, pulling. "A-and if you're worried about me releasing hallucinogens again, I promise I won't lose my focus. I'll keep a good eye on it!"
The hallucinogens were the least of Arthur's worries: of course, ex-military, Alfred was massively strong and now his mind was made up. Arthur could no longer resist.
"Alfred, it's really not necessary," Arthur protested, led to the bed as to the gallows. "I'm not unhappy-"
"You are," Alfred said. "I sense it."
"Humans take moods - you wouldn't understand-"
"I understand the needs of my clients," Alfred said; he easily lifted Arthur, dropping him onto the bed.
"I am not your client!" Arthur snapped, righting himself.
"My master, then," Alfred said lightly; he clambered over him, his weight pinning him in place.
"No, not your master, either!" Arthur tried to push him off. "Alfred, get off at once!"
Alfred looked down at him very intently.
"Is that an order?" he asked.
"No, just...!" Arthur pushed and pushed at him but couldn't move him a millimetre. "Fine, yes! It's an order! Get off!"
"Of course, Arthur." Alfred relented immediately, sliding off. Arthur sat up, a bit winded from the Artificial's weight.
"Thank you," he said coolly, rubbing at his middle.
"You don't have to thank me," Alfred replied. "It was an order. I always obey orders."
"And if I hadn't ordered you?" Arthur asked bitterly. "What then?"
Alfred shrugged. He seemed noncommital.
Arthur snorted.
"I doubt you would have forced yourself on me."
"I don't know," Alfred said. "Maybe. I don't have forethought, so I don't know."
"Well, I don't expect anyone has ever refused you before," Arthur muttered.
Alfred shook his head.
"I'm a service Artificial," he said. "Clients come to me for pleasure. They give me orders. I obey them."
"You don't have to do any of that anymore!" Arthur was exasperated.
Alfred actually scowled at him - or the closest he could get to one, anyway.
"I'm programmed to obey orders, Arthur," he said. "I was built to be a soldier."
"A soldier, yes," Arthur replied. "Not a sex slave."
Alfred looked at the floor.
"They're about the same," he said. "...From what I remember, which isn't a whole lot."
"Not much grounds for comparison, then," Arthur said coldly.
"I wish you'd just let me do what I'm programmed to do!" Alfred exclaimed; it was the nearest to cross that Arthur had ever seen him. "You're making me confused!"
"Well, then perhaps you need to be reprogrammed," Arthur said. He refused to back down.
"I probably still won't be what you want me to be," Alfred snapped. "I'm not a Synthetic, okay? I'm not designed so... so you can marry me or whatever it is you want from me! I'm a basic military model. I take orders. I kill people, I fuck people. That's it."
"That's not true," Arthur argued. "You're very advanced, Alfred. I've seen state-of-the-art Synthetics who can't hold half a conversation-"
"Yeah, well, I'm not a human, in any case," Alfred said abruptly. "I wish you'd stop treating me like one."
Arthur looked at him. He said nothing. He felt humiliated - more by himself than by Alfred, whom he knew to have no malice in him. He hadn't the capacity for it.
"Guess I'll just be blunt," Alfred said, meeting his gaze. "To thank you for getting me out of Xanadu, I would like to pleasure you. Is that alright with you?"
"No," Arthur said bitterly. "It isn't."
"So you don't want me to?"
"No."
"Okay." Alfred got up, nodding. He didn't seem angry anymore; in fact he looked relieved to at least have things spelled out for him. "Then when you want to."
He did up his shirt, crossing the room. Arthur watched him go. He hadn't even undone one button but he felt torn open, unable to gather himself together.
"I don't want you to shag me because you feel you owe me!" he shouted at Alfred. "That's even worse than me paying for it!"
Alfred stopped. Again he was clearly perplexed.
"But you always paid for it before," he said. "Anyway, now I'm paying you. What's wrong with that?"
"Because that's not what love is!" Arthur knew he was off his rocker, screaming at a robot about love, but he didn't care.
Of course Alfred just tilted his head.
"Love? What's that?"
