The King of the Cogs Read online

  “Is the internet here fast?” I asked in an attempt to create a conversational diversion and derail my train of thought completely at the same time, and the small man nodded vigorously.

  “Very!” he replied as if he was trying to sign me up for it. “Bandwidth is three Ogden’s.” he said almost in awe.

  “Ogden’s?” I asked, no idea of what he was on about.

  “Yes!” he exclaimed almost incredulously, “Three!” I decided to leave it at that for now and took a casual glance across the room once again. He returned to his unmoving posture again, and once again I was reminded of Hank.

  It had been Hank who had picked me up from the station, of course, just the same as when I had come for the interview. The same car or at least it looked it, and there couldn’t be many of those in circulation I would have thought. Way too old. The conversation was as scintillating as usual too, that is completely non-existent. Almost like the level of traffic. The roads seemed even quieter this time than the last! I had watched him as we entered the building, getting the same tingle of static as we entered, the tall man still carrying the suitcases, or possibly batteries, and then he had left me at reception where Bridges had arrived shortly afterwards. He had taken my cases, led me to this room, and now the room was apparently fully explained he stood completely immobile. I decided to take a punt. More for a laugh than anything, really.

  “So are you an android too?” I asked him, his response being a loud roaring sound that may have been laughter. His shoulders may also have been moving up and down, but it was quite difficult to tell.

  “No. “He replied, still making the strange noises that I had now decided was laughter. He held both his hands out horizontally. “See?” he asked, waving his hands up and down. “No batteries.” he continued chuckling, and I remembered what Wingnut had said about the cases that Hank seemed to continually have in his presence.

  “Ah.” I said, trying to remember precisely what the professor had said. “But surely later generation androids have smaller batteries?” I asked, fishing for more information. I figured it would be a lot simpler to know if the person I was speaking to was human or not. That is if I accepted what the professor had said as fact, of course, and not just the ravings of a loon. Bridges continued chuckling.

  “Ah well. There are no older generations you see, Luke. No point really.”

  “Why?”

  “Well the planet is filling up pretty rapidly already, don’t you think? No need to add to that by making our own occupants.” I nodded my head. Made sense.

  “So Hank is the only one?” I enquired.

  “Yes he is the only one.” He paused for a second, considering this, reflecting on something. “Good job too.” he finally continued. “We have trouble keeping up with the ginger snaps he eats. Never mind if there were more of them. Finally, he began to move towards the door. “Just let me know if you need anything, Luke. I am more or less the janitor, butler and head cook and bottle washer around her. “He paused for a second before crossing out into the hall. I gave him my thanks and he departed down the corridor, shouting as he went. “Hope everything meets your satisfaction. It’s not a bad place to work. Canteen is behind reception, by the way. Just follow the red lines on the wall.” and with that he rounded the corner and was gone. I quietly closed and locked the door, and turning around rested my back against it and taking in the room for the first time on my own.

  It was enormous. I felt like doing a lap of honour around it, but settled instead for moving my cases into the bedroom and then returning to the desk and switching the computer on. To my surprise it booted up almost instantly, asking for a username and password. I picked the slip of paper up from the desk and entered them. There was the usual request to reset my password and then it was on. I spent a few hours just browsing this and that, and realising that I was not hungry at all, decided to unpack a few essentials and go to bed.

  It was a restless night. Like being on holiday and waking up in the middle of the night wondering where you were and why the wardrobes have not only moved from one side of the room to another but also changed in shape, size and colour too. I was wide awake long before sunlight began to stream through a gap in the curtains and fall on the base of the bed. I rose and pulling a dressing gown from my case showered and made my way into the kitchen. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the kitchen seemed to be fully stocked. Fresh milk was in the fridge, bread in the bread bin on the kitchen worktop. I made coffee and some toast and sat in front of the breakfast news basically waiting for something to happen.

