The Syntho Research Centre was a sprawling white stone building in the southeast corner of the campus. Its main entrance was paved with flagstones and cluttered with electrobikes, but Alkemy – following Andop’s directions – led them round the side. A gravel path wound through a sculpture garden filled with statues of famous Eltherian scientists, and through the unshuttered windows of the building they could see classrooms, laboratories, workshops and lecture theatres.
Around the back, the smooth parkland gave way to a scrubby patch of waste ground pockmarked with burnt patches. A line of what looked like old-fashioned bathing huts – little sheds with peaked roofs, each not much bigger than a wardrobe – stood along one side. The doors of all but the last two were closed. In front of them, a syntho was directing a group of trolley-bots as they placed a thick rectangular slab on top of a catapult. He looked up as they approached.
‘Hello. Are you here to watch the test flight?’
‘Test flight?’
The syntho held out his hand in greeting. ‘I’m Toxteth #262, inventor of the world’s first anti-gravity platform.’ He tapped palms with each of them in turn. ‘Technically, it’s more of a gravity deflector, but the effect will be the same.’
‘That thing?’ Norman gestured to the slab sitting on the catapult. ‘You mean it actually works?’
‘You’re about to witness its first successful flight. A historic event at least equivalent to Traxin splitting the atom or Smoldiq building the chronocell. It’ll be something to tell your grandchildren!’
He shooed the trolley-bots away and checked the catapult’s control panel.
‘Now, if you’ll just give me a moment ...’ He headed for the second of the huts, closed the door briefly, then re-emerged wearing a silver-coloured jumpsuit. He climbed onto the slab, sat cross-legged and gripped the sides.
‘The catapult is just to get the deflector airborne. Once I reach the top of the arc, I’ll fire it up and float away. Ready? Three ... two ... one ...’
There was a solid whump as the catapult pitched Toxteth and the slab into the air. It reached a height of twenty metres and, just as he’d said, a yellow glow lit up underneath as it reached the mid-point of its trajectory.
Toxteth waved.
The slab held still for half a second, but then, instead of resisting gravity, it seemed to positively embrace it, tipping sideways, hurtling down and smashing into the ground.
The five of them stared, horrified at the fiery explosion, then ducked as bits of debris whistled overhead.
‘Oh my god!’ Coral gasped as they got to their feet and peered at the shallow crater and the scorched grass all around it.
‘Ouch!’ A voice behind them said.
They turned.
‘Toxteth!’ Coral gestured at the smouldering wreck. ‘But I thought you were––’
‘I was.’ Toxteth peered past her. ‘That looks nasty. I hope I didn’t suffer.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Tim noticed the third of the beach hut doors was open. ‘You must be Toxteth #263.’
‘Correct.’ The syntho shielded his eyes, studying the crash site.
The others looked puzzled.
‘Toxteth #262 uploaded himself before the flight, right?’
‘Correct again.’
‘Huh?’ Coral said.
Toxteth #263 explained. ‘I really need to go with the craft to assess the deflector’s performance and take care of any last minute problems. This is the easiest way to do it.’
Tim gestured at the row of sheds. ‘How many of you are there?’
‘Just one. There’s only ever one of me at a time. Anything else would get confusing. I wouldn’t have been activated if #262 had survived.’
He began walking towards the impact crater and scanning the surrounding ground. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find my head. Once I have it, I can update my memory and analyse the flight data to see what went wrong.’
They left him to it and continued on towards the rear entrance of the Syntho Research Centre.
‘Now that,’ Norman muttered, ‘is what I call a real crash test dummy.’
Coral glanced back as they entered the building. Toxteth #263 saw her, raised an arm and waved. The trouble was, it wasn’t one of the arms attached to his body.
* * *
Andop greeted them at the entrance, taking in their stunned expressions. ‘I heard the explosion, so I’m guessing you met Toxteth. Amusing, isn’t he?’
‘That’s ... one word for it,’ Coral said.
‘Don’t worry, he’s harmless.’
‘Not to himself.’
