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…"