The Affinity Bridge

CHAPTER Nine





They passed along a corridor that stemmed off from the main airships works and eventually led them to a small warehouse space that appeared to have been hastily converted into a production line. Two large, steam-powered presses thumped with reassuring regularity, pushing out components in a variety of shapes and sizes, from brass arm braces and finger joints, to shiny torso plates and elaborate cogs. Men stood alongside the rolling conveyor belts that fed out from the machines, each one picking up components and checking them for flaws before sending them on to the assembly teams on the other side of the warehouse. There, small groups of men were busy welding the components together, testing the articulation of the joints and assembling the frames of the automatons. The room was hot; bustling with people and filled with the smell of oil and steam.

Chapman paused in the doorway. "As you can see, the automaton production facility is still a relatively minor concern when considered alongside the main airship works, but in time, I have hopes that it will grow."

Newbury paced alongside one of the presses, watching as the machine-head spun on its axis, pressing a new component from the mould on its fascia. He spoke to Chapman as they walked. "How many automatons does the facility produce in any given day?"

"Fully functioning units?"



Newbury nodded.



"One or two. They can actually make upwards of ten frames on a good day, but Villiers himself installs the internal control systems, and it's delicate work. Any faster and we'd jeopardise the integrity of the machines or risk damaging the complex mechanisms that make them run."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him. Villiers, that is."



"Let's see if he's here now. That's the door to his workshop." He waved to indicate the glass-panelled door up ahead. They approached, and Chapman rapped quickly on the glass before pushing the door open to reveal the workshop within.

The room was fairly small, after the grandeur of the airship hangers, and was cluttered with components and other mechanical ephemera: cogs, tools, automaton torsos, pages covered in elaborately scrawled designs, a model airship hanging from the roof. In truth, the room had as much of the feel of a laboratory as a workshop, the sort of place where scientific breakthroughs were commonplace and genius was taken for granted.

Villiers himself stood at his workbench, fiddling with a brass skull. He was wearing a brown leather smock, not unlike a butcher's apron, and had a magnifier flipped over his right eye on a wire frame, the base of which wrapped around his head like the crude frame of a hat. His hair was coarse and black and he was unshaven, with a vaguely disheveled appearance.

He was fairly short, although taller than Veronica, and his only acknowledgement upon hearing them enter the room was to grunt at the automaton head he was holding and choose not to look up from his work.

Chapman waited for a moment to see if his business partner would remember his manners. When it was clear the other man intended to carry on working on the brass head regardless of their presence, he stepped forward, attempting to get Villiers's attention. He cleared his throat. "Villiers. I'd like to introduce you to Sir Maurice Newbury and his assistant, Miss Veronica Hobbes. They're here on the business of the Crown, investigating the airship crash I mentioned to you yesterday."

Villiers offered a half-shrug, before continuing to dig around inside the brain cavity of the brass skull. There was an awkward silence. Then, a moment later, something popped free from inside the device and flew into the air, before falling to the floor by Veronica's feet. Newbury noted that it was a tiny gold lever of some sort. Villiers looked up, satisfied. "I'm sorry, what were you saying my friend? Hmmm?"





He seemed to notice Newbury and Veronica for the first time. "Oh, please excuse me. I was lost in the middle of a delicate operation...." His accent was thick, with a Parisian lilt. He placed the automaton head on his workbench, along with the tool he had been using.

Newbury stepped forward, his hand extended. "No need for apologies, Monsieur Villiers. I am Sir Maurice Newbury, and this is my assistant, Miss Veronica Hobbes." Veronica inched forward and Villiers took her hand, gently. "As your associate here intimated, we're working on behalf of the Crown. We'd like to talk to you about your automaton devices and the airship crash that occurred yesterday in Finsbury Park." He stopped for a moment, glancing around. "I must say, though, Monsieur Villiers. This truly is a remarkable workshop. A credit to you, I'm sure."

Villiers smiled. "Thank you, Sir Maurice. I can spare a little while to talk, although I am sure my associate has already told you much the same as what you will hear from me."

Newbury nodded. "Nevertheless, I do feel your opinions on the matter will be of use. Are you aware of the circumstances surrounding the crash?"

The Frenchman shrugged. "In as much as Monsieur Chapman told me yesterday."

"So you're aware that the automaton that was piloting the vessel appears to have gone missing from the wreckage?"

Villiers looked immediately uncomfortable. "Missing? No. Destroyed, perhaps? I know my creations, Sir Maurice. There is no way the unit could have gone 'missing', unless someone spirited it away from the crash site for their own devices." Newbury glanced at Veronica. That was an option they hadn't yet considered. Veronica was watching Chapman, trying to gauge his reaction to Villiers's words.

"So what do you believe happened, Monsieur Villiers? Did the automaton malfunction and cause the crash?"

