The Affinity Bridge by George Mann

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