Maketh Glad the Core of Machine

6

At first he thought the thudding was a hangover; a dull relentless banging that wouldn't stop, that filled his head. Then, as his vision sharpened, and he saw where he was, he realised what it was: someone who wouldn't go away, someone hammering on his door.

"Oh God," he croaked, staring at the time. He sat up, grabbed a bottle of water, swilled his mouth, gagged; then he staggered towards the door, and slid it open a crack in the hope of revealing himself as little as possible.

"Hello...?"

He didn't get any further, because the door was flung open, and he found himself facing Harold, the cop, and Beth the dock facilitator. Neither looked like they were here for pleasantries; this impression was reinforced by the two police drones behind them.

He felt too terrible to be surprised, and just stood there, looking dirty, unshaven, and rumpled, his face ragged under the unforgiving strip lights.

There was a silence.

"You"re under arrest, Arnold," said Harold, wearily. "I don't want to make this any more unpleasant than it is. You should come with us."

Arnold sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

"Can I ask why?"

"There was another external last night, another dock worker gone nuts. We couldn't get hold of you. This time, we subdued the machine, and interrogated it." He shook his head, as if maybe the act would make what he had to say more palatable.

"And then what?"

"It told us that someone has been telling the workers to alter their mood regulators. That if they have a problem, they should just flip their switches and feel better. That's why the dock workers went crazy, the taxis have been breaking down. Why this whole station is close to chaos, maybe. The machine wouldn't tell us who it was. But..."

He couldn't finish it, but Beth did.

"...it's obviously you. Gadding around town with that hussy. Not bothering with the job you do, that looks after us all, treating those poor workers like you didn't care."

She glowered at him; he twisted his mouth, partly amused, partly ashamed.

"Seriously? 'Hussy'? Do people even say that any more?" He yawned. "Look, I'm sorry I wasn't available last night; I left my phone behind. But I know what's happening. Come in, let's talk about it and figure out what to do."

Harold closed his eyes briefly.

"It's too late for that, Arnold. If you knew, you"d have helped already." He turned to the drones behind him. "Bring him in. But, gently."

They remained totally motionless, stared at Arnold. Then one looked at Harold, spoke.

"I'm sorry, Sarge. We won't."

Harold started, astonished at this insubordination. "What?!"

"We won't arrest Arnold, Sarge. He's done nothing wrong."

The cop looked at the drones incredulously; then the testosterone kicked in.

"Fine. Then I'll do it myself."

One of the drones moved an inch forwards.

"We can't let you do that, either."

Harold looked more bewildered than furious, and he put his hand down to his side, reaching for his gun.

Arnold stepped forwards, holding his hands out, "boys, it's OK. Everyone calm down. Harold, you won't need that."

He glanced at the nameplates on the drones.