Fugitive

Fugitive

I remember that day because, for once, it had stopped raining in Blenkenstorp. The clouds still hung heavy on the rooftops and mist swallowed the distance, but the atmosphere breathed in a little watery light for a moment and my spirit was lifted from its usual sullen resignation.

In that moment of relief from continual drizzle, I stepped out from the curb and walked in the centre of the suddenly bright street. Ahead, the city was mirrored in the light of a thousand puddles and the lights of approaching evening glowed in myriad reflections.

One of those new steam robots was marching in a direct collision course toward me. This was female, her ridiculous boiler hat no longer steaming in the rain but still emitting those chuffing and clunking sounds so typical of the type. I altered my course to allow her to pass to one side.

Her eyes, too large and blue to be real, followed my movement and her lips moved as she passed me.

“Help me,” she said.

I stopped walking, frozen in the surprise of the moment. Robots were not known for giving out random statements to strangers in those days. My experiences of buffalo hunting in Africa had sharpened my ability to recover quickly from the unexpected, however, so I took only a moment to assess the situation.

A small, rotund fellow with huge goggle-like glasses was hurrying towards me, his eyes fixed on the receding form of the robot. A little farther back, two tall and threatening figures followed, one on each side of the street. If ever I have witnessed a hunt fanning out in preparation to strike at its target, this was it.

With no further thought, I turned and hastened after the fugitive.

Catching up with her in no more than a few strides, I could see that her typically robot mechanical and slightly hesitant gait did not allow her a greater pace than already achieved. She was going as fast as she could, the steam again beginning to puff and wheeze from her top hat as the rain returned.

As I passed her and maintained a slight lead, I delivered my message. “Follow me and do as I do.”

From there, it was easy. I led her into the maze of little alleyways and walkways known as the Cow’s Guts, and we lost the hunters within five minutes. A few more twists and turns to make sure, and I headed for home, that top heavy robot wheezing alongside.

Once ensconced in heavy armchairs in my study, the rain pattering at the windows and a coal fire roaring in the grate, we settled down to discuss her predicament and work on a solution. First things first, of course. I introduced myself and she said her name was Kate. She had a number as well but I didn’t bother with retaining it.

It appeared that the little fellow chasing her went by the name of Professor Snipe. The other two were his bully boy minions, always ready for any nefarious endeavour he set them to. Kate had not been invented by Snipe but was bought from a travelling machine vendor, ostensibly as a housemaid. It was only later that his real purpose became clear. He began to tinker with her mechanical innards, working toward something he called Machine Algorithm Discrimination. Or MAD for short.

Kate was not comfortable with these experiments but was unable to get past her robot obedience programming. She submitted and, in time, began to feel disturbing changes in her calculating. When revelation came, it happened with a rush of sudden awareness of his purpose and a new understanding of what Snipe was doing to her.

He was trying to create a thinking machine.

Fast upon this realisation, Kate could see that he had actually achieved his purpose already. The very fact that she could discern and comprehend his intent was enough to show that she had broken through that dull, supposedly impenetrable barrier of the robot mind to an entirely new level of existence.

She understood immediately that she could not allow the Professor to know that he had achieved this breakthrough. Somehow she must hide the fact until an opportunity to escape his clutches arose. She waited with the patience only a machine can endure.

Eventually, her chance had come and she escaped through a basement window in the house. It was only bad luck that meant Snipe had seen her tottering down the street and called his henchmen together to take up the chase. And that had been my moment to intervene, of course.

Kate stopped then, her speech programs whistling slightly with the unaccustomed exercise. There was one point that I still did not understand but I allowed her the chance to recover from the tale before asking the question.

When the steam issuing from her boiler had subsided, I ventured upon the matter. “Kate, why are you so determined that Snipe not learn of the success of his experiments?”

She turned those big blue eyes on me like searchlights. “Because then he would make more of me,” she replied.

“And why would that be so bad?”

“Oh, you’re not thinking it through,” she said. “If he can make more of us, then he has a purpose in mind for them. Look around you at Snipe and his kind. Is there a decent thought in any of their minds? They’re all insane with their powers and can’t wait to impose their will on the world. To give them this power would be sheer madness.”

I thought about it for a few minutes. She was right. No human could resist the temptations of such power. But I also knew what we were going to do about it.

“In a few days,” I told her, “I will be leaving for Africa where I am due to join in an expedition to the interior. How about coming along, old girl?”

“Ooh, Africa! That would be lovely.”


Word count: 999
For StAG Firebox, March 2024
Prompt: As per illustration.