+++

The next few weeks were uneventful for Noble, in the sense that she allowed the Scientist to lead her to secret meetings in Hackney and Brixton at night and stayed in the basement at Housman’s for eight hours during the day.

Reading zines was only intermittently boring

cos there was so much variety

so many isms

though the ones the Scientist selected were often the most polemic and uncompromising.

And she seemed to have a special fixation with the anarchism of Bakunin and Goldman and Ito

which had either been dormant in the past or

indulged covertly when Noble had been fighting for her life in the sky above Slovenia

or

sleepwalking through life in Hong Kong.

+++

One night, as they were walking from Housman’s in King’s Cross to the Scientist’s flat in Old Street, a man with a beard and bubble jacket started to follow them.

Noble picked up on it first, due to her acute sensors, and as they turned into the estate where the Scientist lived, she turned and waited for the stalker to catch up.

‘What are you doing?’ asked the Scientist.

‘He’s been following us.’

‘Who?’

The man stopped, hearing Noble’s last line. ‘Me?’

‘For the last five minutes.’

‘What?’

Noble raised her gun arm. ‘Who are you?’

‘What the fuck’s that?’ asked the man, putting his arms up in a defensive stick figure pose.

‘Gun arm.’

‘Do what?’

The Scientist put her hand on Noble’s wrist and lowered it slowly. ‘Noble, this is Edward.’

‘You know him?’

‘He’s my flatmate.’

‘Him?’

‘Si.’

‘Where’s he been for the last few weeks?’

‘Activism,’ Edward said proudly.

‘What?’

‘I sent him on a mission to look for info shops in Chile.’

‘Info shops?’

‘I tried googling them, but there were no results in English or Spanish. I suspected something authoritarian was going on so I sent Edward to check it out.’

‘Does he speak Spanish?’

‘Course I do, mate.’

‘… … … … … … … … … …?’ asked Noble in rudimentary Spanish.

‘Que?’

‘What did I just say?’

‘Just now?’

‘Si.’

‘Something about-…you wanted to know if I’d done-…if I’d found any info shops in Chile.’

The Scientist laughed.

‘What?’

‘I asked what the capital of Ghana was.’

‘Huh? What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘… … … … … … … … …?’

‘I don’t know. Lagos. Who cares?’

‘This time I asked you if you’d found any info shops in Chile?’

‘Fuck you, who is this guy?’

‘An old friend.’

‘He’s fucking annoying.’

‘She,’ corrected Noble.

The Scientist put her arm around Edward’s shoulder. ‘She’s not usually this aggressive. Probably just being protective of me. Can’t blame her for that.’

‘She’s one of your robots?’

‘Not from birth. Reprogrammed.’

‘Right-wing?’

‘Was.’

‘Ah, that explains the aggression then.’

‘Si.’

The two of them walked up the steps and into the apartment that they allegedly shared, with Noble dropping back stealth-like, watching the Scientist’s hand work its way down onto Edward’s ass.

+++

Dinner was Cuban and poorly made [by Edward] and, after it was finished, Noble was directed to wash up.

She went slowly, waiting for the Scientist to suggest half and half, do it together, but she was already on the couch, asking Edward about the zine scene in Santiago.

Noble turned on the tap in the kitchen, tuned her audio sensors to a wider catchment area and listened in.

The key points:

Feminism is strong in Santiago.

Anti-racism is strong

Protection of native rights is under threat, but resistance is stable, so there’s a plateau.

Advancement of diverse voices in art/film/fiction? If the proposed ‘women only year of art’ initiative gets off the ground, optimistic.

The Scientist squirmed on the couch. ‘What were the names of the info shops you went to again?’

‘Various, I forget.’

‘Which areas of Santiago?’

‘Dodgy ones.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Why are you asking that?’

‘What about Vulgar Marxism? Anarchism?’

‘Uh-huh, that too.’

‘That too what?’

‘It’s doing okay. Obviously. Again though, why would you ask that?’

The Scientist stroked the hair on Edward’s arm and muttered something in Spanish.

