Both are dressed alike, most tasteful yet womanly it has to be said, in simple deep blue silk dresses and black leather boots, with their hair held back from their faces by gold slides. One is blonde, the other with hair as black as the feathers on the unusually maudlin for once rooks above.
But while they both wave and smile bravely, after what must have been a short but fearful journey though the potentially person-destroying electro-crap, we all know right enough which one is used to being looked after and which has done the looking.
For Blondie doesn’t glance at Blackie as she waves, while we all note the little and often concerned glances that pass the other way.
Whatever, I’m right glad when Dave moves fast for a big man, hopping down the steps like a birthday kid, keen to gander closer at his presents.
Oh, and did I mention that the women are beautiful?
I remain where I am, watching Dave shake Blondie’s hand, his viz all bashfullike. I can’t hear what they say to each other on account of the townsfolk’s cheering and the brass band striking up a most rumbustious welcome noise.
Her job done, Blackie climbs the steps towards me, holding up her skirts to avoid tripping. We stand together and watch the happy scene.
Then, at the very same moment, we turn to each other and share a no-holds-barred rollicking great grin.
"Hi," she says, voice crisp with posh warmth. "I’m Susan; you must be Jack."
She holds out her hand and I shake it, surprised most pleasantly at its strong grip.
"Hi, Susan," I say, "looks like we did all right."
Dave and Louise go up the hill to his place, assuring us all they have plenty to talk about. The brass band plays on out of sheer high spirits and, while the rats and rooks, cats, cabbies and general ne’er-do-wells all dance together, Susan and I go to The Mule for a well-earned natter and to share, no doubt, various batman/maiding techniques.
The place is empty for once so I go behind the bar and pour us a couple of large white wines, figuring such might be a more lady-like tipple than a pint of Ted’s recycled rat’s (no, really) piss.
We sit at a table in a quiet corner. She sips her wine then leans back, sighing. "You look exhausted," I say.
"It took us ten hours to fly here. The pod’s controls kept stalling, almost as if they were losing sight of themselves in all that electro-waste."
"But you made it. She made it."
She don’t reprimand me for this, since we both know how much is riding on the two soulleds up the hill getting together, and not on the feelings of a couple of bio-toys, no matter how close they may be to said humans.
"But why, Jack?" she says. "Why does it make such a difference if they fall in love?"
I don’t know what makes me think it then, maybe it’s been percolating away for years underneath all my Dave-assisting duties without me realising. "’Cos they won’t be alone no more," I say.
Her eyes widen. "Yes, and when they aren’t alone, their souls will combine and glow like the sun."
I nod in agreement and she takes a large swallow of wine, her pale but perfect features turning serious again.
"But they can’t stay here, Jack."
"I knew you’d try to take him away from us!" I shout, anger flooding my commonsensicals. But she holds up her hands to placate me. "He can’t go back to our place, either," she says.
"But they’re in love—hopefully. Why can’t they be together?"
"They can be together. Just not here. Or there."
She stops, trusting me to see. And once I quell my unjust rage, I do. Calm again, I say, "What’s it like, your place?"
She glances towards the door, through which we can hear the still-oompahing brass band, then smiles.
‘’Let’s just say there are quite a lot of unicorns and talking teddy bears."
We’re silent for a few minutes, miserable at the inevitability of our imminent ends, but at least companionably so.
"It has to be somewhere new, don’t it?" I say.
She nods. "I discovered a bit of real land, shielded somehow from the sludge, on the Norfolk coast. The soulled man who lived there died a month ago and, well, it should be clear of his toys by now."
I feel ice in my stomach at this reminder of our fate and, perhaps because my mind is distracted by this, I say without thinking, "Is there enough non-recycled food there?"
She frowns as if I’ve said something almost sacrilegious. "I… yes, I think the data packet that returned to us mentioned he’d stored enough provisions to last another hundred years, so fifty if there’s two of them. But it’s strange I hadn’t thought about that till you mentioned it." A tear buds and glistens on her eyelid. "We brought a new-ish bio-synthesiser with us. They can take it with them. Make some new toys."
I nod but without enthusiasm. Dave’s bio-synthesiser packed up some years back. He never used it much anyway, happy enough it seemed with all the familiar faces he’d created when he first mountainified his life. Underneath all that vodka fog, he’s always been a loyal bloke, at least I like to think.
I don’t know why I do it—maybe it’s because we’re nearly gone bods—but I move round to sit next to Susan then. She takes my hand in hers.
"You’re a good man, Jack, she says. "You did your boss proud."
"And Louise would never have got there if it weren’t for you."
The door swings back and Ted appears. "You’re both wanted up the hill," he says, "toot sweet."
We stand and walk to the door. Despite his chronic allergy to intimacy, I give Ted a most manful hug. He must sense my melancholy, for he actually pats me on the back, not pushes me away making gagging noises, as is his preferred response.
When we walk through the square, the band also senses our mood and stops playing. All the town’s creatures cease their dancing. The roofs turn to dull grey thatch and even the sky darkens with what might be storm clouds.
Dave and Louise sit side by side on a sofa in his rarely visited living room. They look most encouragingly smug, like they’re sharing the biggest secret, which of course ain’t really a secret to Susan and me.
"You wanted to see us?" I say.
"How would you feel, Jack," says Louise, "if we told you that two humans getting together would mean them having to start again and leave all their old toys behind?’’
Of course, we’re built to serve; to make the real happy. So, if starting fresh is what makes them so, how can I complain if it also happens to mean the town will slowly grind down into a vague bio-habitual existence, eventually to be swallowed up and electro-liquefied?
"As you know," I say, "it is the profoundest wish of the citizens of Gaffville to develop their own souls. But this will never happen if there ain’t no people to give them purpose; or what people that do exist are spiritually clobbered by loneliness. Therefore, although it will mean my own ending, I will do everything in my power to help you two go to a new place and build it on your love for each other."
"Me too," says Susan, reaching for my hand again. "You must have children through your love and continue the real and proper life."
"Thank you," says Louise. "The devotion you both demonstrate is very moving. There’s only one problem with your plan."
"That you can’t fit two persons and a bio-synthesiser in your pod?" I say.