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  Mr. Bell intervened. “We’ve agreed we can’t go on like this, which means we need to buy a new robot. The question remains, what do we do with Grumps?”

  The door opened before anyone had a chance to reply and the butler appeared. To his surprise they were sitting around the table exactly as he had left them. Perhaps they were waiting for the main course after all. Then he noticed that they were looking at him with an expression he did not recognize.

  “We’ve picked up most of it,” said Mrs. Bell, indicating the mess on the floor.

  “Do you require anything more to eat?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Something smells good,” said Gavin.

  “I have made your favorite vegetable pie. And the pudding that Miss Fleur is so fond of.”

  Mrs. Bell’s face softened and she looked meaningfully round the table at her family. “We’ll have them tonight. Thank you.”

  There was a silence as Grumps registered Mrs. Bell’s words. His heavy steel features took on a downcast expression. “I have failed again, haven’t I?”

  Mrs. Bell shifted in her seat. “It’s your timer. You know it doesn’t work properly. You must ask the house when you’re confused.”

  “I didn’t know I was confused,” said the butler in a doleful tone. “These dark mornings and evenings—I get muddled.”

  “We’d have you repaired if we could,” said Mr. Bell. “But your timer is so deep in your wiring that it could damage your entire system.”

  There was another pause, punctuated by sweeping sounds as Grumps cleaned the floor. He straightened up, the dustpan in his hand. “I am obsolete,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Mrs. Bell.

  “You could replace me with a model that is five times …” He reconsidered. “.…Three times more efficient than I am.”

  “You function perfectly well. Apart from the minor problem of your timer…. Why should we replace you, you’re one of the family! You’ve been with us since we were married.”

  “I should not mind going to the scrapheap,” went on Grumps. “After all, I should have no knowledge of it, once you removed my batteries.”

  Fleur looked at Gavin and rolled her eyes. He pretended not to notice.

  “Go back to the kitchen, Grumps,” said Mr. Bell. “We’ll come and talk to you later.”

  Fleur put her hand to her forehead. “I shan’t mind going to the scrapheap!” she mimicked. “Oh, I can’t bear it. It’s too, too tragic!”

  “We humans don’t last forever,” said Mr. Bell to his wife, “and neither do machines. There’s some truth in what he says.”

  “I hope you don’t send me to the scrapheap if a part of me wears out,” retorted Mrs. Bell. “He’s not any old machine! He’s a caring, thinking, feeling machine.”

  “It was kind of him to make our favorite food,” said Gavin.

  His dad sighed. “It isn’t kindness—he’s simply designed to repeat the things that please us. Look, just because Grumps can hold a conversation it doesn’t mean he actually understands things like we do. He might behave like a human or an animal but it isn’t real. He can’t feel anything. He has no imagination, no emotions, no likes and dislikes.”

  Although Fleur had never really thought about it before, she wished she could agree with her dad. Life was difficult enough without having to consider the feelings of robots. Yet he was wrong.

  “Grumps does have likes and dislikes. You can tell he doesn’t get on with the house but he’s very fond of the kettle.”

  “Well, he has preferences,” said her dad. “The manufacturers programmed him that way to give him a bit of character. But it’s like a cat who prefers a particular cushion, it doesn’t mean much.”

  “If you’re going to compare a robot to an animal….,” began Mrs. Bell.

  “Animals are alive, Mum,” said Gavin gently. “Robots are just machines that run on an energy supply.”

  Once again Fleur felt obliged to correct her family’s grasp of the facts. “Animals need an energy supply too. They get theirs from food.”

  “I was going to say,” persisted Mrs. Bell, “that we would only put an animal down if it was very very sick. The only thing wrong with Grumps is his timer.”

  “Life has become very topsy-turvy because of it,” said her husband. “Besides, he’s old-fashioned. Modern robots can do so much more.”

  “What more do we need him to do?”

  Her family was momentarily thrown by the question.

  “Have proper legs and a flexible body so it can play games with us,” suggested Gavin. “It could run and kick a ball.”