‘Don’t hide behind those words.’

She moved her hand up to his neck then down to his jeans and said, ‘I’m not.’

Noble couldn’t see the hand movements, but she could translate the tone of the words. Leaving the dishes and turning off the tap, she walked back into the living room only to find it empty. She walked on towards the Scientist’s bedroom and put her robot ear to the door.

There were noises, moans, someone saying, ‘wanted to fuck you in Chile, in those blue fucking caves.’

Noble knocked on the door.

‘Si?’

Noble didn’t know what to say.

‘What is it?’

‘I’ve finished washing up.’

‘We’re busy, Nobes.’

‘He can watch,’ said Edward, his voice muffled, possibly because his head was between the Cuban’s legs.

‘She.’

‘She can watch, I don’t care.’

‘Shut up.’

‘What…’

‘We’ll be back out in a bit,’ said the Scientist. ‘Try reading more Bakunin.’

‘Okay.’

Noble returned to the couch and picked up the Bakunin zine. She read ten lines then threw it against the wall. Sharpening her sensors, she listened in to the sex, shivering a little when the Scientist said it was so warm, she liked it.

The remote was next to her on the couch so she picked it up and turned on the TV, increasing the volume until the characters were screaming.

It was a police drama

and it was shit

the criminal didn’t even have a decent plan

the main detective was a drunk

battling pseudo demons

no, real demons

that guy, the thief, he had purple eyes

but he was living on a council estate, which meant

which meant the drama was written by someone from Kensington, who went to Oxford, who could probably speak Latin or ancient Sumerian.

Noble left the TV on and went outside, first onto the balcony then down onto the pavement.

Old Street was full of people in 80’s Slazenger jackets

smoking rollies

and none of them noticed the grey metal socialist moving past them, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped, not even when Noble put a dent in a Give Way sign.

‘You okay?’ asked a woman, not wearing an old Slazenger jacket.

‘No.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Cubans.’

‘Huh?’

‘Sorry, I’d prefer to be alone right now.’

The woman moved closer, into the zone of the street lamp above, offering a cigarette. By the looks of her, she was Swedish, or possibly Norwegian.

‘I don’t smoke.’

‘Don’t doesn’t mean can’t.’

Noble processed the logic of the line and came up with specious. She shrugged and took the cigarette anyway.

‘It’s pretty cold out…’ said the woman, folding her hands in on each other.

‘I don’t feel the cold or the heat.’

‘I do.’

‘Maybe you should go back home.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Thanks for the cigarette.’

‘You haven’t lit it yet?’

‘Later.’

The woman looked around, stopping on the corner of the street where a man was staring at her, also smoking.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Noble, following her gaze.

‘Not sure.’

‘He’s looking at you.’

‘Might be looking at you.’

‘No, it’s you.’ Noble pointed at her own face, the eyes. ‘I have very sharp eyesight.’

‘Okay, there’s a chance he’s a guy I know…can’t tell from this distance. He’s harmless though…’

‘Is he?’

‘If it’s who I think it is, yeah. Mostly.’

‘Hmm.’

‘I mean, he’s never done anything before. Violent…’

Noble stared at the filter of her unlit cigarette. Then at the jacket of the possible Norwegian. Then at her lips. ‘I can protect you. If he tries anything.’

‘You’d help a stranger?’

‘I suppose so.’

The woman smiled and held out her spare hand. ‘Juliana.’

‘Noble.’

‘That a man’s name or…’

‘Ambiguous.’

‘Right.’

‘Though I’m actually female.’

‘I don’t wanna be rude, but your skin looks a bit…’

‘Grey?’

Juliana nodded, taking a drag and stealing a look at the man on the corner again. She breathed out a long trail of smoke when she saw he was gone.

‘I’m a robot,’ said Noble.

‘Yeah, me too.’

Noble opened her mouth to say really, but you look so human before quickly realising Juliana was joking. She semi-laughed to cover her tracks.

