From the Inside Flap
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It's the end of the 21st century where technocrats
rule and robots take care of humans' every need. Your house
watches you, knows your secrets, and talks to you. And your
closest friend can be--a machine?
Gavin Bell and his teenage sister Fleur come from a middle-class
family. Their much-loved, old-fashioned robot, Grumps, is running
down and can't be repaired, so a scientist friend loans them
EGR3, an experimental new robot to help Grumps. EGR3, known as
Eager, learns from his experiences, as a child would. He feels
emotions--wonder, excitement, and loss. When the ultra high-tech,
eerily human BDC4 robots begin to behave suspiciously, Eager and
the Bells are drawn into a great adventure that is sometimes dark
and often humorous. As Eager's extraordinary abilities are tested
to the limit, he will try to find the answer to this question:
What does it mean to be alive?
"From the Hardcover edition.
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About the Author
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Helen Fox lives in London with her husband, who is a
scientist. Before she became a writer, she worked as a primary
teaching assistant, and trained and worked as an actress. This is
her first novel.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
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chapter 1
The Bell family lived in the suburbs, in a house built of glass
and steel, designed by Mr. Bell. Their neighbors in Wynston
Avenue, who also lived in glass houses, had ed tall dense
hedges to shield them from view. Mr. and Mrs. Bell said what was
the point of a beautiful house if no one else could enjoy it, and
built themselves a low brick wall. However, they liked their
privacy as much as anyone, and it was fortunate that the house
was secluded by being set on a bend in the road. There was also a
huge lime tree in the front garden that veiled one side of the
building.
The center of the house was an atrium, paved with brick and full
of s and flowers. A wide hallway opening onto it connected
the ground-floor rooms. There was a half-landing with an office,
exercise room and study area; bedrooms and bathrooms were on the
top floor. The land at the back was divided into grass, a
vegetable garden and a slightly wild overgrown patch at the far
end.
As dawn approached, the birds in the lime tree began their
chorus. A gray cat slinked across the lawn and over the brick
wall. Seconds later the house swept a sensor around the garden
for the hundredth time that night to check for intruders. It took
the outside temperature and barometric pressure. Today was going
to be a mild day with the possibility of a light shower before
the evening.
A noise downstairs alerted the house that someone was up. It
turned on its electronic eye in the kitchen and saw that the
butler was at work. He was chopping something on a large wooden
board and talking to the kettle.
Room by room, the house checked its occupants. Fleur Bell was
buried so deeply in the duvet that it was impossible to tell
which way up she was. The house zoomed in somewhere about her
middle to reassure itself that she was still breathing. Satisfied
that the duvet was gently rising and falling, the house turned
its eye to the bedroom next door. Fleur's younger brother, Gavin
Bell, was sprawled across the bed, the covers thrown off as if he
had been wrestling in his . Normal, concluded the house
promptly, with barely a glance at him.
Charlotte Bell, lying in a cot in the nursery, was tw in
her . No cause for alarm there. In the main bedroom Mr. and
Mrs. Bell looked comfortable enough, but Mr.
Bell was muttering to himself and the house considered that he
might have a fever. It looked for other symptoms, found none, and
decided that he was nearing the end of a dream cycle.
The hours passed and the house grew busier--waking everyone up
and setting the temperature for showers and baths. It checked the
gobetween for news that might interest the Bells, adjusted roof
panels to create more heat and raised the blinds on the day
ahead.
Gavin was the first to come downstairs. He was in a bad mood,
though he didn't know why. It felt as if his body had been given
a good shake and parts of him had fallen back into the wrong
place. He had been looking forward to today. After home study he
was going to the learning center for a game of liveball. That was
the good bit. On the other hand, he was sure he had instructed
the house to wake him with his favorite music; instead, a shrill
voice had screeched "Wakey! Wakey!" in his ear. He hadn't had
breakfast yet, and he had a nagging feeling that his mum and dad
were going to have one of their Discussions. He jumped the final
steps and burst into the dining room, his shirt half undone and
one of his socks twisted.
"Where is everyone?"