  “We should buy one with long tapering fingers that can wash my hair and plait it for me,” said Fleur dreamily.

  Mrs. Bell looked expectantly at her husband.

  “Well, as Gavin says, it would be nice to have one that can play games.”

  “Very nice,” agreed Mrs. Bell, “but not essential.” Her voice took on a pleading tone. “Grumps has served us loyally over the years. It really doesn’t matter to me whether he’s animal, vegetable or mineral, or not. What does it say about us if we send an otherwise good robot to the scrapheap just because he isn’t perfect?”

  Her husband and children looked at each other, tacitly agreeing that it was useless to argue. Each had a point of view, but none of them felt as strongly as Mrs. Bell.

  “It still doesn’t solve our problem,” said Mr. Bell.

  “Why don’t we keep Grumps and buy a new robot to help him?” said Gavin.

  His mum seemed lost in thought.

  “That’s a good idea,” said his dad. “Mind you, two robots, two adults and three children … it could be a bit crowded.”

  “Can I leave the table?” said Fleur. “I have to get on with my project.”

  Mrs. Bell suddenly became animated. “We’d need one that could fit in with Grumps if they’re going to work together. Peter, why don’t you ask your friend, the professor, for advice?”

  Fleur turned back at the door. “I’ve got a good suggestion. My friend Marcia’s just bought the latest model. It’s called a BDC4 and it’s—”

  “Far beyond our means.” Her dad rolled his eyes. “The only people who can afford something that sophisticated are technocrats or government ministers. Your friend Marcia is in a different league from us. Honestly, when you think what complex machinery that girl has just to carry her bags … I hadn’t thought of the professor, Chloe. I’ll call him today.”

  “Huh!” cried Fleur, as she flounced out of the room. “What does a professor know about style?”

  Shortly after, Mr. Bell left for his meeting and Gavin played with Charlotte until Grumps had cleared away the breakfast things.

  “I’m interviewing over the gobey for an hour or so,” said Mrs. Bell, who was in charge of employment (human and robotic) at a large hotel. “Then I’m going into work and taking Charlotte to the day care center. You’re staying at home, aren’t you?”

  “Till this afternoon,” said Gavin, and waited for her to disappear before bounding to the top of the house. Passing the study area, he noticed that Fleur was already working on the gobetween. He had plenty to do himself but first he had some burning questions to ask.

  Underneath the roof was an entire room devoted to the go-between. Gavin went in and selected a pair of glasses from a hook on the wall. He slipped them on and stood in front of the large screen.

  “Get me Socrates,” he said.

  There appeared a middle-aged man with a protruding stomach, sitting beneath an olive tree. He wore the homespun white robe of the ancient Greeks. Gavin sat on the grass opposite him.

  “Socrates, do you think a robot has rights?”

  Socrates frowned. “I am not familiar with the term you use. What is a robot?”

  Of course, they had no such thing in 420 BC, although Gavin would not have been surprised if they had invented the notion. Unfortunately he couldn’t think of another word that the Gr
eek might know.

  “It’s a machine that can think. Some of them aren’t that clever and just do a particular job like building walls, but some of them are very intelligent and are a bit like us.”

  The philosopher leaned back against the tree. “And why should this machine have rights?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering,” said Gavin. “You and I talked the other day about animals having rights, and I thought about it and they do.”

  Socrates nodded but it was hard to tell if he approved. Gavin knew from experience that he didn’t say what he thought. He simply asked lots of questions until you saw the answer for yourself.

  Gavin went on, “Then you asked whether humans had a right to be free—I knew my answer to that one because we don’t believe in slavery nowadays. Then you said what about a right to be happy. I’m not sure about that, but if we do, I don’t see why robots shouldn’t be happy too.”

  “And what would make a robot happy?”

  “Dad says it’s making humans happy because that’s what they’re programmed…. built to do.”

  “What about free will?” asked Socrates. “Does the robot have any freedom to choose how it behaves?”