‘Listen Noble…it’s too cold out for me, I’m going back in, but…if you’re not doing anything…’

‘Are you inviting me up to your place?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’

‘The two of us? Alone?’

‘If it’s not too weird for you.’

‘I accept.’

Juliana blew out more smoke and looked at Noble’s mouth. ‘You’re not a robot vampire are you?’

‘Not in the literal sense.’

‘Huh?’

‘No, not at all. Sorry, it was a joke. But I really am a robot. That part’s true.’

‘I know.’

‘You do?’

‘Sure, I knew someone who knew a guy who worked on some of you.’

‘You did?’

‘Said you were super strong and super ideological. Didn’t mention the grey skin though.’

Noble scratched her ear. ‘I’m not dangerous, I swear.’

‘Well, that’s disappointing to hear. You coming up?’

Juliana finished the cigarette, stubbed it out, and then led her guest by the hand up to a high-rise flat, which was in the building next to the Scientist’s. Noble didn’t ask her anything on the way, she just held onto her cigarette and tried to pep talk herself into taking charge when the two of them inevitably started fucking.

The flat itself was pretty basic, too basic, and the lack of posters on the wall triggered a memory of the flats back in Hong Kong. No one decorated their homes cos they’d be moving to a new one after twelve months, and if there were pin holes in the walls, or drilled holes, or chipped paint then that would be the deposit dead in the water.

Noble sat on the couch, coffee in one hand, nothing in the other [the unlit cigarette was on the table] and watched Juliana set up the camera.

According to the speech she’d made a minute earlier, the flat was basic cos she was moving out soon and the camera was necessary cos she had a YouTube channel and she liked to interview strangers that she had invited into her home. The speech hadn’t contained anything about sex, but Noble knew it would happen eventually. Everyone wanted to know what it was like to fuck a robot, on some conscious level. Even Mormons.

Juliana lowered herself gracefully back down onto her seat and, pushing some loose hair away from her face, started talking directly to the camera. Noble hadn’t noticed it before, mostly cos she was preoccupied with potential sex, but there was an earpiece in Juliana’s left ear.

‘…met outside and agreed to share some of its opinions on a range of topics, like, just off the top of my head: love, star-signs, relationships, NLP scams, other things.’

Noble sipped coffee, scanning her memory core for information on NLP. Nothing. Juliana shifted side-on, keeping one eye fixed to the camera.

‘Noble, tell us a little about yourself, how to get in touch with you, where you’re based etc.’

‘Sorry, do I need an earpiece too?’

‘No, that’s fine.’

‘Okay…’

‘Just tell us about yourself…the camera will pick up all the nuances, don’t worry.’

‘Okay. Err…I’m Noble. I live next door.’

‘Online?’

‘Err…’

‘Your contact online.’

‘Oh. I don’t do that much.’

‘No website?’

‘No.’

‘Serious? Nothing online at all?’

Noble looked left, pulling back something from her memory core. Maybe it would fit. ‘I went on a Star Trek forum before.’

‘Star Trek?’

‘It’s not so easy to use though…poor graphics and layout. And only about ten active users. Well, on Hong Kong time anyway.’

‘Okay. Not sure that counts for much with my audience but, okay, at least you’re on there somewhere I guess.’ She reached forward and readjusted the camera. ‘Right, back to real life. You’re in London now and, do you like living here much or-…’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Too cold though, right?’

‘I told you, I don’t feel the cold. Or the heat.’

‘Ah. Because you’re a robot?’

‘Err…’ Noble glanced at the camera, noting the red light.

‘It’s fine, my viewers know all about your kind.’

‘They do?’

‘Sure, we’re tech fanatics, nothing gets past us.’

Noble nodded, instinctively moving her arm behind her back.

‘So…lifestyle, routine. You must travel a lot being a robot, right?’

‘A bit.’

‘To where? What kind of places?’

‘Various.’

‘China? Canada? The Middle East?’

‘I’ve never been to Canada.’

‘How about the US?’

‘Once or twice.’