"Nothing." Arthur flopped back on the bed. He was exhausted. "Get out. That's an order."
"Of course." No offence taken, no further questions; Alfred simply left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Arthur rolled over, burying his face in his pillow. He was upset and angry and completely mortified by how much of a mistake he'd made. Alfred was a songbird; he belonged in a pretty cage, an exquisite thing, out of reach, for pleasure only. Uncaged - and what was to be done with him? All he wanted was to sing and he didn't need the bars for that.
And Arthur, meanwhile, what a fool to covet something so empty, to fall in love with a smile. It wasn't Alfred's fault, of course. He knew nothing of the pedestal that, since Arthur first set eyes on him, he had been placed upon. He didn't understand.
Robots have no forethought. They do not dream.
The fire, at least, was real. Arthur sat on the floor before it, eating an apple. The main parlour was a Baroque style, heavy on the gold accents and red velvet. He was actually somewhat bored of it but he only had the one holograph and it was preferable to a plain room.
Alfred was still hovering determinedly around him, although Arthur had managed to distract him with a box of old salvage: broken bits and pieces of god-knows-what from raids. There was big money on the black market and at outposts for pre-war things that technology had since rendered redundant: telephones with cords, pieces of cars, video tapes, cigarette lighters, books. All illegal, of course - the authorities didn't want people remembering too much - but there were plenty of collectors willing to pay big money for their private hoardes. The money made the job worth the risk in Arthur's book.
Alfred came over, easing himself down onto the rug. Arthur glanced at him: he was holding a small wooden doll, badly battered. It had once been red but most of the paint had flaked off, leaving a rust-coloured tint to the wood beneath. Arthur dimly remembered it but couldn't remember where he'd got it from. A job-lot, maybe. It wasn't worth anything, regardless. No collector would want it in that condition.
"What's this?" Alfred asked, holding it out.
"It's a child's toy, I think," Arthur replied. "Looks like it was a wooden soldier. They used to make sets of them."
Alfred turned it over, frowning.
"It doesn't look like a soldier," he said.
"They used to wear uniforms like that."
"When?"
"I don't know. A long time ago."
"Red's kind of a stupid colour," Alfred said. "I bet their enemies saw them a mile away."
"I expect they did." Arthur finished his apple. "It was probably so the blood didn't show up."
"Oh." Alfred reached out, setting the toy soldier down on the floor. It wobbled a little but held its balance, standing on its own. "...I like it."
"You can have it, then." Arthur tossed his apple core onto the fire. It went up with a bright spark and a sizzle of juice.
He had always made nicer gifts to Alfred: enamelled combs, gilt coffee spoons, pieces of decorative mirror - though, now knowing that Francis had taken them, bitterly wished he hadn't. Still, he was surprised Alfred liked a ruined wooden toy so much.
"Can I really?" Alfred looked at him.
"Yes. It's not worth anything."
"Thank you, Arthur." Alfred picked it up again, clutching it in his cold pearly hand. "I'll treasure it - and Francis can't take this one off me."
"That bastard," Arthur seethed. "I bet he sold them."
"Were they worth much?"
"Not really - but he would have got a few coins for them."
"You shouldn't have given them to me," Alfred said.
"I know." Arthur looked at him wryly. "What can I say? I'm stupidly besotted with you."
He didn't expect Alfred to understand that word, either; so he was surprised when the 704 sat up straighter on hearing it.
"Besotted," Alfred said. "Similar to 'love'; an obssessive and overwhelming desire for or towards an object of affection."
Arthur blinked.
"That's... the scientific way of putting it," he said. He narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that? You didn't understand the word before."
"I calibrated my system with that of your ship," Alfred replied cheerfully. "Once I was online, I was able to do a database search for the word 'love'. I was intrigued. You seemed pretty hung up on it. It was much easier than I expected - my system was able to integrate with your ship's interface with very little resistance."
"I see," Arthur said coolly. He didn't expect that Alfred's understanding was any further embellished, all the same. "And your thoughts on the matter?"
"Obssession." Alfred was fidgeting with the toy soldier. "A word with negative connotations. A sense of devouring."