  Gavin hesitated. “Not if it can only do what we tell it to do, I suppose. But then, if we built a robot that could choose for itself…”—after many sessions with the philosopher he had grown used to reflecting on his own questions—”then it would have free will. So then we should give it the right to choose to be happy, or free, or whatever. Otherwise, it would be wrong to build it with free will,” he concluded.

  He was very pleased with his logic but Socrates looked agitated. It was obviously difficult for him, not knowing what a robot was.

  “Why don’t you think about it overnight?” Gavin suggested, which was a way of telling the programmers that Socrates needed more information to be able to help.

  Generally at this point a sign would appear saying ASK PLATO or HOBBES, and Gavin would call up another philosopher. Today there was nothing. He decided to leave Socrates onscreen in case he learnt a bit more by tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Do you really think Mum and Dad will buy a new robot?” Fleur whispered to Gavin. They were walking to the learning center later in the day. Grumps was a few steps behind them, concentrating all his faculties on watching for dangers.

  “Fancy getting so upset over a machine,” she went on. “If only they’d buy one like Marcie’s. I haven’t seen her yet, but Marcie says this BDC4 is unlike any robot she’s ever had.”

  They turned a corner and found the way blocked by roadworks. Dozens of robotinas were mending potholes in the pavement. They scuttled around like giant beetles, dragging stones and digging holes with their outsize arms. Usually Gavin enjoyed watching their frenetic activity, but today he hurried by. He had a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. It might have been the soup, but he didn’t think so.

  Fleur fell silent, imagining herself escorted by a tall bronzed robot with long curvy limbs. His burnished metal gleamed in the sunlight so that people stopped to gape at him. Then they turned to look at Fleur, as if wondering who she could be to have such a regal companion. Fleur ignored the stares, her head held high, like a technobrat accustomed to curiosity and admiration. Crowds began to gather but she and the robot strolled nonchalantly on. The people parted to let them pass—

  “If I may say so, Miss Fleur”—Grumps’ voice interrupted her reverie—”you appear very distracted.”

  “I was busy thinking!” said Fleur. “Honestly, you’re so grumpy, no wonder we call you Grumps.”

  “I am sorry if I have annoyed you. I am worried about your crossing the road. The traffic is very busy at this hour.”

  Fleur realized that they had come to the main road, which separated the residential area from the factories and offices. The learning center was just beyond. Pods whizzed along in both directions, bearing deliveries and supplies, their polished titanium shells as bright as silver. Some of the larger ones carried building materials, furniture or robot workers.

  As the children approached the crossing, it emitted a signal to stop the traffic. The pods came to a halt. The Bells were about to cross when an enormous lorry sped by, ignoring the red light that belatedly lit up. Grumps automatically stepped forward, shielding the children and forcing them back onto the pavement. The lorry was followed by another and another: an entire convoy thundered along the road. Gavin whistled in amazement.

  “They were petrol-powered; there must be new supplies.”

  Fleur wasn’t interested in petrol. It was smelly and the fumes made you cough. They crossed the road. Behind them, the pods whirred into action once more. “Well,” she persisted, “what do you think? Will they buy a new robot?”

  “I expect so,” said Gavin. “But nothing exciting. We’ll probably get one of those new monks—the ones that speak softly and serve food on bamboo trays. Mum will say it’ll be good for Charlotte—it’ll teach her to be enlightened, or something.”

  They had reached the entrance to the learning center, a wide stone gateway with human figures and robots carved in relief. A plaque on one of the posts read: CENTER FOR LIFELONG LEARNING AND ACHIEVEMENT. Inside, people of all ages were purposefully crisscrossing the courtyard. A group came into sight from the direction of the art block. One of them, an oddly glowing figure, was towered over by a golden robot.

  “I believe that is your friend Marcia, Miss Fleur,” observed Grumps.

  “Yes. You can go now,” said Fleur hastily. She dreaded Marcia making fun of Grumps in public, which she often did.

  “I am sorry, Miss Fleur,” said Grumps. “I would not be fulfilling my duty were I not to escort you to the door.”

