“It’s not on, Andy, ah’m tellin ye,” Johnny McEwan roared out of his window, “Ah’m on the phone tae the cooncil first thing. As if it’s no bad enough UHRRRR”
Johnny threw his hands to his ears, but Andy knew from experience that nothing short of industrial grade ear muffs could block out this new noise: a long metallic shriek like a thousand rusty brakes. As the old man fell to his knees groaning, Andy pointed at an imaginary watch.
“Ah ken, Mr. McEwan, ah ken,” he shouted, “Ah’m just away tae tell him. It’s past a joke, this.”
By the time Andy had turned the corner onto the high street, the noise had stopped, lingering only in the high arches of the town walls, like a trapped bird trying to get out. D-CON, who had never shown the slightest bit of interest in it before, was crouched down next to the 1514 Memorial, scanning its inscription raptly. Darkness once again had settled.
“Like butter widnae melt, eh,” Andy said, “Whit’s the game here then, pal? Whit’s wae aw the noise?”
D-CON looked down at Andy with an immoderate start, as if only just noticing him.
“WHY ANDREW, I WAS …”
“Shh! Shh!” Andy whispered, the concrete shifting tectonically beneath his feet. The robot started again.
“APOLOGIES, ANDREW. WHAT NOISE?”
Andy screwed up his face.
“What noise? You got selective super-hearing all of a sudden? You’re at it, big man. Ah’ve telt ye wance, ah’ve telt a hunner times—when it gets dark, folk are tryin to sleep.”
“ANDREW, I CANNOT SLEEP.”
“Name o God … Whit, you want me to sing you a lullaby?”
“I …”
“Ah’m jokin,” Andy said hastily, “Ah ken whit you mean. But look, if you’re no able tae sleep at night, can you no just dae whit everybody else does an watch the telly or somethin? Get any channel ye like wae aw that gear stickin oot yer heid. Ah mean … och, here we go.”
A Volvo driving the wrong direction up the one-way street came to a sudden halt across the road. After a moment’s struggle, a fat man with unkempt hair and a provost’s chain over his nightgown wrangled his way out from under the steering-wheel and waddled over towards them. The backs of his slippers made a soft padding noise on the tarmac.
“Right, Andy! Whit’s going on here? Giein ye any problems, is he?”
“Naw, Davie, it’s just ...”
“This is no good enough, Andy. It’s needing nipped in the bud, like. Bloody robot getting the run of the place. Honest tae God.”
Davie squinted in D-CON’s direction. There were marks on either side of his nose where his glasses normally sat. He shook his head.
“Nae wunner his name’s C-CON. C-CON, is it! It’s enough tae seeken onybody. Ah’m telling ye, Andy ...”
“His name’s D-CON,” Andy said, “Like Deacon Blue.”
“Ah’m tellin ye, Andy,” Davie continued, “Folk’ve just aboot had enough o this. D’ye have any idea how much it’s costing us tae keep him?”
“Well, he’s solar-powered, Davie, so ...”
“Solar power!” Davie spat, “In Hawick? That’s a joke! He’s suckin this toon dry. An as for ...”
“IF I FLEW INTO THE SUN,” the robot interrupted, “I COULD RECHARGE TO FULL CAPACITY WITHOUT ...”
“Aye, that’ll be shining bright!” Davie veered slowly round, lifting up his eyes rather than his head. “Efter aw the money we’ve spent, we’re just gonnae let ye fly away! D’ye think ma heid buttons up the back or sowt? Fly away, he says!”
Davie shook his head again, as if it was the only point of articulation his body had. His arms were folded so high across his chest that his chin was almost resting on them, and he was breathing heavily. Andy cleared his throat.
“Look, Davie,” he said, “We cannae have it both ways. If we want tae keep him to ourselves, that’s fair enough, but somebody’s got to foot the bill. That’s just economics.”
“Oh aye?” Davie said without looking at him, “Get that aff your da, did ye? Dead smart, your da. Dunno how he’s only working in a chippy.”
With one last glower at D-CON, Davie turned on his heel and walked back across the road. Andy, whose cheeks had become a lipstick pink, looked up at the robot and smiled awkwardly. He always forgot that D-CON did not have emotive facial expressions or, for that matter, emotions.
The provost’s car coughed and spluttered back into life. Like the provost himself, it had been serving in its official capacity for as long as Andy could remember. With much uncomfortable to-ing and fro-ing, Davie squeezed an arm between his bulk and the door and jerkily rolled down the window.
“Oh, aye, and while ah remember,” he said, “Where are we at wae they comet things?”
The robot stared up into the sky.
“REPORT. NEAR-EARTH OBJECTS OBSERVED. QUANTITY: THREE. VELOCITY: 110 KILOMETRES PER SECOND. TIME OF IMPACT: 4.2 DAYS. CURRENT VISIBILITY FROM EARTH: ZERO. EXPECTED SURVIVAL RATE WITHIN IMPACT ZONE: ZERO. EXPECTED IMPACT ZONE: GALASHIELS.”
Davie nodded in satisfaction.
“Right, that’s a Wednesday then, eh? Ah’ll let the bus drivers ken.”
“Davie, d’ye no think ...”
“Not a chance! Forget it!” Davie said, “Where were they when we were the wans aboot tae get smashed intae bits? Couldnae look the other way quick enough then! For aw they kent oor goose was cooked, an they never even lifted a finger. They didnae ken it wisnae a comet.” He stared at D-CON bitterly, and shook his head. “Ah’ll tell ye whit, though, ah wish it had’ve been.”
After a few growls, the provost’s car lurched off into the beginnings of the morning. Wisps of red had started to gather round the edges of the rooftops, and the unfathomable dark of the sky was about to break. As D-CON stood there, still gazing into the remnants of the night, Andy stared up at him.
“A hunner an ten kilometres a second? That’s gey fast even for a comet, is it no?”
“IT IS.”
Andy puffed his cheeks out thoughtfully.
“Jeez oh. Ah could see the point if it wis heading the ither wey. Ah’ve broke the sound barrier masel gittin oot o Galashiels.” He smiled for a moment at the robot’s unreflecting face, then let it drop. “Ach, no that Hawick’s much better. But it’s hame, eh? Ye ken everybody.”
He paused as if conscious of having said the wrong thing, but D-CON showed no sign of having noticed. Andy let his hand rest on the monument’s pedestal, tracing its inscription. It was too dark to read, and written in Latin, but he knew it off by heart. From out of the depths it emerges, beautiful.
“Do ... do ye never get hamesick yersel, sometimes?”
“NO. ALL THINGS MUST FIND A PURPOSE, AND I HAVE FOUND MINE ON EARTH. I SHALL BE AT HOME HERE, BEFORE LONG.”
Andy instinctively patted the robot on its leg, somewhere about its knee. The metal was light and soft to the touch, like aluminium, and strangely warm.
“Ah went tae New York, wance,” he said, “Thought aboot Hawick the hale time. Couple o hours on a plane an it felt like the ends o the earth. Ach, but the sights, man! Ken the Statue of Liberty?”
D-CON lifted up its arm, and its hand was blue with light.