"Well, yes, if you do insist on putting it scientifically," Arthur said bitterly, "then there's not much good to say about it - but then you could say the same about war and sex."
"But war and sex are mathematical," Alfred said, "so I understand them."
Arthur rolled his eyes impatiently. He realised that he had never spent so long with Alfred, never attempted to hold such an extended dialogue with him. It was exhausting - but payout for his idiocy, thinking it would be simple to shack up with a machine who thought in binary.
"I wish I understood, though," Alfred went on. "I want to know why it's good."
"Why what's good?"
"To be obssessed."
Their eyes locked. Alfred's electric blues were potent, going beneath his clothes, searing deep into his skin.
"It's not good," Arthur said, low-voiced. He wanted to start easing himself away. "It's stupid, it's..."
"Mm?" Alfred crawled closer to him.
"It's not just about sex." Arthur put his hand to Alfred's shoulder, stopping him. "I mean, there are other ways... of, well..."
"Humans desire physical closeness," Alfred said. "Or, at least, most of them express need for it in some form or other. That's why places like Xanadu are such big business."
"Indeed - places that sell happiness in short bursts," Arthur said coldly.
Alfred shrugged.
"Isn't that what people want?"
Arthur sighed, looking at the fire.
"I suppose so," he muttered. He felt defeated. "Freedom from abject misery, bought in one-hour slots. Bury your woes inside a jewel-skinned ex-soldier."
"Sshh." Alfred rubbed at his cheek. "It's okay." He blinked, withdrawing his hand; his thumb was wet. "Water...?"
"It's nothing." Arthur wiped at his eyes on his cuff. "It's... I just..."
"Okay." Alfred gently took his face and kissed him. The conversation was over.
Athur didn't resist him. There didn't seem to be much point; this was the only form of communication Alfred seemed to have any real grasp of. He let the Artificial push him to the rug, slide his legs apart, undo his clothing. Alfred was gentle, attentive; twice he asked if Arthur wanted to. Both times Arthur answered yes, watching the fire. He couldn't make him understand.
The cold pulse of Alfred's mouth on his skin, the static of his fingertips; Arthur was a bystander to this programmed worship, the Artificial's route over his body familiar, rehearsed. He gave in because it was easier, because it was less painful than the lesson - that humans were stupid, notorious for not wanting what they thought they did. Letting Alfred fuck him was far less humiliating.
It was simply a transaction. Nobody had to be wrong.
Arthur took his teacup to the bridge - late Victorian, painted with blue roses - to prepare for entering into the outpost. Alfred was still hanging around him, all but in his shadow, which Arthur found to be deeply annoying.
"Stay back, will you?" Arthur flapped his hand at him irritably. "I need to concentrate."
"Sorry." Alfred hung back, fidgeting with the toy soldier.
Arthur sank into the chair before the control panel, setting his teacup aside. Port Opal was the largest outpost - a small town in its own right - but manouvering into it was tricky; there were several safeguards in place to prevent the police or other unsavoury forces from cruising in. Arthur held his breath in guiding HMS Mercury through the gauntlet of solar blades designed to rip open the hull of a large or careless ship. He was a practiced hand at it but he still needed to concentrate.
They came to the gate, a great arc just at the entrance of the harbour plate. Now the screens at the control panel linked and initialised as the gate began its check.
HMS Britannia
Captain Kirkland, Arthur
No. of holographs: 3
HMS Prospero, HMS Mercury, RMS Fitzgerald
Access: APPROVED
A pale green sheet of light came down from the gate, as fine as a veil. This was the scan - to check for law enforcement weapons and the like. Arthur began to slowly nudge the Mercury forwards, the scan passing though the ship. Arthur couldn't help but close his eyes as it passed through him, he couldn't help it even though it was painless; he opened them again, shaking his head, to watch the completion bar crawling higher-
There was an explosive sound from behind him and the ship shuddered violently. The screens all flipped over to ERROR, the message flashing in bright scarlet. Arthur looked over his shoulder, finding that the holographic interior of HMS Mercury's bridge was peeling away, replaced by flat static images of...
