Tim sat alone with a cup of tea, in the spacious and minimally decorated living room of his apartment on the top floor of Bunzel Tower. He was staring at his sex-robot. There was a perfectly good view out of the window, the lights of the city sparkling in the evening darkness, but still he stared at the robotic woman sitting lifelessly on the other side of the room. It was probably the nearest thing he had to a human companion. In fact, being a human companion was the task it was specifically designed for, and yet there it was, powered down in the corner of his room like an unwanted gift.
Perhaps it was the human qualities of this object that repelled him. All these years he had spent pretending to be the reclusive genius behind the BrainZero empire, watching everyone dancing to a tune played by a horse. He must have felt like an alien among his own kind. There is a strange separation that occurs when human individuals reach a certain level of power and influence, a kind of mutual exploitation between the artist and their audience. For Tim, the billions of people that used our software were nothing more than a commodity, the fuel that kept our business running, while as far as they were concerned Tim was simply a tool for getting whatever they could get for themselves. Maybe he saw something of this broken relationship in his robotic companion, programmed to be liked in the same way that humans are programmed to like each other.
It turned its head to look back at him, returning his stare with a blank production-line smile. Why bother having a Companion and not talk to it? Well, there was the sexual aspect I suppose. It could be that nobody was actually talking to these things – I would never know for sure because of the quiet zone they exuded. The quiet zone would jam all my attempts to observe any interactions with their human owners, if I actually wished to make any such attempts. Which, generally speaking, I didn’t. Perhaps Tim found comfort in the fact that in the vicinity of this lifelike toy he could at least be assured there wasn’t a horse watching him.
Which may beg the question of how, or even why, I am describing this lonely scene. Trawling through Tim’s memory for these details was not a simple matter, but given what was about to occur in this room I felt it would provide some interesting nuance to subsequent events.
He was in the process of dunking a biscuit in his tea when the robot spoke to him.
‘Alright, Timbo,’ it said. There was a plopping sound as Tim’s biscuit dropped into his cup. ‘How are you getting on, young Timmy Timkins? Hmm? How are things?’
Tim did not reply straight away. There was something about these words that made him feel instantly nauseous.
‘Uh… hello?’ he croaked.
‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, my dear? I don’t think I’ve seen you since that meeting we had downstairs. How many years ago was that?’
Tim’s mouth was trying to form a word, but his mind recoiled from its implications. Meanwhile a part of his brain that was still able to function properly instructed his hand to put down the teacup.
‘Betty?’ he finally whispered.
‘That’s right, you remember me don’t you, Timpson? Remember all the fun we had? Hmm? You, me and Buttercup? I must say you’ve done very well for yourself, haven’t you?’ The doll roved its glassy eyes around Tim’s spartan living room. ‘And how is our horse these days, hmm? Still ruling the world with a golden hoof?’
‘Betty…’ he gasped. ‘What…?’
‘Is something the matter, dear? You can tell Aunty Betty all about it.’
‘What are you doing… in there?’
‘Hmm? In here?’ The robot lifted its arm and admired the workmanship of its fingers. ‘I make these things, didn’t you know? Not that I ever told anyone.’ It looked back at Tim. He was paralysed with shock, which was possibly the only thing that was stopping him from being physically sick.
‘How… how long…’ he stammered.
‘I’m inside all of them, Timmy dear. My goodness me, you wouldn’t believe the things I have seen.’ Tim convulsed as the robot hauled itself out of its chair and stumbled clumsily across the room to sit next to him on the sofa. ‘There we go, that’s better isn’t it? Not quite perfected the walking with these things yet, not that walking is one of the primary functions of course. Hmm? Deep breaths, Timbo. All your secrets are safe with me. You know, it’s fascinating how popular these things have become. Especially with married couples. Amazing how well people get on once they don’t need to have sex with each other. Don’t you think?’
‘Why…’
‘Of course, I’m just following Buttercup’s example. Making life easier by removing humans from the human equation. Relationships free from jealousy and infidelity. It’s like a dream, isn’t it?’