"Your mother is in the shower and your her is changing
Charlotte's nappy," replied the house in a soothing, feminine
voice. "Your sister is--"
"All right," snapped Gavin. "I didn't really expect an answer. It
was a rit . . . ret . . ."
"Rhetorical question?" prompted the house.
"Yes, I know." Gavin sat down to adjust his sock. "Anyway, you're
not supposed to be on in here. You know Mum doesn't like machines
in the dining room."
"I am not a machine," corrected the house.
"Yes you are, drybrain. You just don't have a body." He looked
up. "Go on then, turn yourself off."
There was a long pause before the green light beside the door
began to flicker, and an even longer pause before it went out.
Gavin frowned. He knew that machines were not supposed to have
personalities, apart from the one people might choose for them.
But if anyone had asked him, he would have said that the house
was stubborn and sulky.
His her came into the room carrying the baby and placed her in
the high chair. Gavin kissed Charlotte on the forehead. Normally,
he didn't do a lot of kissing, but his little sister was an
exception. Charlotte craned her neck to look at him and chuckled,
revealing a dimple and a row of tiny white teeth.
"Morning," said Mr. Bell. He was wearing a high-necked jacket and
slim-legged trousers. A narrow piece of cloth poked up behind the
collar of the jacket.
"Morning, Dad. You look interesting."
"Interesting?" said Mr. Bell.
Gavin eyed his her up and down. "Well, like something out of
the twentieth century. All you need is a watch on your wrist
instead of a jinn, and a top hat."
"Top hats are Victorian, I think you'll find. I've a very
important meeting today and I think I look very smart."
Gavin's dad hardly ever dressed up. He worked with a lot of other
architects who also looked most of the time as if they had just
got out of bed.
"I'm meeting the top people at LifeCorp," he continued. "We're
going to build them a new factory."
"Euphoric, Dad! Congratulations. But how come they've chosen you?
I don't remember you mentioning it."
Mr. Bell looked guilty. He tied a bib around Charlotte's neck and
sat down beside her. "I didn't," he admitted. "They held a
competition to choose the architects last summer. We were asked
not to tell anyone but since we've won we can hardly keep it a
secret anymore. Now, I wonder what's for breakfast?"
Gavin had a sneaking feeling his her was changing the subject.
They examined the dining table. "s and side plates," mused
Mr. Bell. "Well, that doesn't look too ominous."
The door slid open and Mrs. Bell and Fleur entered. They too
stared at the table.
"Cereal and toast. That's OK," said Fleur with .
His mum kissed Gavin. "Morning," she murmured. "Did you
well?"
He wondered whether to tell her about the house screeching in his
ear and decided not to. It would be just like her to go back to
alarm clocks, or to volunteer to wake him herself. At least with
the house he could tell it to let him snooze for ten minutes.
They joined Mr. Bell at the table.
"Dad's going to build a new factory for LifeCorp," Gavin told his
sister.
"Really?" said Fleur. "Whereabouts?"
"Don't get excited," their her said. "It's on the edge of the
city. I was hoping it might be somewhere exotic like Italy or
Tanzania so I'd be allowed to travel."
The door opened and the butler rolled into the room, to an
accompaniment of squeaks and whirrs.
"Good evening," he said in a gravelly voice.
Fleur and Gavin exchanged looks of alarm.
"Actually, Grumps . . . ," began Mr. Bell.
A ring indicated that the food lift had arrived. Mr. Bell left
his sentence unfinished. The butler creaked his way toward the
lift and took out a large tureen.
"Soup is served," he announced, setting down the tureen in the
center of the table.
"Soup!" echoed Fleur. "For breakf--?"
"Shhh," said her mum. "You'll hurt his feelings. Thank you,
Grumps."
"Tomato soup," intoned the butler. He lifted the lid. Steam
wafted up and the unmistakable smell of cooked tomatoes filled
the room.
The family stared in silence at the tureen. Grumps waited
patiently, the lid in his hand.
"Perhaps a ladle?" said Mrs. Bell at last. "And some cereal and a
yogurt for Charlotte."
"I forgot. I am most sorry." The butler replaced the lid and
trundled out of the door. They heard him squeaking down the
hallway.
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