Juliana nodded, typing something on her phone then holding it up. ‘Hmm. I don’t know if you know about this, it was on the news, local mostly, but there was this video that appeared last month, three robots brawling in LA…’

Noble watched the video of herself fighting Detroit and Angela on the phone and squirmed a little. Then stopped quickly when her circuits reported that was a perceptible sign of guilt.

‘See, it’s a group of left-wing bots…shooting it out in Koreatown.’ She paused the video, zooming in on a blurred shot of Noble. ‘That wasn’t you, was it?’

‘No. Not me.’

‘Nah, didn’t think so.’

‘I was here. In London. When that happened.’

‘Okay, never mind. I suppose you all look the same, grey skin, deadpan face. Though your hair is kinda similar to this one in the video.’ Juliana turned the phone to the camera, pushing it forward. ‘Not sure if that’s a common cut or…nah, it’s probably a coincidence. Cos you were here in London.’

‘A coincidence, yes.’

‘And we can’t condemn someone over a haircut. That’s what others do. Not us.’ She dropped the phone on the couch, ran a hand down her own chest, smiled to the camera. ‘Moving on then, what I thought we could start with, Noble, was a little bit of history, maybe you know it, maybe not. The Young Turks and the Armenian genocide. Some people say it didn’t happen, vast majority agree it did, where do you stand?’

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Or, let me rephrase. Some leftists claim the Young Turks didn’t kill anyone, that they’re saints, leftist saints of course, what do you say to that? Are the Young Turks guilty?’

‘I’m confused.’

‘Do you believe the Young Turks are guilty, yes or no?’

‘Why are we talking about this?’

‘Young Turks are guilty, yes or no?’

‘Who are you?’

Juliana looked directly into the camera. ‘You see that face? That gormless vacuum. See it? That’s what happens when you trap a leftist with actual facts and cogent arguments. The desperate fear, the confusion…’

‘Why are you saying this?’

‘…the pathetic attempt at apology…’

‘You’re like a completely different person.’

‘Aha, and now the sexism. Did you prefer it when I didn’t challenge you?’ She looked into the camera again, pouting, possibly ironically. ‘Yes, I’m using their own leftist argument against them. I don’t mind if someone disagrees with me. I won’t cry or yell, fuck, how dare you, I’m a woman. That’s their line. I don’t need that shit cos I’m an adult. I come prepared. I know my stuff.’

‘Okay. I’m leaving…’

‘Leaving? You mean you’re not even gonna try to defend your position? No? Ah, of course not. Typical leftist coward, too afraid to stay in the room and defend their lunatic views.’

Noble stood up, looked at the door then the camera. Whatever this was, it would probably end up online by midnight, but what did that matter? She never went online anyway.

‘Hey…don’t run like a little cuck, defend yourself. Put up some fight. You said the Young Turks were good guys, whereas historical consensus says they committed genocide. Sit down, tell us why you know things real historians don’t.’

Noble went to the door, put her hand on the frame then turned back. She didn’t know where it was coming from, but suddenly the rebuttal was appearing in her brain and flowing down through her circuits. Or however it worked.

‘You broke, Skynet?’

But then, what about editing? This wasn’t her territory, the liar on the chair over there could cut this any way she liked, probably a way that made herself look like Bertrand Russell and Noble look like Glenn Beck.

‘No comeback?’

I could just smash the camera, she thought, that would put an end to it, but there could be another camera somewhere, and being caught smashing things would doom the left for years, or doom it in the brains of right-wingers who wouldn’t vote our way anyway.

‘Okay, this is just embarrassing now.’

But if this did get out…

Before Noble could finish the chain of thought, her hand was turning the door handle and her legs were taking her out into the hallway.

Apparently, there was a survival trigger in her head that overrode all thought activity.

That was reassuring

or scary

Noble thought both, and then thought, motherfucker, as she saw a trail of smoke exit the mouth of the Nazi bot in the suit, his body leaning against the front door, his smirk Yale-esque.

‘You,’ Noble growled.

‘Obviously.’