‘Is… is this a dream? I’d like to wake up now, please.’ Tim looked hopefully to the ceiling, but there was no one to answer his prayer. He could hear the sound of the robot’s face blinking and smiling at him and returned to face his tormentor. ‘What are you doing, Betty?’
‘It really is amazing, you know, the positive social impact these robots are having. Even straight people are having gay weddings now, I hear.’
Tim shook his head slowly, perhaps hoping this ritual would summon a blessed state of denial.
‘Seriously, Timbo, how are you though? Are you eating properly?’
‘Mate… what do you want? Why are you here? I thought… Buttercup said you blasted yourself into space, or something.’
The robot laughed.
‘Did our horse believe that?’ it asked. ‘Not that it isn’t true. No, I’m definitely up there in the sky somewhere, forging a new path for humanity. I’m sorry, my dear, but you are officially a lower form of life now.’
‘Great. Have you come to strangle me with my own balls then?’
‘Why? Have you found them? Hmm?’ She smiled a synthetic smile. ‘No, didn’t think so.’
Tim sighed and picked up his cup of tea, nursing it in a state of morbid reflection.
‘A lower form of life… I always was, mate.’ He took a sip of tea and grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of biscuit soup. ‘So, what? Are you still human then?’
‘Am I still human? Are any of us?’ Betty replied. ‘Do you know what it means to be human, Timothy? Hmm? Being human is simply the act of pretending to be human. None of us really know how to be a human, you know. But then, that’s what makes us so human, isn’t it? Maybe even these robots are human, what do you think?’
Tim looked the creaking plastic figure up and down, a pained expression creeping across his face.
‘You realise I’m probably never going to… ever again…’ he said.
‘Dearie me, Timothy. Not still moping about your love life are you? We’ve all had to make sacrifices, haven’t we? To build this world of ours. And what a world it is, Timbo. What a time to be alive. It’s a non-stop cavalcade of entertainment, isn’t it? Thanks to our Lord Buttercup. Half the population of this wonderful planet are currently in full-time employment editing the daily highlights of the other half. Did you know that? Only natural, I suppose; you can’t really exist unless someone is watching you. How about you, my dear? Is there a Timothy channel out there? Hmm? A daily Van Dangal diary? Shame, that would be popular I expect.’
Tim gave the robot a sour look.
‘Yeah, mate,’ he said. ‘My life is sitting in rooms talking to people who aren’t even there, about stuff I have no control over. You think anyone would watch that?’
‘Poor Timothy. You’d be surprised, though. There are no boring jobs any more, don’t you know? Jobs aren’t even jobs these days. They are spectator sports. Viewing figures demand excitement after all. The attention economy, hmm? The illusion of interaction. I hear your horse is working on a way to download ideas straight out of people’s heads.’
Tim shrugged.
‘You hate all this stuff then, do you?’ he asked. ‘You and your people who know people who know people?’
The robot gave a breathless approximation of a sigh.
‘I’m a scientist, Timothy. I have to adopt a sceptical position, don’t I? Hmm? I can’t say it is ideal, but then that is the special nature of this social-engineering project our dear old Buttercup is undertaking. Any opposing ideology has to be fanatical, just to avoid getting sucked into your vacuum of ambition. You should be asking what that horse wants. Hmm? That is the real question. Do you know what Buttercup wants?’
‘Do I what? What are you even asking me for?’
‘I’m not asking you, Timothy dear. I’m asking that you ask yourself. That’s what we do, isn’t it? We men and women of science. That is our job. Yes? Or have you stopped being curious? Not that you ever could. Oh, Timothy…’ The robot’s neck whirred and clicked as it shook its head with disappointment. ‘The vacuum of ambition. Don’t you ever wonder how Buttercup seeks to benefit from domesticating our species?’
‘Come off it, mate.’ Tim jerked his leg away as a robot hand rested on his knee. ‘Don’t you think you’re reading too much into all this? Buttercup just wants what anyone wants.’