  It was too late. Marcia came around the corner just as they reached the bottom of the steps to the main building. Her golden companion was the robot of Fleur’s dreams: her head a burnished dome; her long limbs sculpted like the statue of a Greek goddess. The BDC4 robot was far more beautiful in real life than in the advertisements on the gobetween. Fleur noted with envy that the light glinted off her metal, although it was not a particularly sunny day.

  “Yoohoo!” called Marcia. She walked up to them and locked arms with Fleur. “Hi, Fleur. Hello, Gavin. Meet our new machine,” she said offhandedly. “We’ve decided to call her Boadicea.”

  A few other children had gathered round, though Marcia affected not to notice them.

  “I’m so hot!” she confided to Fleur in a loud voice. “I really should set Boadicea at a slower pace, but she looks so elegant when she strides along.”

  Fleur and Gavin stared at Marcia’s dress, which had been glowing a faint orange beneath her coat. Before their eyes it was gradually turning a cool blue. “That’s better,” said Marcia, tucking a long strand of chestnut-colored hair behind her ear. She was used to people staring at her clothes, many of which changed color in response to variations in her body heat. Once she had shown Fleur a party dress that went through all the hues of the rainbow, causing her to shimmer in a thousand lights.

  “Boadicea, say hello to Fleur and Gavin.”

  The robot looked the children up and down. “Hi,” she said. “I’ve just spent the morning watching Marcie in the art room. She’s so talented, don’t you think?”

  She spoke in a lazy drawl like someone used to lying beside a pool in a hot climate. Yet her eyes were lively and her metal lips parted in a fetching smile.

  Neither Gavin nor Fleur knew how to respond. They were not used to robots asking their opinion.

  “I’ve just biscuit-fired my pot,” Marcia told Fleur. “I’m going home to research Byzantine pottery to get some ideas for decorating it. You haven’t forgotten you’re coming round this evening?”

  “No,” said Fleur.

  “Come along, Boadicea.” Marcia summoned her with an imperious wave of her hand. “You really should get a new robot, Fleur. Grumps is a joke. Byeee!”

  Gavin was surprised that Fleur didn’t respond to M
arcia. “Bye, Grumps,” he said. “I’ll call you when I want you to collect me.” He waited until Grumps had moved off before asking his sister, “Why didn’t you tell Marcia we’re getting a new robot?”

  “What’s the point? We’ll never compete with Boadicea.”

  Fleur and Gavin climbed the steps to the main building, an immense stone structure with Greek columns at the entrance. Big glass doors parted to let them enter. As they walked across the marbled hallway there was a discreet chirping from the jinn on Gavin’s wrist. “Gavin, your dad is calling.”

  A bell-like sound joined in. “It’s your father, Fleur!”

  Fleur also wore her jinn on her wrist. “Not now,” she told it. “Can’t stop, Gavin, it’s interactive maths. Let me know what Dad says. See you later.” And she ran off down the corridor.

  Gavin decided to talk to his dad on a bigger screen. “Transfer message to nearest gobey,” he told the jinn, hurrying toward a cubicle by the entrance.

  “Gavin Bell. There’s a message for me,” he said as he entered.

  “Confirmed,” said the cubicle.

  A gobetween filled the width of the far wall. Gavin’s father was on the screen, standing in a palatial room. Behind him was a holographic model of a low building. Several men and women, many of them dressed in identical red-and-gray suits, were milling around, chatting to each other or examining the model.

  With a jolt, Gavin realized that he must be looking at some of the most important people on the planet—the directors of LifeCorp. They ran the company that provided transport, food, water, learning centers, factories, houses and almost everything else he could think of. He couldn’t resist staring at them. They were of different nationalities but, apart from the suits, appeared just like everyone else. He wasn’t sure what he would have expected.

  Mr. Bell stood with his back to the gobetween, talking to a gray-haired man who looked Chinese. The man wore small wire-rimmed glasses—most people had their sight corrected by laser or through gene therapy at conception. The glasses gave him a slightly bemused look. He too wore the red-and-gray suit.

  “Hello, Dad.”