"Alfred!"
The 704 had collapsed in a heap, quivering, surrounded by jumping, disjointed pictures of the warzone. They capered over the walls of the ship like creatures from a nightmare, kaleidoscoping over the contours. Arthur pulled himself from his chair, going to Alfred's side. He seized the Artificial's shoulder, shaking him. There was no response.
"Fuck, you're still online, aren't you?" Arthur hissed; he realised that Alfred obviously hadn't severed the link when he'd done his search for the meaning of 'love'. He knew he couldn't reboot him while he was still online - it would damage the ship's system. He could only hope that Alfred's malfunctioning core hadn't wreaked havoc already...
He went back to the control panel, fumbling around with the keys to try and override Alfred's system failure. ERROR remained steadfast on the circle of screens, however, and Arthur had no choice but to forcibly eject the remote, dragging it out with his fingers. The ship gave a sigh and everything went dark, leaving just the husk to drift through the scan.
Alfred stirred, pushing himself up on his hands.
"Wh-what happened?" he asked dazedly.
"You almost destroyed my bloody ship," Arthur snapped. He could barely see him - just the bright blue of his eyes glowing. "We've got to get that core malfunction of yours seen to."
"Can it be fixed?"
"I expect so, with the right parts. I know someone here in Port Opal who can take a look at you." Arthur glared at him. "In the meantime, do not try to integrate your system with my ship'sn again."
"I'm sorry."
"Hm." Arthur said nothing more, turning away to slot the remote back in. It clicked into place and the ship's heart restarted, thrumming through the walls. The lights all came back on, the HMS Mercury holograph back in place, and the screens spread themselves into their familiar arc, rushing through the vast numbers of the initialisation process.
Alfred shakily got up, coming to Arthur's side. He was careful to keep his distance, though, not venturing too close to the control panel.
The main screen resettled to the scan progress bar: 97%, 98%, 99%...
It was no sooner complete than one of the secondary screens enlarged, superimposing itself over the scan bar. It was a live feed from the harbour plate; Ludwig Beilschmidt, a severe-looking 901-Z, appeared.
"Kirkland," he said crisply. "Your ship went offline during the scan. Do you have anything to declare?"
"A malfunctioning Model 704," Arthur replied.
"Legally purchased?"
"Negative."
Ludwig nodded.
"I'll need to come aboard," he said.
"Of course." Arthur tapped in the release code for the hull door. The live transmission ended, leaving the screen blank.
"What's happening?" Alfred asked, clutching at his soldier.
"A manual check, that's all," Arthur said. "The scan is supposed to make sure everything is above board - so to speak - but in the event of an imcomplete scan, they'll check in person."
"What are they looking for? Stolen goods?"
Arthur snorted.
"Goodness, no," he said. "This is Port Opal, the hub of the black market. Naturally we don't want any city investigators or police cheating their way in using copied holographs or solar-prints."
"Makes sense." Alfred paused. "But I interrupted the scan-"
"Right, so they'll want to check it wasn't deliberate." Arthur waved his hand at him. "After all, you could be in the employ of the government, posing as a stolen Artificial."
"Wouldn't that mean you're in the employ of the government too?" Alfred pointed out. "Since you stole me?"
"I suppose so."
"But don't they know you here? Don't they know you would never do that?"
"Wouldn't I?" Arthur said absently. "I might, you know - if the price was right."
Alfred was quiet. He didn't seem to know how to answer that. Arthur glanced at him archly.
"Humans aren't programmable," he went on. "We change our minds, we change our loyalties. All we want to do is survive - and believe me, we'll do whatever it takes."
The door to the bridge slid open and Ludwig entered. He was one of a handful of recalibrated ex-service Artificials used to guard the gate, ruthlessly good at his job. He nodded to Arthur, who was shrugging on his coat.
"Manual search of hold complete," he said. "I just need to check you and the 704."
"Of course." Arthur rolled up his sleeve, presenting the underside of his wrist to the guard. Ludwig took out a needle, unwrapping it, and drew a pinch of blood from the blue vein closest to Arthur's skin. He smeared a drop onto a thin bar of green glass, a scan line running over it on contact. Ludwig observed the results closely, tapping through a few figures and vitals before making his decision.