  Once I had formally accepted the job I received my start date and time but apart from the fact that it mentioned I would have a two-week induction course there was very little in the latter that explained exactly what that course consisted of. I was still none the wiser, and therefore I was more than a little pleased when I heard the rustle of a piece of paper being pushed underneath the door of what I already considered in my mind to be “the flat”.

  Turning the television off I crossed the room and picked up what I found to be a single piece of A4 paper with my first weeks’ timetable typed up carefully on it. Returning to the chair I scanned the list of events. The first three days seemed to be taken up with introductions to the various departments, structure of the office departments, human resource appointments and so on. Tours of the building. That sort of thing. Probably a list of do’s and don’ts as well. The usual new stuff. Where the canteen is. Fire drill. Working hours and so on.

  By the end of the second day it really was as dull as it sounded. It was all stuff I needed to know of course, but still hardly exciting. The working hours themselves to be quite obscure, but at least I had every weekend off. Not that in mattered much to me. I had a few friends from home and I rarely made the effort of going out of my way to meet up with them. I was quite looking forward to the seclusion to be honest. That and the absurd amount of money they were going to pay me of course.

  It was also I found, really vague. I was surprised when the very first thing we did on Monday morning was to sign the official secrets act, but I suppose it made sense as it was related to me that we did handle some government work from time to time. I just hadn’t anticipated having to do that but it was kind of cool at the same time. Working hours were next, and seemed fine. Pay scale was pretty bloody spectacular, and the sausage rolls in the canteen were to die for. By the end of the second day I could find my way around most of the building (which seemed to be surprisingly small given the size of the entrance and the grounds) and even work the microwave in the flat. The latter I considered being a major achievement. I had never managed the one at home. I was feeling empowered. Official secrets act and microwave manual in two days, things were definitely looking up. The third day gave a structure of company departments in perspective to where the office I was assigned to was placed. At best it was vague, general stuff. At worst it made my head nod as if it was made of lead after a particularly large canteen sausage roll We had an early finish on Wednesday quite simply because I think they ran out of things not to tell me.

  Thursday was mostly taken up with various checks by men with stethoscopes, running machines and various long needles. They took my blood, a piece of hair, compared dental records and eventually both literally and figuratively took the piss as well. That was an early finish as well. I think they also ran out of things to ask me about my health, which was of course fine by me.

  None of this of course involved any communication with Professor Wingnut at all. Various faceless Human Resources people yes, doctors and nurses; all interchangeable. I didn’t even see the professor about the building. Not even the canteen. Friday however, was set out for spending the last day of my first week with him. The subject was marked clearly as “On the Job Familiarisation”, and as I was to be working in the professor’s department assistant then the day was set to one side to spend with him. With the boring but necessary stuff I had had to endure I was kind of looking forward to it. I thought th
at if nothing else it would definitely be different. So Thursday I had an early night and woke bright and early to get myself ready for spending my day with the professor. I wouldn’t say I was excited, as such; more curious. I suppose the French have a word for it as they say, but I’ll be buggered if I know what it is. All I know is I got up early, had my breakfast and made my way to what they called the Green light room. I was feeling quite pleased with myself for two reasons: Firstly, I knew where this room actually was, and secondly, I knew how to get to it too. The first time I had simply followed Hank, but now I knew exactly where the Green Light Room was in relation to the rest of the base.

  So I found myself approaching the double doors that led to the professor’s room with more than a little air of anticipation. Still, I kept an even pace and stopped just in front of the doors, knocking loudly on them. Nothing. I have often wondered in the small hours (bear with me here) some of the more obscure rules of etiquette. How many times for example do you have to thank someone for holding a door open for you if you are following them down a long corridor with lots of doors? (Just the once, apparently. Any more than that is considered vulgar. Right.) Or that awkward moment when you pass the same person in the corridor later in the day. Do you say hello (again) or not? Again, apparently a simple nod or a quick “hi” would do. Or, the one that was most prominent in mind right at that very moment was how long do you wait until you knock again without appearing either impatient or rude. I was definitely the former, but hopefully not the latter. I was thinking about this as there didn’t seem to be any response from within the professor’s office at all. Nothing. So I knocked again. Still nothing. Awkward.