"Impossible. There is no capacity for the units to malfunction. Physically, they can only function if their program is loaded correctly. They operate on a series of punch cards. If the card does not engage, the unit will immediately freeze. If that were the case with the pilot of The Lady Armitage, the vessel would have never even taken off in the first instance." He stopped, stroking his stubble-encrusted chin. "My assumption is that the vessel itself was at fault. Perhaps one of the steering pulleys had come loose, causing the mechanism to lose tension? If that were the case the vessel would have been practically uncontrollable, and in high winds it could have easily been knocked off course."

Veronica crossed her arms. "But as I understand it, Monsieur Villiers, the skies were calm yesterday morning. Otherwise the fog would not have settled on the city as it did."

Villiers shrugged. "Then it is a matter for the police to decide what occurred. I am in the dark. Whatever the case, I understand it was a terrible accident, and for that I am truly sorry." He paused. "I assure you, however, that the source of the problem is with the vessel, and not with the pilot." He regarded them sternly.

Newbury decided to change the subject. "So, Monsieur Villiers. What of your exile from Paris and the claims that you experimented on wastrels? Is there any tru—"

"Come now, Sir Maurice, is this really necessary?" Chapman cut in, clearly trying to come to the aid of his friend.

"It's alright, Joseph." Villiers seemed unmoved by the question. He faced Newbury. "What of it? It was a long time ago, Sir Maurice, and very much a part of my past. I have spent the last decade in London, working to revolutionise the aeronautical industry with Monsieur Chapman. I no longer even think of Paris, and consider London my home."

Newbury nodded. "Very well, Monsieur Villiers." He noted that the Frenchman had chosen not to refute the claims. The man's arrogance was obvious, but not without foundation. He softened his tone. "So what inspired you to begin developing a new type of automaton, after years of designing airships? Mr. Chapman tells me you worked day and night to achieve your goal."

Villiers looked circumspect. "In truth, I have always dreamed of building the perfect automaton. For years I have strived to reach this stage, and it was only when the airship business had established itself and the manufacturing process had been automated that I found myself with the time and resources to realise my dream." He glanced at Chapman. "Once my friend and I began discussing the application of these units—household servants, drivers, soldiers, clerks—we agreed it was time for our business to diversify. The added benefit, of course, was that the machines could be taught to fly the fleet of airships we had spent the last ten years establishing."

"It's an impressive achievement indeed, Monsieur Villiers. So tell me, are the units intelligent, self-aware?"

Villiers shook his head. "No, they are not sentient in their own right. They are simply machines that operate according to a complex set of algorithms and programs. Have you seen one operating, Sir Maurice?"

Newbury shook his head, and Chapman interrupted. "I was hoping that you would be able to give our guests a demonstration, Pierre?"

"Of course. Allow me to do so now." He moved over to the corner of the workshop where, Veronica realised for the first time since entering the room, an automaton was sitting in a chair, its head bowed. Villiers stood before it.

"Rise." His voice was a firm, emotionless command.



The unit's head jerked up at the sound of Villiers's voice, and it quickly rose to its feet. "Follow." He turned and walked back across the workshop towards them. The automaton followed suit, stepping forward into the light. The two visitors looked on, transfixed with wonder. The automaton was about the size of a man, skeletal, with a solid torso formed from interlocking breast and back plates. Its eyes were little mirrors that spun constantly on an axis, reflecting back the lamplight. Its mouth was nothing but a thin slot and its remaining features were engraved into the otherwise blank mask of its face. In its chest a glass plate revealed, like a tiny porthole, a flickering blue light, dancing like an electric current. Its brass frame shimmered in the light, and it moved like a human being, fully articulated, as it strode across the room towards them. Its joints creaked as it walked and its brass feet clicked on the tiled floor of the workshop. It stopped about two paces behind Villiers and cocked its head to one side, regarding them silently.

Chapman clapped his hands. Newbury and Veronica looked on, feeling a little unnerved.

Villiers turned to the automaton. "Pick up that glass tumbler and pour me a brandy." He pointed across the room at a small table which held the tumbler and a decanter, amongst other detritus. The automaton set to work immediately, crossing the room with a fluid gait, avoiding a pile of machine parts on the floor and approaching the table with the utmost precision. Taking care, it reached down and picked up the glass between its brass fingers—which, Newbury noticed, were affixed with little leather pads to prevent them from shattering the tumbler—and poured a measure of brandy from the decanter. A moment later it strode back across the workshop to offer Villiers his drink without ever spilling a drop.

Newbury was astounded. "Bravo. Bravo indeed!" He glanced from Villiers to Chapman and back again. "This is indeed a revolutionary invention. What else can it do?" He was clearly enthused.