"All clear." Ludwig nodded to Arthur once again before turning his attention to Alfred. "Just the 704."
"Do be careful with him," Arthur said, wiping his wrist clean. "He has a core error."
Alfred seemed a bit disgruntled at this - as though Arthur was revealing a particularly dirty secret. Ludwig was unpeturbed, taking Alfred firmly by the hair and forcing him to bend.
"Hey!" Alfred reached to grab Ludwig's wrist, struggling with his grasp. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Wary, Arthur came closer. He could see Alfred's soldier programming starting to rouse itself from deep within his ruined system; his grip on Ludwig's arm was firm, calculated.
"Alfred, it's just a routine check," he said, touching the 704's elbow. "He's not going to to harm you."
At this Ludwig managed to swipe the glass bar over the back of Alfred's neck. He let him go, stepping back to examine the data.
"Decommissioned military Model 704-776, 9.3 years in service, given name Jones, Alfred," Ludwig rattled off. "In service to Bonnefoy, Francis, at Xanadu Pleasure Dome in the City of Eden."
"That's right," Arthur drawled, rubbing at the back of Alfred's neck to ease him. "That's where I stole him from."
Ludwig gave a curt nod.
"That's all in order. Welcome to Port Opal."
"Thank you." A touch of sarcasm on Arthur's part.
"I suggest you get that error looked at," Ludwig said, glancing at Alfred.
"That's why we're here." Arthur crossed to the control panel, ejecting the glass remote. The ship went quiet. "Come along, Alfred - places to be."
With a last, distrustful look at Ludwig, Alfred followed. They made their way through the silent ship, the 901-X not far behind them.
"My error," Alfred muttered worriedly. "Is... is it really that bad?"
"It interferes with close-contact data," Arthur replied. "Left unchecked and it could become very serious."
"O-oh."
"But I know someone who should be able to fix you," Arthur went on. "Or, well... two people, to be precise."
"Two?"
"Mm." Arthur nodded. "One is a genius engineer - and the other, well... he designed you."
Very little of Port Opal was holographic - that was what Arthur liked best about it. It was real, flesh and bone and brick, it smelt of hot oil and roasted meat, laundry and chemicals, smoke and sweat and sex. The narrow streets were crammed full of vendors, stalls, shops with veils on the windows; restaurants, pubs, repair shops. There were brothels here, too, but less opulent, less of a show, some with humans in. In Eden it was illegal for prostitutes - Artificial, Synthetic or human - to stand out on the street; but every corner of Port Opal's narrow walkways was taken.
It was evening and the streetlamps were already aflame (real fire, too). Tomorrow Arthur would get to business, being as it was that his hold was full of spoils. Tonight, however, there were other matters to attend to and he beckoned Alfred through the town, leading the way through its wild hot streets. There were performers and live music at every turn - not permitted in prim, perfect Eden - and Alfred kept stopping to watch, fascinated by the feats of tossed fire and dancers in pale chiffon and electric violins.
"Alfred, we'll have plenty of time to look afterwards," Arthur promised, tugging him away from a tap-dancing accordianist. "Come along."
"But what is it?" Alfred asked, stumbling along after him. "That crazy thing?!"
"It's an accordian. It's a musical instrument they used to play years ago. They're hard to find now. He must have paid a fortune for it."
Or stole it from somewhere - much more likely in Port Opal.
Arthur ducked down an alleyway strung with red paper lanterns. This street had been built into a rather steep hill and had steps ascending, cut into the stone. They made their way up, past a young lady singing an opera from a top window and an outdoor pancake shop, to a small store with a neon sign in Chinese.
"Is this it?" Alfred was frowning at the sign, trying to compute it.
"This is the place." Arthur pushed open the door, a bell singing overhead as they entered.
The place stank of engine oil and grease. It was narrow and dark, the walls cluttered with the parts of just about every machine ever created - from the Model T Ford to the most recent Synthetic - giving the place a cold, hard glitter.