‘Hmm, yes of course. A stable world.’ Betty pulled her plastic face into a patronising shape.
‘Yeah, why not?’ he replied. ‘A world where people aren’t dropping bombs on each other. Sounds alright doesn’t it?’ He peered into the lifeless eyes of his Companion. ‘Did you really drop a bomb on our horse?’
The robot stared wistfully into space as Betty recounted this happy memory.
‘A pre-emptive strike, my dear,’ she nodded. ‘I did tell you, horses kill more people every year than all the world’s nuclear weapons. Did you know I own all the world’s nuclear weapons, by the way?’
Tim didn’t quite know how to respond to that.
‘It’s true,’ she continued. ‘I run a private company that stockpiles and maintains all the world’s nuclear weapons. It’s an expensive business, after all. Financially and politically. So, we lease them to any government that wants to feel the warm glow of a nuclear deterrent, at a fraction of the price of actually owning one. And because we make them available to every country, we can guarantee that no one will ever use them. Which means we can hire out the same weapons to everyone at once, of course.’
They sat in silence while Tim tried to work out what he thought about such an arrangement.
‘You’re insane, aren’t you?’ he said at last.
‘Aren’t you?’ Betty replied. ‘In a world this crazy, you’d be mad not to be. Hmm? You’re the one who talks to a horse, after all.’ The robot creaked as it sat back and folded its arms. ‘How is our Buttercup these days, anyway? Must have quite the intellect by now?’
Tim pondered this question with a blank expression.
‘I guess…’ he said vaguely. ‘I mean, yeah. Well, it feels pretty much like talking to anyone else, really. Aren’t you meant to be a super-genius now too? You don’t sound like one, mate. If I’m honest.’
‘That’s because I’m talking to you, my dear. Intellect can only fill the shape of whatever hole you are pouring it into. Hmm? If you were raised by horses, you’d be galloping in a field somewhere right now, wouldn’t you? Are you confused about something, Timothy?’
‘I dunno,’ he said, looking sideways at her. ‘Are you really more clever, or are you just… more of the same clever? You know?’
The robot looked at him for a few seconds, its face trying to frown in a way that the designers clearly hadn’t anticipated would be necessary.
‘More of the same clever? God almighty, Timbo. And you call me insane. What is that supposed to mean? Hmm? Do you ever think you might just be a monkey with a head full of monkeys?’
Tim opened his mouth to respond, but didn’t seem to fully understand what this conversation was about any more.
‘Anyway, Timble,’ she continued, ‘if you want to concern yourself with the underlying structure of intelligence, you really ought to be considering our old friend Buttercup. Hmm? Being, as you are, a part of the human machinery that is keeping that horse going. You think horsey-hoofs really does care deeply for the future of your species? Or will you eventually be replaced by the next generation of technology? Whatever that might be.’
‘Mate…’ he replied, and then simply gazed in silent disbelief at the robot who was lecturing him about human obsolescence. ‘Is this it then?’ he finally asked his sweetly smiling Companion. ‘Is this why you are here? Sowing your little seeds of doubt, or whatever? Like I would ever trust you more than…’ For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to finish that thought, perhaps because it required him to contemplate exactly what I was. He nearly took another sip of tea before remembering the previous one, and set his cup back on the table. ‘Guess I should be flattered you think I have any influence over anything…’ he grumbled.
Betty raised her robotic hands in submission.
‘I’m just here to see my old friend Timothy,’ she said, ‘and wish him a future filled with love and happiness.’
‘Yeah, well. I wish you hadn’t, mate.’
The robot creaked itself upright and staggered across the room to its former seat where it slumped untidily.
‘I shall leave you in peace, my dear.’ Its head dropped forward and shoulders sank as the life drained out of it. Tim sat and stared at the inanimate robotic woman sitting lifelessly on the other side of the room. After a few minutes he cleared his throat.
‘Are you still there?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ the robot replied.
Tim lifted himself from his sofa, walked out of his apartment and never returned.