Villiers smiled. He took the drink from the automaton and pointed to a chair by his desk. "Take a seat." The automaton did as requested, positioning itself as if ready to receive further instructions. Villiers crossed to the desk himself, with Newbury close behind him, and searched out a letter. He placed this on a stand in front of the automaton, beside a typewriter on the desk. "Copy this." He indicated the sheet for the mechanical man. The automaton did not respond, its only movement the continual spinning of its mirrored eyes and the flickering of the iridescent light inside its chest.

"Ah. Please forgive me." Villiers handed his brandy to Newbury and leaned over his desk. He pulled open a drawer, pulling out a sheaf of punch cards. He rifled through, finally selecting one and brandishing it in front of him. "This particular unit has yet to learn how to carry out this task."

He pressed a panel on the back of the automaton and it swung open easily, revealing some of the unit's internal workings. Newbury peered inside, fascinated. "Tell me, Monsieur Villiers, how does it learn? I was under the impression from your earlier comments that the device lacks its own intelligence, although it certainly appears to respond to complex voice commands."

Villiers took the punch card and fed it into a slot within the back of the machine. "As I mentioned earlier, Sir Maurice, the automaton operates on a series of predetermined programs. These programs are expressed as a series of punch cards that the internal mechanisms of the device can interpret and enact. The device has the capacity to file up to twenty-eight of these cards at any one time on a revolving spindle, and when asked to perform a task it will check the programs stored on its spindle and see if the correct card is in its repertoire. If so, it will retrieve the card and carry out the task. If not, well, you've seen the reaction in that situation."

Newbury shook his head in disbelief. "A machine that learns..."

Villiers clicked the panel shut. He repeated his earlier command. "Copy that."

There was a whirring sound from within the chest of the automaton. Then, suddenly, its hands blurred over the keys of the typewriter and within a matter of seconds the entire page had been typed. Newbury leaned forward, taking the page from the top of the typewriter and comparing it to the original letter. It was identical, in every respect, even to the extent of recreating an error, where a misspelled word had been omitted with a series of Xs.

"Veronica, do you see this?" He held the pages up for her. "It's identical." He turned to Villiers. "What, it must be ten times faster than a human being?"

"Undoubtedly so."



Newbury shook his head. He was quite lost for words.



Veronica studied the two copies of the letter. "It's certainly very impressive." She seemed hesitant to be carried away by the spectacle.

Newbury was in his element. "Monsieur Villiers, tell me about the power source."

Villiers was obviously enjoying the attention. "The device is designed to power itself. When the automaton moves, a rotor inside its abdomen rocks back and forth, ratcheting the winding mechanism and causing the mainspring in the chest to become taut. Effectively, the unit is self-winding, and thus it will never power down, unless commanded to do so. If left inactive for long periods without instruction, the unit will eventually move itself to trigger the winding mechanism."

"So it goes for a little stroll? Quite wonderful."



Veronica looked at the automaton warily. "It certainly seems intelligent, Monsieur Villiers."

"Thank you, Miss Hobbes. A compliment indeed. The entire purpose of an automaton is to give the impression of intelligence, maintaining the illusion whilst the workings of the device are kept hidden from the audience."

"And what are those workings, Monsieur Villiers? We've seen the mechanism that enables the device to be programmed, but how does it come to understand your voice commands, or interpret the input from its mirrored eyes?"

"Ah, well, that is the secret, is it not?" Villiers put his hand on his hips. "The device is fitted with an incredibly complex mechanism that mimics the neurological structures of a human brain. It makes judgments by asking itself a series of logical questions and interpreting the results, enabling it to select a course of action. For example," he leaned on the back of the automaton's chair, "if the device were commanded to walk across this workshop, it would automatically find a route around the workbench there, without having to walk into it or attempting to clamber over it. This is achieved through a series of logical questions that the unit's brain is designed to follow. What will happen if the unit walks into the workbench? How will walking into the workbench prevent it from achieving its goal? What is the quickest alternative route to its destination? Switches trigger inside the brain to enable the automaton to settle on the most effective solution to each question, thus deciding its route around the workbench. In this instance the unit would obviously decide to alter its course, rather than face potential damage by walking into an immovable object." Villiers smiled, obviously pleased with himself. Veronica looked back at Chapman, who had taken a seat by the door and was also smiling as he watched the others receive their lecture from his friend. He had struck a match and was in the process of lighting a cigarette. The glare of the flame cast his face in stark relief.

Newbury placed his hand on the automaton's head. "Can we see? I'd very much appreciate an opportunity to take a look inside this remarkable contraption."

Villiers nodded, and went to fetch a tool to open up the automaton's skull.

Veronica took the opportunity to catch Newbury's eye, and he smiled knowingly. He was allowing himself a moment of indulgence, but she knew from the look in his eye that he wouldn't allow himself to get carried away. He was ready and alert, absorbing everything.