From behind the counter, a huge Artificial rose, putting down his book. He had pale hair and eyes and a powerful frame - ex-military like Alfred, a Russian Model 332.
"Good evening, Ivan," Arthur said calmly. "Is Yao around?"
"He is." Ivan came around the desk. He was smiling - but his smile was slightly off, as usual. 332s hadn't been made to mimic humans quite so well as the USA-made 704s, hence Ivan's expressions were a touch unsettling. "What do you need him for?"
Ah. Arthur couldn't fault him for asking. Yao had reprogrammed Ivan first and foremost as a "guard dog", of sorts - and in Port Opal you just never knew.
"I recently acquired this 704," he replied, gesturing to Alfred. "Unfortunately he has a bit of a core error. I was hoping Yao might know what to do about it."
Ivan nodded, looking at Alfred with interest.
"A 704?" His smile widened. "I have not seen one in a very long time."
He stepped a bit closer - and Alfred moved away, watching him warily. His fists clenched. Arthur could see him becoming very skittish and cleared his throat to redirect Ivan's attention.
"Ivan, would you mind awfully fetching Yao?"
"Of course." Ivan straightened, moving away; but his eyes were locked on Alfred still, not leaving him until he vanished through the curtain into the back room.
"What the hell is his problem?" Alfred asked coldy, looking at Arthur. The tone was an unnatural one for him and Arthur frowned, discomfited.
"It's not surprising," he replied. "He's a USSR Model 332, you're a USA Model 704. You were created to fight one another. Even with your memories wiped and your systems reprogrammed, that you raise one another's hackles is natural."
"...I fought him?"
"Well, I don't expect that you and he ever fought one another personally," Arthur said. "But the war was... well, USSR and the USA couldn't see eye-to-eye about very much. It was inevitable." He stretched, his back popping. "Of course, it's long over and you and Ivan are both decommissioned. There's no need for any animosity. I doubt you've ever laid eyes on one another before."
Alfred folded his arms sulkily.
"He's the one who-"
"Yes, well, we need to be on Yao's good side, all the same," Arthur interrupted briskly. "Just don't let him get to you."
"I'll try not to," Alfred grumbled.
The curtain swept aside and Ivan came back, accompanied by a slender Chinese man in bunched overalls. His long dark hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and he was still holding a spanner.
"Ivan tells me you have a 704!" he said excitedly. He trotted over, shoving Arthur out of the way to look at Alfred. "Aiyah! What splendid craftsmanship!" He circled the Artificial. "I haven't seen a 704 in many years!" He reached up to seize Alfred's face, pulling him to his level. "This is a beautiful one - lovely eyes, very handsome."
"Thank you," Alfred said. Artificials weren't equipped with humility and so he took the compliment whole-heartedly. "Arthur says that, too."
"I expect he does," Yao said slyly, smirking at Arthur. "What else could he say? You are as radiant as the sun."
"Indeed," Arthur said dryly. "It beggars belief that he was made for combat."
"Who doesn't like a handsome soldier?" Yao patted Alfred's cheek and began to pull him towards the back room. "Come, then. Let me examine you."
Arthur shot a glance at Ivan as he ambled back to the desk. The massive 332 seemed ambivalent towards the exchange, reaching for his book.
"What are you reading?" Arthur asked, pausing at the desk
"The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoyevsky." Ivan showed him. The cover was in Russian. "It is very interesting. Best enjoyed in its original language."
"That's usually the case," Arthur agreed. "Russian books are hard to get hold of, though. I bet it cost a fortune."
"Yao got it for me," Ivan said warmly. "I do not like to ask how much it cost him."
Arthur raised his eyebrows.
"I bet Yao got a good price on it," he muttered.
He stepped into the workshop beyond, leaving Ivan behind the curtain with his book. Yao had cleared space on the workbench and instructed Alfred to lie across it in his recharge position.
"He is malfunctioning?" Yao asked of Arthur, rolling up his sleeves.
"I think it's a core error," Arthur replied helplessly.
