The Scientific Research Centre was the sort of environment that made the ten days Dick spent there feel like twenty. And those twenty feel like fifty. But even though Dick was bored, fidgety and fed up, he could see progress slowly being made.
Finally the last wire was connected, the last bolt tightened and the remaining diagnostic check carried out. It was D-day; the day of the demonstration which was set to take place in a small ground floor auditorium. Dick, Vera and Dr. Hargreaves were seated behind a large desk to one side of the stage. In front of them were two plain velvet curtains suspended from a sturdy metal framework and near to these was a fake brick wall. The setting had obviously piqued the curiosity of the various scientists and Party members in the audience who consulted notes, murmured, or did both. Dick felt a painful twinge in his upper leg and winced. It was Vera gripping his thigh. She turned and leaned towards him, forcing him back with her voluminous bosom.
‘Are you nervous Jeremy?’, she whispered.
‘A little’, Dick replied looking around at the audience which seemed, en masse, to be studying him.
‘So am I’, Vera admitted in the same low voice. ‘And when I get nervous I have to squeeze something tightly. It helps me relax’.
With that, she gripped his leg with more force than Dick could imagine was possible from anything other than a hydraulic press. Dick flinched and decided that he also wanted to squeeze something tightly; the part of Vera’s body that connected her body to her head. Vera indicated the various high-ranking Party members in the audience but the names meant nothing to Dick. He had hoped the Leader would be there in person but Vera explained that he made few personal appearances, relying instead on reports from various subordinates who were sitting here expectantly, waiting for the demonstration to begin. Dick took the hand-written speech out of his pocket, holding it tightly in his nervous fingers, re-reading it for the eighth time. The speech thanked the audience for attending and the team for their hard work. It then went on to explain the various problems in trying to find a solution for Project Gladstone, giving the audience a broad outline on the demonstration they were about to see. It was, Dick felt, a very inspiring speech and one that had taken a long time to compose.
Dick was reading it for the ninth time when Dr. Hargreaves stood up to energetic applause. As this died down he began the proceedings by thanking the audience for attending, and for his own team’s hard work. He explained the various problems in trying to find a solution for Project Gladstone and then introduced Vera. Vera stood up and gave the audience a broad outline of the demonstration they were about to see. She then introduced Dick who realised that everything he was about to say had just been said. He looked around the auditorium and opened his mouth. No sounds came out so he closed it. He then repeated the motion a couple of times. To the audience Dick looked less like Jeremy Brunel, the man who had devised the brilliant solution to Project Gladstone, and more like Jeremy Brunel the Great Goldfish Impersonator. Feeling the sheer weight of expectation on his shoulders, all he could do in the circumstances was to shrug them.
The only thing Dick could think of saying was the very matter-of-fact and not very inspiring, ‘Could we raise curtain number one?’.
On cue a junior technician at the side of the stage turned a switch. A mechanical winch slowly raised the first curtain number until it revealed a life-sized mannequin dressed as a prostitute, which is to say that it was attractive, displaying an excess of make-up, stockinged-leg and cleavage.
‘Ladies and gentlemen’, Dick explained. ‘A prostitute, with which you will all be familiar’.
Half the audience gasped. Dick couldn’t make out what the other half were saying as they were all talking at once, although by their tone he could tell they were incensed and disgusted. And probably more than a little appalled.
‘What I mean’, Dick quickly added, trying to defuse the situation, ‘is that you will be familiar with mechanical prostitutes’.
More gasps.
‘When I say “familiar”’, Dick went on, ‘I mean “have knowledge of”, not have intimate relationships’. Now he was babbling. ‘And when I say “have knowledge” of, it’s not a metaphor for sexual relations’.
By now the audience were quite confused. Some of them were angry at the implications of what Dick was saying, but most of them were just confused. Dick thought it was best if he just kept talking.
‘Although authentic-looking in all respects, this prostitute is in fact a mechanical one especially constructed from the original plans to resemble one of the fifteen ‘rogue’ harlots currently on the loose’. Dick felt he’d said enough about prostitutes, mechanical or real and, mopping his brow, continued. ‘Raise curtain number two!’.
The same junior technician operated another switch and curtain two started to rise. It was just two feet from the stage floor when the winch gave a mechanical groan which abruptly turned into a mechanical death rattle. The curtain suddenly stopped. The audience stared at the two brown checked trouser legs that had been revealed beneath it. The junior technician frantically turned the switch on and off several times. To Dick’s relief it began to raise again, revealing more trouser leg. Then it again stopped suddenly at waist height. One of the Party members seated at the back shouted, ‘Rubbish!’.
Sensing that this momentous demonstration was rapidly deteriorating into a momentous farce Dick rushed over to the side of the stage, punched the junior technician in the face and ripped the second curtain down. Falling to the platform floor it revealed another mannequin; this one was a smartly-dressed gentleman in his thirties. Glaring at Dr. Hargreaves, Dick made a caustic remark about how he hoped the non-functioning curtain was not indicative of the technological skills of the good doctor and his team. In response to this comment he heard some sniggering from the audience and this made him feel better. This was Dick’s way of getting back at the technicians for excluding him. And especially for not letting him wear a white lab coat.
The mannequin wore a smart brown checked suit, a matching waistcoat, shiny black brogues, a light blue silk shirt, a dark blue cravat and a tan coloured bowler hat. He was very handsome and extremely dapper. If the audience were impressed with his appearance then they didn’t show it. Dick looked at them and they looked back at him. It was a look that hunched its shoulders and implied ‘So?’ One important-looking gentleman seated at the front peered through his monocle.
‘Is that what all we’ve come to see? A smartly-attired dummy?’, he said scornfully.
‘No’, Dick retorted, now becoming angry. ‘If I just wanted you to see a smartly-attired dummy I’d have invited you to look in a mirror’.
The monocle man blustered and harrumphed and before he could get any more words out Dick had walked around to the back of the prostitute mannequin and flicked a hidden switch at the nape of its neck, concealed by its long hair. The prostitute mannequin’s dull eyes glimmered, brightened and adjusted their focus. At the same time the figure shifted the weight on her feet, adjusting her balance and improving her posture. She looked around the room and smiled. Everything about her looked real, from her skin texture, her subtle facial expressions and the rise and fall of her ample bosom. Especially the ‘ample’ bit. She was, Dick thought, scarily human and even more scarily, scarily sexy.