The Adventure of the Homicidal Automatons, Part the Sixth

Sorry about the slightly late update. I had minor technical difficulties.

This is a Sherlock Holmes story I wrote a few years ago, set in an alternate London where the British Empire expanded into the reaches of outer space. Will be posted in chapters on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Scroll to the end for chapter list.

               Morstan’s Master Mechanics was slightly neater than it had been the previous day, especially since the mechanical coach was now absent. I believe that Miss Morstan wanted to make as good an impression on Holmes as possible. She listened attentively as he described the events of the previous night, then said, “Well, then, perhaps the most sensible way to go about this would be to examine both the robot and Doctor Watson’s arm and isolate any similar parts. That way we shall automatically narrow down the objects that could be the receiver until we find it.”

            Holmes helped me remove my arm. On any other day I might have objected to this, but with the experience of the previous night still fresh in my mind I was quite glad not to wear the limb for a while.

            The two mechanics set the robot and the arm on a large table Miss Morstan had dragged in and began dissecting them. I watched intently, wishing to contribute something to the investigation, but soon began to grow bored. I had not slept well the previous night, and I fell into a sort of trance.

            Holmes nudged me out of it. “Watson, old friend, move a bit to the right, would you? I need the space.” I migrated to the other side of the table to stand beside Miss Morstan. “Thank you. Ah! The main transmitter. Does Watson’s arm have one?”

            Miss Morstan reached across and took the object he held from him. She brought it close to her eyes, frowned, and glanced at me. “Doctor, could you please move? You’re blocking the light.” Embarrassed, I moved to her right. “Thank you. No, Holmes, this is a Radial886 model. The doctor’s is a Nimbus24.”

            Holmes nodded. “Of course.”

            “Does it matter?” I asked.

            Both Holmes and Miss Morstan fixed me with a gaze that made me feel very foolish. “It certainly does,” said Miss Morstan. “The former is made of copper and sends out the signals of its own accord, helped by readings of what situation the robot is currently in, and the latter is of Venusian phostlite and receives very precise signals from your shoulder. The signals are entirely different.”

            I frowned. “But if the signals are so different, than how can one device control two machines?”

            “Obviously not through the main transmitter,” said Miss Morstan, turning back to her work. I believe she may have rolled her eyes at my stupidity. (Holmes certainly did.) Miffed, I poked at a round metal piece like a top balanced on its point, making it wobble.

            “Don’t touch that!” cried Miss Morstan. “You’ll upset its balance!” Sure enough, no sooner had she uttered the words than the part fell onto its side and rolled off the table. I managed to catch it with my solitary hand and put it back. Miss Morstan sighed, picked it up, and gave it a few gentle taps with a screwdriver before carefully balancing it once again upon its point. She then began a discussion with Holmes that, not being versed in mechanical science, I was unable to follow. I thought to help by arranging a number of gears lying near me in order of descending size, and proceeded to do so until Miss Morstan gave a cry of dismay and confiscated them from me.

            Undaunted, I went to examine some of the projects on the back shelves. There were a number of children’s toys, as well as automatic dusters, auto-butlers and MAIDs, and even a prototype “vacuum-cleaner”—the sort of things one would entrust to a female mechanic. There were also several little robots much like Holmes’s Ids, but looking back at Miss Morstan I realized that rather than being awful annoyances, a few of them were actually assisting her. I poked at an auto-butler and was considerably dismayed when it fell apart with a series of loud clanks. I had been unable to steady it due to my lack of a right arm. Miss Morstan groaned and directed me back to the worktable.

            Returning to her side, I picked a piece of my arm up. It was a beautiful thing of iridescent glass that must have been hidden near the center of the limb, for I had not seen it before. Unfortunately, it was slick with VL, and it slid from the clumsy fingers of my left hand and plummeted towards the floor.

            Miss Morstan, showing great agility, caught it a few inches from the ground.

            Holmes groaned. “Watson,” he growled through his teeth, “if you do not cease in your endeavors to ‘help’ this job may take us another two years.”

            “There are a few journals and such in that box over to the right,” said Miss Morstan pointedly.

            I sat down on a stool near the corner and rummaged through the box. I was pleasantly surprised to find a medical journal, although I suppose it made sense—Miss Morstan would, of course, need to be up-to-date in bionic science. I immersed myself in it for perhaps an hour and a half before Holmes cried out, “Watson!”

            I leapt up, certain that I was being summoned to witness a ground-breaking event, or, better yet, to participate in one. “Yes?”

            “Would you mind running down to the pub and bringing back some sandwiches? We may be here for quite some time.”

            As I trudged down to the Cat and Fiddle, with Holmes’s coat covering my right shoulder, I morosely mused that the entire order of things had been upset: Miss Morstan was occupying the position normally taken by Holmes, who was impersonating me, while I was entirely expendable. 

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Parts Four and Five
Part Seven