  So I took a seat and waited. The day was due to begin at nine am and although I had been a little early the time had now moved on while I waited. I sat on the same chair I had sat on at the interview and from time to time (probably every thirty seconds or so, but it seemed longer) I tried a long loud series of knocks on the door. Still nothing. I put my ear next to the door and listened. Not a sound. Five past nine came and went and by now I was in a right panic. I knew I was in the right place but nevertheless several times I pulled my copy of the itinerary out of my jacket pocket and re-checked it. Nope. I was completely, definitely sitting outside the right room. It was by now ten past nine and I knocked loudly on the door more in panic than anything, just as I noticed Hank rounding the corner of the long corridor and heading in my direction.

  The suitcase/ batteries (whichever explanation you chose to use. I had one for the batteries, but not one for the suitcases. Maybe he was in a perpetual state of anticipation of a holiday. Who knows? ) were still in his hands, but I finally settled on what was peculiar about his walk. I had had a vague feeling of unease since I had first met him but could not quite put a finger on what it was that was particularly odd about it. I got it now as he headed towards me up the corridor. I realised that when he walked his head never moved from side to side. It was if he was focused on something just on the horizon that only he could see and that he was heading towards it without fuss, at his own pace, but that his attention never wavered from it at all. Eventually he reached where I sat and stopped dead in front of me. He did not turn, but remained in profile. In his usual monotone voice he asked, “Can I help you, Luke?”

  I pulled my itinerary out of my pocket at waved it at Hank’s side. “I have an appointment with Professor Wingnut at nine am.” I spluttered. Hank didn’t move at all. “Green light room.” I finished. Again Hank didn’t move, though I thought I may have noticed his ear twitch slightly. Suddenly he spun to face me and his left eye twinkled slightly.

  “The professor doesn’t respond to knocks.” he said in his same emotionless monotone voice. I looked at my itinerary again almost in accusation. “Just go in.” I gave him my best friendly smile and as I went to turn the handle on the door it suddenly shot open, the professor glancing around the corner of the door as if waiting for me, his wild white hair just as crazy and seemingly wind swept as the first time I had met him. As he saw me he waved his arm impatiently, and disappeared from view. His voice from within the room however was loud and unmistakable.

  “Come on, Luke!” he shouted, though I now couldn’t actually see him. “We have to get a haircut!” I walked into the room and drew to a halt, looking around me. The professor was standing by the double French doors, pulling a small tweed jacket over his lab coat.

  “A haircut?” I gasped out of breath, and the professor nodded vigorously before pulling the French windows open more and running out onto the lawn. I gazed around the Green Light room. Everything seemed more or less exactly the same as the only other time I had been in here. The book shelves, the furniture; same large desk. If anything the desk maybe looked a little more untidy than it had before, if that was indeed possible. The professor popped his head back around the large French windows once more, and scooped up a large piece of paper from the desk.

  “Come on, Luke!” he exclaimed almost in exasperation. “We will be moving from blue to purple in…” he paused to consult his wristwatch, squinting at it through his small, smeared glasses, “Fifteen minutes!” With that he was gone.

  As I stood open mouthed I moved to the French windows and spied the professor pausing at a line of trees across the lawn, gesticulating wildly. I ran out of the door and made a shortcut diagonally across the grass as I suspected that Wingnut was heading for the car park at the head of the drive.