"Hm." Yao looked quite grave as he hooked Alfred up to a large screen precariously balanced on one of the sideboards. He began to type, Chinese characters flitting across the display. "I'll be putting you into stand-by," he said to Alfred. "It gives a better overall picture of the core."
"Okay." Alfred outstretched his arm towards Arthur. "Arthur..."
"I'm here." Arthur came to the table, taking his hand. The Artificial's cool skin came against his, the pulse of metal tendons tight around his bones. He gave Alfred a reassuring squeeze as Yao sent the command; the 704 shuddered and went quite still, the blue light going out of his eyes.
"A core error, you think?" Yao asked briskly, watching the screen; a picture of Alfred's system was rendering itself, the engineer scrolling over it at close quarters.
"Yes," Arthur replied. "He has malfunctioned twice in the past twenty-four hours, both times interfering with surrounding holographs."
"Static?"
"No." Arthur paused. "It's... the, uh, the war."
Yao looked at him.
"That is serious," he said in a low voice. "All ex-combat Artificials have their memories wiped. To begin remembering again is a sign of major damage to the system's core..." He trailed off, leaning close to the screen.
"What is it?" Arthur asked. He was nervous, clutching at Alfred's hand.
"Nothing," Yao said absently. "I have just never seen a 704 in such detail before."
"Well, they're rare, aren't they?" Arthur said haughtily.
"Like gold-dust," Yao agreed. "Parts are impossible to get."
Arthur felt his heart sink.
"...Impossible?" he repeated.
"Some, yes." Yao waved his spanner at him. "All used up. This is an old model."
"What about parts from broken ones?"
Yao looked at him.
"704s self-destruct when they break," he said. "Didn't you know that?"
"Wh... what?" Arthur was speechless. He looked at Alfred - clutching his hand, at perfect peace on the workbench.
"They have nuclear batteries," Yao said. His tone was factual, wholly unsympathetic. "If their core breaks or becomes too corrupted to function, they are programmed to explode. They were weapons, after all."
"Did... you say nuclear?" Arthur asked faintly. Again he looked at Alfred - and now he saw him in a whole new light: a lethal timebomb ready to blow a hole in the universe.
"Yes." Yao rolled his eyes impatiently. "You did not do your research before stealing such a dangerous type of Artificial?"
"Can it be removed?" Arthur asked desperately.
"You cannot remove his battery if you want him to be sentient."
"Replaced, then?"
Yao shook his head.
"It is a very powerful battery," he expained. "The equivalent would be the size of your ship."
"If they're so dangerous, how is it that they can be scrapped?" Arthur challenged, reminded of Francis' threats.
"704s are not scrapped," Yao said. "They are salvaged. You remove the diamond spine and other parts of value while the Artificial is still stable enough; then they are sealed in concrete and dropped below sea-level to detonate." The engineer shrugged. "Why do you think there are no parts?"
Arthur could take pleasure only in realising that Francis couldn't have known just how dangerous Alfred was, otherwise he'd never have purchased him. To his chagrin, however, he now found that he had done the slimy frog a favour. Alfred was well and truly his problem now (and what a problem it was).
"I am speaking in hypotheticals," Yao said, studying the screen. "I should make it clear that his core is damaged. It is because of age and damage sustained during his military service. There is nothing that can be done about it. All things - humans and objects - deteriorate over time."
"And... and how long until he...?"
Yao shrugged.
"I cannot say for certain," he said. "It is very difficult to calculate. But it will happen, it is inevitable - and I would advise you not to be anywhere near him when it does."
Arthur looked at Alfred, completely still on the workbench; prostrate, helpless.
"So what do I do now?" he asked quietly, touching Alfred's cheek. "What can I do with you?"
"Salvage?" Yao spun away from the screen, holding up his spanner. "He's already under - it won't take long-"
"No!" Arthur threw himself between Yao and the Artificial. "No, you're not ripping him apart!"
"I'll give you a good price for the spine."
"The answer is no," Arthur said coldly. "That's not what I brought him here for."
"You brought him here for a diagnosis." Yao shrugged. "I have given it to you. He is a walking time-bomb."