Villiers returned and set to work on the automaton's head. It was the work of moments to unclip the skull cap and unscrew the safety catch that gave access to the unit's mechanical brain.

Both Newbury and Veronica couldn't help but gasp at the sight revealed when the plate was lifted away. The automaton's brain was like the workings of some incredible watch, only orders of magnitude bigger and more complex. They both leaned in, watching the cogs and levers as they ticked over, tiny switches flicking from one position to another as the automaton regarded its surroundings. It was like seeing human thought processes in action, like some sort of bizarre window into the human soul. In some ways it was disturbing, to see a creation so complex and wondrous yet without feeling, lacking the spark of life. On the other hand, Newbury was amazed to consider that it could be argued that the human brain was the same as this incredible device, a series of clockwork switches and cogs rendered flesh and blood. He watched for a moment longer, intrigued by the ticking of the tiny mechanical components as the automaton sat unmoving before them, unaware that they were looking deep into the very fabric of its being.

Villiers stepped in and replaced the skull cap. "We must not leave the internal components exposed to the air for too long. Moisture affects the workings and the tiny mechanisms can become clogged with dust from the air."

Newbury stood back, watching appreciatively as Villiers used his tool to replace the fittings. "I must thank you for your demonstration, Monsieur Villiers. It's been quite enlightening."

Veronica nodded her agreement. "Yes, thank you for your time. The experience has left me feeling quite breathless." She turned to Newbury. "Is there anything further you require of Mr. Chapman or Monsieur Villiers, Sir Maurice?"

Newbury looked thoughtful. He turned to Chapman. "I do not believe there is. If you would be kind enough to escort us back to your office, Mr. Chapman, Miss Hobbes and I will take our leave. I daresay you have pressing business to attend to."

Chapman stood, inclining his head. "Of course, Sir Maurice. It has been a pleasure to show such an enthusiastic visitor around our humble business." He beckoned them towards the door. Newbury turned to Villiers, and shook his hand firmly. "Fascinating work, Monsieur Villiers. I expect we'll meet again."

He allowed Veronica to go ahead of him, and together they made their way back towards the office complex, leaving Villiers alone with his clockwork automaton and his thoughts.





Outside, the afternoon was turning to twilight as Newbury and Veronica hailed a hansom cab. Newbury had offered Veronica his coat to stave off the chill, and as they clambered up the steps into the cab she turned to regard him, the horses whinnying as they stamped their feet impatiently by the side of the road. The sound of the foghorns on the river made it difficult to hear.

"So, what next? Do you think Chapman and Villiers have anything to hide?"

Newbury lowered himself onto the seat opposite her and the driver whipped his reins, jerking the vehicle into motion. "I suspect they have a great deal to hide, my dear, but whether it pertains to the case at hand, I remain unsure." He ran a hand over his chin. "I need time to consider our findings. I admit I find it difficult to see evidence of foul play. Unless you can offer any further insights that you think I may have missed?"

Veronica shook her head. "I don't believe so. I remain wary of Mr. Chapman. I find him both insincere and egotistical. I do believe he was holding something back."

Newbury agreed. "Indeed. There is clearly more to the man than meets the eye. He obviously believes himself to be a great philanthropist, or at least wishes to paint that picture of himself to others. He delivered his message with a little too much zeal for my taste."

Veronica pulled Newbury's coat around herself. "Do you think the automaton demonstrations have helped to shed a light on the disaster surrounding The Lady Armitage} I singularly failed to see the significance of anything they showed us, as spectacular as it all was."

Newbury thought on this. "I believe they succeeded in demonstrating how unlikely it is that the automaton itself malfunctioned. Although I'll admit I'm still baffled as to what happened to it after the vessel had crashed. I wonder if there is any stock in what Villiers suggested, about someone spiriting it away before the authorities arrived."

"I wondered the same. Perhaps it's best we speak with Sir Charles again, to see if Inspector Foulkes has turned up any further evidence from the area around the scene?"

Newbury seemed distracted. He glanced out of the window. "Indeed. No doubt we'll speak with both of the aforementioned gentlemen in due course." He seemed to relax a little. "Tomorrow I shall pay a visit to Buckingham Palace to talk with Her Majesty.

It's been a difficult couple of days, Miss Hobbes, and I have no doubt that you would benefit greatly from a day of rest." He smiled, waving his hand to stifle her objections. "Besides, it'll give me a little more time to ponder our next move."

Veronica sighed. "Very well. Let us agree, then, that you will call for me if there are any new developments. We can't have you charging in alone."

Newbury laughed. "Indeed not, Miss Hobbes. That would never do."

He continued to chuckle as the cab rolled on towards Chelsea, and home.