  It crossed my mind that if anyone was watching me from the windows then they may have thought I had lost the plot to be honest. I scooted across the lawn shouting after Wingnut to slow down, my shirt tails flapping in the breeze after me. Eventually I caught him up in the car park just as he opened the door of a very old mini and clambered inside. I stopped to get my bearings. This car park seemed to be much bigger than the one I had been used to, but looking around to get my bearings I could see that it was definitely the same car park I always arrived at and departed from. Just a hell of a lot more cars. I stood there mouth open, thinking it also looked a lot more modern than I remembered it. My attention however was interrupted by the professor leaning across the seat of the mini and winding the window down. “Come on Luke!” he yelled. “The barbers will be red at this rate!” I clasped the door handle of the car and jumped in. I had no idea what Wingnut was on about. And he was driving!

  He reversed the car out of its parking space and we made our way out of the car park onto the main drive. There certainly seemed to be a lot more lamp posts than I had previously noted! The professor had folded the piece of paper he had taken from the desk and at the moment it obscured a small square of the windscreen. I searched in vain for a seat belt, and finding that there didn’t actually seem to be one, decided to grasp tight hold of the seat instead.

  Reaching the end of the drive and turning right we left the office behind us and we were on the main road. I noticed all kinds of details I hadn’t on the previous occasions I had travelled on the road. Plenty more traffic as well. Quite busy in fact.

  “So how are you finding your first week, Luke?” asked the professor as we passed under a small railway bridge that seemed rusted; old and definitely not in use any more. Vegetation seemed to hand down from the parapet over the edge of the bridge itself. In some ways it seemed quite quaint, and I wondered casually why it was so overgrown.

  “Very well thank you, professor Wingnut” I said, smiling at the professor as he negotiated his way along what presumably passed as an A road in these parts. We had turned off the main road and the difference in this lane was quite marked. Bits of it looked more like a goat track to me as we got further and further away from the office.

  “Oh no need to use my full name.” he smiled, narrowly missing a small duck that seemed to have wandered into the road. I clung to the seat a little tighter as the professor continued to accelerate down the very narrow lane. “Just “professor” will suffice.” and he lifted his glasses off his prominent nose and gave a broad wink.

 
“Okay. Erm... Professor.” I said, as the car continued to accelerate. “Nice car you have here.” I had noticed just how new and clean the inside of the car was, and although it had no seat belts which more or less made it an original model from the early sixties, it had clearly been well looked after as it was in such a good condition.

  “I am a bit of an antique car collector you’ll find.” He said. “The Rover is mine too. The one you were collected from the station in. This one is much more economical to run though. Three Fairclough’s to the gallon you know!”

  “Right.” I said. “Three Fairclough’s, eh? Who would have thought it?” The professor tapped the wheel again, and giving a big proud of himself kind of smile beeped the horn loudly three times. The sheep in a nearby field looked startled as we drove past, passing a sign that read, “Caldecott One Mile” by the side of the road.

  The village when we reached it very soon after was a typical sleepy English village. Or more likely, what most chocolate tin manufacturers would consider to be a typical sleepy English village. There was a small circular parking area surrounded by a quaint village green, around which were clustered a few small shops, and then the road leading back out of the village. That was it. I spent the first five minutes looking for a pond, but there didn’t seem to be one. The professor pulled the handbrake on and turned off the engine, before snatching the large piece of paper he had brought with him from the dashboard. He quickly unfolded it and placed it on his knee.

  It appeared to be some kind of multi coloured spreadsheet. Leaning across to have a look I could see that the days of the week (excluding Sunday) were the fields across the top, and the vertical column seemed to be the hours of the day between 9am and 5pm in fifteen minute increments. Although there were a few gaps uncoloured on the spreadsheet, most were carefully shades in lots of different colours right across the colours of the rainbow. I read across the days of the week to Friday, then down to 9 am which was coloured red, 9.15 which was orange, 9.30 which was purple, and 9.45 which was blue. 10am followed it, which was back to purple. I glanced at the professor who was busy poring over the spreadsheet, and took note that most of Saturday morning seemed to be red. I looked at my watch. 9.40 am. The professor poked the coloured in cell marked as 9.45am and folding it carefully, placed it in one of his jacket pockets.