Peripheral Vision by Paddy O'Reilly Page B

had been designing robotic parts all my working life, but these machines were different, more like animals.
    I stepped closer again, compelled to look. The machines travelled slowly around the cage. They each moved to a new position which would keep me in their view, like a team of hunting predators. I backed away, inadvertently knocking over a stool. At the clatter of the stool bouncing across the floor, the creatures – and I still think of them as creatures even though I know they were not alive, just robots – unclenched their feet from the wire and scuttled around the cage. The noise of them moving, the oily metallic clicking of their limbs and rippling of their mesh coat, the lack of voice or sound or smell other than metal and static, the swaying of the cyclone wire under their weight: all this was mesmerising. But it was my sensation of being stalked that let me know the monkeys in the animal house were still locked into their restraints, the electrodes were in place, and the brain–machine link was functioning. I could see the robots, and the monkeys could see me.
    A moment later the lights came on. Once I had stopped shielding my eyes from the sudden glare, the eerie sensation was gone. I left the lab quickly, afraid someone would find me in there. I should have turned back to go to my lab, but I found myself walking to the animal house. The electronic pass at my waist beeped as I exited my building, and I crossed the white concrete path that led through the lawn to the house. I had never understood why we called it a house. From the outside it looked like a grey government building, squat and regular and unexceptional. Inside the foyer were, once again, white walls with white linoleum, but once you passed through the double set of doors, the colour of the corridor changed to the polished grey of steel, with basins and supply cupboards and doors with reinforced window glass along the walls.
    As I reached the room where the test subjects resided, Jay pushed through the door, and it closed firmly behind him. I heard the automatic lock slide into place.
    â€˜Vin, mate, everything all right?’ he asked. He was breathless.
    â€˜Yeah, yeah,’ I said, aware of being out of place. ‘You?’
    â€˜Bit busy. The blackout, you know. You’re the fifth guy to come and check on the subjects. They’re fine, except jumpy from sudden darkness and all the activity. Is that all?’
    â€˜I thought I’d drop in to see the setup again, you know? Nothing special.’
    Jay sighed. ‘I’d rather you didn’t, Vin. It’s all been a bit much. I’d like to let them settle.’
    â€˜I won’t be long.’
    I was insisting without knowing why. In the last year I’d only visited this room twice. Once, we had to ensure the electrodes were properly placed, so we brought down a prototype hand to test the stimulation-response while we observed. The second time was after staff drinks in the canteen, when the new assistant wanted to see the animals we were using. We shouldn’t have come that time.
    â€˜Two minutes,’ Jay said. ‘And stay up this end of the observation window.’
    The monkeys were in their specially designed chairs, heads clamped to keep them still, sensor caps replacing the detached brain pans. They looked well nourished. Their excrement was collected under the chairs and washed away by a steady stream of water, so the lab didn’t smell as bad as you would expect. All this registered as I watched their hands clenching and releasing in a fashion that reminded me of my own aching hands flexing when I’d been locked in the lab, working at the computer too long.
    â€˜So the power failure didn’t cause any disruption to the link?’
    â€˜No. Backup kicked in straight away.’ Jay made a show of looking at his watch.
    â€˜And …’ I said. ‘Uh, I ah …’
    I couldn’t think of another question to