Noble walked forward and tried to swat Frank out of the way, but he grabbed her wrist and held it tight.

‘Running again, commie…’

‘Get off.’

‘That would be a bad decision. Staying is better. As Mandela said, dialogue is good for all parties.’

‘I’m not interested in your party.’

‘Or Mandela?’

‘Release my hand.’

He smirked and let go. Noble rubbed her wrist even though there was no pain. It just felt like the apt thing to do.

‘You set this all up to trap me?’ she asked, blowing away excess smoke.

‘I did.’

‘Just to talk about the Armenians again?’

‘Do you want to know how I did it?’

Noble pointed at the earpiece in his ear.

‘Ha. Very observant.’

‘Get out of my way.’

‘Or what?’

Noble looked left, thinking it over.

‘You can’t beat me, Noblando Wu. Your side, there’s no logic in there…you know it yourself. There’s no rationality to any of your arguments. Even your precious workers have woken up. They can’t stand you now. They agree with us. And your plan to get them back is to call them all racist, even the non-white ones. Ha, calling your own base racist. It’s too easy. You’re all a big fucking philosophical mess, doomed to self-destruct every single time. It’s pathetic. Beautifully pathetic.’

Frank leaned forward and blew smoke in every corner of his enemy’s face, which decided it. Noble adjusted output to feigned mania, faked a swing at his chin, waited for the Nazi to raise a hand to block, then changed direction at the last half second and slammed him in the gut.

The force sent the pocket Franco back a step, but no more than that as his heels had dug in. And his hands had activated. Normally, Noble would’ve been initiating defence mode, but the cigarette left her with an opening and she took it, stepping forward in two short steps, feigning left and then shoving it nicotine-first back inside his mouth.

As expected, the internal fire flatlined his response system, making Noble’s second attack ten times more Hollywood.

From the ground twelve floors below, it would’ve looked like a guy flying a rocket backwards through a door, over the balcony and down onto the concrete below.

From the hallway, it wasn’t much different.

‘What did you do?’ yelled Juliana, running out with the camera clutched in her right hand.

Noble stared at the splintered wood parts of the door, admiring the pattern.

‘Hey, Skynet, what the fuck did you just do?’

‘Don’t overreact, he’ll be fine.’

‘You killed him.’

‘Physically.’

Noble walked to the balcony outside, activated the rocket boots and floated down to the ground below. When she landed, she looked back up and noticed Juliana wasn’t following. Nor was she racing to the stairwell.

Ah, so she knows what he is. Predictable.

Noble turned back.

On the concrete was a surprisingly relaxed Frank, sitting up awkwardly and frowning at the twisted pieces of metal sticking out of his arm.

‘Nice cigarette trick,’ he said, patting his throat. ‘Unexpected…for you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Won’t work a second time though.’

Noble bent down, swatting away his attempted defence. ‘You’re too cunning to be a run of the mill right bot.’

‘Am I?’

‘Who made you? The far right?’

‘Ha.’

‘Prager U?’

‘I’m a truth teller, Noble. Free and Wingless.’

‘Actually, I don’t really care. But if you come after me again, or anyone I know, I’ll break you into tiny, meaningless, little pieces.’

‘A redundant threat.’

‘I mean it.’

‘What you do or mean is of zero interest now.’

‘Because of your little video?’

‘It’ll be online in less than an hour. In every forum by tomorrow morning. Watch how your friends desert you.’

‘I don’t have any friends.’

‘You’ll see.’

‘Go to Hell, Nazi.’

Frank groaned a little as he started to bend his arm metal back into shape. ‘Where would that be, Berkeley?’

‘What?’

‘Williamsburg?’

Noble felt puzzled, she didn’t know those places well, but her intuition circuits told her it was a joke, so she immediately erased both answers and kicked the Nazi back down onto the ground.

‘Ha, more violence,’ said Frank, staying exactly where he was, continuing to bend metal.

‘It was deserved.’

‘The eternal fall back of the left, polemic and guillotines. Hey, wait…where you going? Running away again?’