‘Quite the reverse, actually. He goes to great lengths to look after himself. Which is unusual for his machine class.’
‘Which is what?’
‘He’s an Eccentric. One of the very first synthetics ever made. A couple of steps up from a shop-bot, but still not a true synthetic person.
‘Early models all had similar tendencies. Their minds would latch onto an idea and they’d pursue it without regard to commonsense or personal safety. We’ve had ones convinced they could fly under their own power, or live underwater, or wrestle ripper cats. Naturally, most didn’t survive. Only ones like Toxteth are still around. We indulge him, partly for his historical value and partly as an illustration of what can go wrong with even apparently logical minds.’
As he was talking, he led them through a series of gleaming white corridors to a door labelled Authorised Personnel Only. Inside, they found a room that looked like a cross between an engineering workshop and an operating theatre. Mechanical and electronic components littered a series of benches, a gurney in one corner contained what could only be a body draped in a sheet, and a large table surrounded by lights and a variety of instruments stood at the far end backed by rows of tiered seating.
‘Make yourselves at home, I’ll be back in a moment,’ Andop said, heading for a rear door.
They looked around.
‘Do you think that’s Albert?’ Coral pointed at the covered body.
‘Only one way to find out.’ Norman pulled back a corner of the sheet.
Coral winced. Alkemy turned away. Norman leaned closer.
It was a syntho all right, but not Albert. It had been sliced open down one side and the outer layer of flesh folded back to reveal the mechanical skeleton and components underneath. A number of wires and feed lines were attached in various places, and the table it was lying on was scattered with tools.
‘I see you’ve found Old Ernie,’ Andop said, holding the rear door wide as he returned. ‘He’s a work in progress.’
‘Is he still alive?’
‘Yes and no. He’s still functioning mechanically and physically, but we put his mind into stasis. A low-power state a bit like sleep.’
Norman was still marvelling at the complexity of the thing – the way blood vessels wound around mechanical linkages and how wiring and circuitry merged seamlessly with muscles and organs – when a trolley-bot entered behind Andop, wheeling in a frosted glass cube. Streamers of chilled air ran down its sides, but they could still make out the shape of the figure inside; a crouching man, its arms wrapped around its bent knees, cushioning the head resting on top of them.
‘I put this together over the last couple of days,’ Andop said, lowering the front panel of the cube.
The seated figure faced them, sitting with its ankles crossed, the overhead lights reflecting off the bald head and the bumps along its spine. The skin had the smooth, waxy look of a shop mannequin; realistic but lifeless.
Andop took a thin wire-like tool and inserted it into a tiny hole in the back of the skull. It went in a long way. Then he connected it to a handheld device, tapped some keys, and the top of the head popped open on a hinge.
The others gasped and stepped back. Norman peered closer.
The hinged skull cap revealed a stainless steel chamber patterned with complex circuitry. There were hundreds of components anchored to its curved walls. A socket on one side matched the ones they’d seen on the receiver back on Earth and on the console of the Knock Knock Who's There?
Andop gestured to Alkemy. ‘Go ahead and insert the memory bulb. Or would you like me to do it?’
‘I take, I should put back,’ she said, referring to how, following Albert’s instructions, she’d been the one to remove it back on Earth. Still, her hand shook a little as she placed the bulb in the socket.
There was a faint click and it was drawn from her fingers, locking itself in place. Immediately, the interior began filling with a clear, bubbling jelly. Andop closed the skull cap. It sealed with a sucking sound.
They watched and waited. Nothing happened for several seconds, then a bead of blood formed along the line of skin where the cap had been opened. Andop dabbed it with an antiseptic pad. ‘The heart has started pumping.’
Over the course of the next minute, something happened to the crouching figure. Its skin, once waxy and inert, began to warm. Muscle fibres filled and took on shape. The supple curve of its lips filled, and the sunken cheeks began to look less sunken. Then, imperceptibly at first, faint movements showed it had a pulse and was breathing.
After another minute, Albert, his eyes still closed, raised his head, rubbed his injured scalp and muttered, ‘Ouch!’