"Even so, you're not pulling out his spine!" Arthur snapped. "I didn't rescue him so I could sell him off bit-by-bit-"
"Rescue?" Yao snorted. "He is just a machine, Arthur. Do not forget that."
"I see you bought your machine a rare, expensive Russian book," Arthur pointed out icily.
Yao stiffened.
"That is none of your business," he said.
"And it's none of your business what I do with Alfred." Arthur began pulling out the wires. "Wake him up."
"Fine." Yao typed in a command, releasing it with a smart tap of a key, and the screen went blank. Alfred opened his eyes, sitting up.
"Are you alright?" Yao's words simply made Arthur all the more affectionate towards the Artificial, stroking at the back of his neck.
"Mm." Alfred glanced towards Yao. "Did you fix me?"
"I-" Yao began.
"Not yet," Arthur interrupted briskly, taking Alfred's elbow. "But soon. There's... there's just someone else we need to see first."
"The designer?" Alfred slid off the table at Arthur's command, being led to the door.
"Yes."
"You mean Honda?" Yao drawled from behind them. "You know he won't see you."
"He won't see you, perhaps," Arthur replied curtly. "Goodnight, Yao. Thank you for your help."
"Make sure you pay Ivan!" Yao called as they passed through the curtain. "This isn't a free service!"
Naturally; Yao never did anything for free. At the counter Arthur exchanged money with Ivan, who looked reluctant to be distracted from his book. Alfred stood well back, looking fixedly at the walls.
"He was unable to help?" Ivan asked politely.
"Unfortunately. I'm going to go and see Dr Honda."
Ivan nodded.
"Yes," he said. "It is always best to explore every option." He sank back into his seat, taking up his book. "Goodnight."
Arthur bid him the same and swept out of the shop, Alfred padding after him.
"So I'm not fixed?" he asked, following Arthur back down the street.
"Yao doesn't have the parts, my dear," Arthur said absently. "704s are... well, so rare-"
"So what can we do?" Alfred caught Arthur's hand, holding him still. "Arthur, I... I don't want to hurt you or something, I..."
"I know." Arthur met his eyes - cold, electronic. "It's alright, we'll see Dr Honda. He'll... he'll think of something-"
"And what if he can't?" Alfred held tighter. "Will you... scrap me, Arthur?"
"Of course not," Arthur whispered. "Alfred, I risked my neck to save you - so Francis couldn't-"
"I know," Alfred said. He lowered his eyes, holding tight to Arthur's hand. "...But what else do you do with a malfunctioning Artificial?"
"I'm not giving up on you that easily," Arthur said firmly. "And neither are you."
Alfred tilted his head at him. He was quiet for a long moment.
"I feel," he said slowly, "that I should kiss you. Is that... I mean, would that be alright? Would you like me to?"
"Well, you've sucked all the passion out of it," Arthur grumbled, "but alright."
"Okay." Alfred leaned down, pressing his cold mouth to Arthur's, taking his shoulders. Arthur tilted his head, perfectly still. Breathe, exhale. Alfred never tasted of anything - bodiless, nothingness. His touch was programmed, his words coded, his being all in blessed binary.
"Passion," he said against Arthur's neck. "I don't understand."
"No," Arthur sighed, pressing back into the wall, the smoke and neon settling around them. He pulled Alfred to him. "Of course you don't."
"Is it important?" Alfred misread, oblivious; he thought Arthur wanted things he didn't.
Arthur didn't stop him. They weren't in Eden anymore. They wouldn't be arrested, not out here at the edge of the stars where nobody cared.
"It's what makes humans unprogrammable," Arthur said breathlessly. "It's what makes us do stupid things. We want, we want. We're willing to burn up the world."
Alfred lifted him against the wall. His hands were tight under his thighs, holding, rocking, ready. Arthur kissed him, tasteless: all but atoms. Yes, he wanted, wanted - to be fucked by a nuclear bomb with the face of an angel, to feel nothing and nowhere, something, somewhere.
One part remaining. Maybe it will be up soon but I have to write an essay for my MA first... :C