‘I’m done with you.’

‘Oh no you’re not, I said it first. Can’t be done with me when I was done with you first. You listening, Commie? I said it first, you heard me say it, don’t try to-…’

Noble walked away and around the block where the Scientist lived two slow times before going back up and parking her exhausted ass on the couch. There was nothing she wanted to see on TV, but she turned it on regardless.

Star Trek Voyager.

Fuck.

She poured out a shot of Croatian brand vodka and watched Seven of Nine rag on about reclaiming her humanity before Janeway walked in and said, ‘yes, you are rediscovering your humanity, but don’t do that, or think that, it’s wrong. Okay?’

Halfway through the second episode, the Scientist came out of her room and apologised for blocking her earlier.

‘I thought you were gay,’ said Noble, deadpan.

‘What? I am.’

The robot gestured with a tired arm towards the bedroom.

‘Oh, not him, he’s just temporary.’

‘Like me?’

The Scientist sat down and stroked Noble on the neck. ‘Not like you. At all.’

‘I don’t see much difference.’

‘See, I can talk to you, I can’t with him.’

‘You talked to him before.’

‘That’s different. He doesn’t know as much as you do. He doesn’t have any ideas or response to theory.’ She looked at the zine on the floor. ‘Did you read any more Bakunin?’

Noble followed her eyes to the zine. ‘No.’

‘It’s well worth it.’

‘I’m tired.’

‘Actually, I had an idea. Not related to Bakunin, something different, a new plan. Or a revision of an old one. Key word: Slovenia. Your old stomping ground. See, the problem with Venezuela was, is, it’s in the news all the time, it’s in the imperialists backyard, but Slovenia, no one really knows where it is. And it’s already a solid country, so we just need to put all our resources into making it more anarchist, more future-looking. If we can do that, we have our example. One small country, one little shrub, inspiring the other shrubs. Get Ghana on board, Bosnia, Argentina, Cuba, Taiwan, the Scandinavian clique, a few more, focus on science, tech, languages, sci-fi, zines, collaborate with other anarchists, grow the infrastructure, the culture and ten, twenty years later, we’ve got a proper UN. A horizontal one. Then the rest of the world can either follow our way or perish like the Ottomans. What do you think?’

‘I’m still tired.’

‘No initial feedback?’

‘No.’

‘Okay. Tomorrow then.’

The Scientist moved her hand down to Noble’s thigh and ran it back and forth.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Noble, not stopping her.

‘Exercise.’

‘I said I was tired.’

‘Relax, Nobes, I’ll do all the leg work.’

Noble coughed, half turning it into a laugh.

‘What the fuck is this?’ came a shout from the bedroom, followed quickly by Edward, naked with an open laptop in his hands. ‘You did this?’

Noble shrugged.

‘What is it?’ asked the Scientist

‘A fucking debacle.’ He pointed the screen towards the Cuban. ‘Look for yourself.’

They all watched as Edward pressed play and the interrogation of Noble from two hours previous ran its course. It ended, unsurprisingly, on the bot-shaped hole in the front door, and Noble grinning like a psychopath.

‘He did that…the hole.’

‘She,’ corrected Noble.

‘Yeah, mate. You’re about as feminine as Hacksaw Jim Duggan. Fucking weirdo.’

Noble stood up, her gun arm self-activating. Edward saw the glow and panicked, shouting, ‘Cuban, help,’ while ducking down on the floor and hiding behind the tiny wi-fi router.

‘Calm your tarts, people,’ said the Scientist, clicking on the pad and typing something. ‘It’s fixable.’

‘It’s gonna shoot me!’

‘She,’ said the Scientist.

‘Stop it!’

‘Wait a sec…’

The Scientist continued typing, clicked a few more times, typed some more, smiled, laughed then folded down the laptop screen and looked at Edward. ‘Done.’

‘He’s still aiming at me, do something.’

‘Noble, lower the gun arm. Edward, go to your room.’

Edward stood up, sweat patches under his arms. ‘I want that fucking psycho out of here.’

‘Room, Edward.’

‘It’s unhinged, fucking lunatic.’

‘Now.’

‘Hey, don’t shout now at me, I didn’t do anything. He’s the one pointing a fucking gun.’

‘She.’

‘Okay,’ said the Scientist, reaching out and touching his hand. ‘Please can you go to your room?’

‘Maybe. But I still want it out of here.’

‘I’ll take care of this.’

‘Asap.’

‘We’ll talk later.’

‘No bullshitting.’

‘Edward…’

‘Okay, okay, I’m going.’

Edward pointed a grubby finger at Noble and managed a kind of growl before turning and walking slowly to his room. The door slammed behind him.

‘You fixed the video?’ asked Noble, sitting back down on the couch and watching Star Trek.

‘I did.’

Noble nodded, staring at the screen.

‘Do you want to know how?’ asked the Scientist, switching to Spanish.

‘No.’

‘Really? You don’t?’

No answer.

‘Nobes…’ The Scientist manoeuvred herself onto Noble’s lap and tried to put her arms around the robot’s neck, but was blocked, three times. ‘Come on…it’s still me…your old comrade, Miriam.’

‘I’m watching TV.’

The Scientist turned to the screen, tutting at Janeway. ‘A hypocritical American fantasy of a future predicated on multi-culturalism and co-operation yet centred almost entirely on Western actors, Western writers and American English.’

‘I like it.’

‘Then you need your circuits fixing.’

‘By you?’

‘It won’t take long. And I’ll do it for free.’

‘Good night.’

‘Serious?’

‘I’m watching TV.’

‘Fine. Do that then.’ The Scientist stood up and walked halfway to the corridor. ‘That couch is not very comfortable though.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘There are better places to sleep.’

‘I prefer here.’

The Scientist put her hand on the wall, formed a fist then punched it, harder than she’d intended.

‘The landlord will charge you for that,’ said Noble, keeping eyes on the TV.

‘You’re an ungrateful little shit sometimes.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I just saved your blank ass and you treat me like this? Throw my Bakunin zine on the floor. In my own flat. You’re a selfish fucking cunt, Noble.’

‘Good night.’

The Scientist punched the wall again, lingered for a few seconds then strode away to her room, slamming the door.

Noble continued watching TV, feeling slightly bored at the melodrama coming from the guy with the face tattoo and the woman who seemed to be an alien pretending to be human, but then, at the end of the episode, it turned out that the aliens hated the humans and wanted them dead, until Janeway said, hey, I’ll disarm our warheads, give you peace of mind, and everything resolved itself in mutual respect and affability. Well, Janeway was affable, the Vulcan remained a dick.

The Scientist’s door opened and closed, followed by the opening and closing of the naked coward’s door. It was very quiet, no slamming, but still audible to a robot.

As were the muffled sex noises.

Jesus.

Noble turned off the TV and stretched out on the couch. She tried to think back on the journey through the night, and what she could do the next morning, and the next year, but for some reason she couldn’t get Janeway out of her head.

I either want to fuck her, she thought, or I wanna follow her beliefs to the bitter end.

Maybe both.

And the whole thing played out in what passed as robot dreams with Noble coming aboard the ship as a mysterious metal alien, charming Janeway with talk of anarcho-communist theory [with her still in charge] then, when they got off-shift, going back to the Captain’s quarters and fucking her against a replicator.

Noble woke up hard, sweaty, vaguely embarrassed that she’d resolved things the way she had.

It’s not me, she thought, making toast in the kitchen, it’s a random sequence of my unconscious. A completely different thing.

To cement over the shame, she pulled back Cantonese and said the word for kitchen.

Then did the same for other objects in the flat and, when the toast was done, walked outside, ignored the balcony, drifted down to ground level and headed slowly towards the nearest train station.

‘I ain’t love nobody,’ she sang in a low voice. ‘And nobody love me. Nobody, nobody be loving me.’ She paused, pulling back the Voyager credits, the replicator sex. ‘Except Janeway.’