‘And now, everyone who is with me, the time is at hand! This is the time of the final charge! Pour all your shot forward, slice every body that stands against you, claw with your hands, discharge every last watt of power from your electromuscle! Break yourself on the enemy, and watch as their ranks crumble and retreat! For this is the day when Nyro’s dream is finally realized!’
They couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t matter, it was already happening, Kavan could see it. Lines of metal peeling away from Spoole’s ranks: walking, pushing, running, heading for the trains and the route back to Artemis City. Spoole’s army was retreating.
Kavan sent all the power he had into his voicebox, almost rupturing it in the process
‘Charge!’ he called.
It wasn’t a rout. It wasn’t a glorious victory. It wasn’t even a battle in the end. It was what happened when soldiers no longer believed in what they were doing, that point when they turned and ran, thinking of nothing but the twisted metal of their own minds. All the noise, all the violence seemed to pass away, rising into the sky as gently as the black smoke smouldering from the battlefield.
Peace settled on the broken scene. Robots lay crushed and broken across the valley floor. Smashed by bullets and shot, trampled by other robots rushing to the charge or to the retreat.
Voiceboxes whined and whistled and screeched. Blue twisted metal lay tangled around arms and legs and hands and feet. It had tripped up robots; it had bound and sliced friend and foe alike. It was the same as on any battlefield, but this was only the visible sign of destruction. There was also the unguessable number of minds that lay trapped in bodies, on the valley floor, in the hills, on the mountains, fallen between cracks and down cliff faces and gorges. Minds whose coils had been broken, leaving the thoughts trapped in darkness for the rest of the robot’s life, or worse, minds where the coil had suffered a few breaks, leaving current surging agonizingly through the twisted metal. How many robots lay in silent agony, hoping, waiting for the salvage teams to discover them, to reclaim their metal and to crush the metal of their minds, ending their life and their pain?
Kavan didn’t care. As far as Artemis was concerned, there was no mind, there was only metal.
Kavan walked to the head of the pass, saw the broken podium where Spoole must have stood, waiting for Kavan to be brought to him. It was deserted. Spoole and the rest of the Generals were long gone, the first on the trains that had loaded up and headed south as the tide of battle turned. The railway lines were littered with the metal of those robots that had not made it on board the trains; mostly raw, untempered recruits, chased down by the silver Scouts, their coils broken by one swift swipe.
Later, some of Kavan’s troops would walk the broken railway lines, the metal twisted, the sleepers and ballast wrecked by Spoole’s retreating army, and they would follow a line of dead bodies that led through the mountains to the very edge of the Artemis plain itself.
But for now, they looked around at the carnage, incongruously roofed by the fresh blue sky, sharply illuminated by the clear spring sun.
His army was taking shape, all by itself. Robots were forming ranks around him. Infantryrobots, Storm Troopers and Scouts. Even some Generals and engineers, recently defected from Spoole’s army. Did they really believe, or were they just taking the most likely route to survival?
He would find out soon enough.
He counted his troops. Nearly three thousand, he guessed, arranging themselves in squares on the floor of the pass, in tiers up the sides of the low hills to the north. Not bad. But not enough to launch an attack on Artemis City.
At least, not yet.
He raised his voice.
‘Robots of Artemis,’ he called. He paused. He heard his words being relayed back through the crowd, and he felt an electric glow of satisfaction. This was how it had been in the old days, standing in the trenches, passing on commands. This speech would take some time for the message to get through. But for all the old soldiers out there, it would be more poignant for the method in which it was delivered.
‘Robots of Artemis,’ he repeated. ‘This was our easiest fight, out here, on our territory, on the battlefield, the place we are familiar with, the place that Spoole and his City Generals have forgotten or have never visited. This battle was always going to go our way.’
He paused, hearing his words relayed out, a diminishing electronic whisper.
‘Of course it would go our way! We had the will! Our former leaders are no longer true to Nyro, they dwell too much on their own lives and comforts, to the exclusion of Nyro’s way. It is obvious that their day is past!
‘But now we face a harder struggle, for we cannot remain here long. What would you have us do? Lurk here in the mountains, preying on the folk who live here, building our strength, for the day we feel comfortable attacking Artemis City? That would be the easiest way, but it is not the Artemisian way!’
The cheer was ragged. This was where the true followers of Nyro would show themselves, thought Kavan. Those who had followed him all this time would understand the necessity to move now. It would be those who had joined his army out of convenience who would be having second thoughts.
‘And so,’ continued Kavan, ‘we march on Artemis City itself! Not in a month’s time, or even a day’s time, but now! Because that is what we must do, even if that is the dangerous choice, because we are the true Artemisians! Because we are true to Artemis, we must march to where the Generals are on their home territory. To where the soldiers will huddle safe within walls and behind trenches. We must march to where we are outnumbered.’
More cheers. Were they more or less enthusiastic? It didn’t matter.
‘But do not be too disheartened. Our numbers will grow as we march south. Some of you will slip away into the night. We will reclaim you in the end, for those robots who see the truth in what we do will be marching to join us even now, and, cowards that you are, you will see that your path returns you to us. But most of you will follow because you know what we do is right! Even though the journey will be hard, for you know that Spoole and the rest will fight us every step of the way . . .’ He paused, turned in a circle to see all of his troops. ‘But from a distance,’ he continued, ‘and half-heartedly. Because that is all that Spoole and his Generals will know and will dare. That is why we you know we will triumph, because we have the will. And because we are right!’
Somewhere behind him, back where the infantryrobots assembled, someone began to stamp their feet. Stamp, stamp, stamp; stamp, stamp, stamp. The beat spread out to fill the whole of the pass, and Kavan did something he very rarely did.
He smiled.
Spoole
‘What you should have done . . .’ began General Sandale.
‘Later,’ said Spoole, evenly.
‘I only meant to say—’
‘General,’ Spoole was aware that all the Generals in the railway coach were attending. This coach was made of the best metal and insulated with plastic. The noise of the wheels on the track outside could barely be heard, and the Generals were listening closely to what was being said. He knew what they were thinking: they were wondering is today the day we get a new leader?
‘General,’ repeated Spoole, and he lowered his voice a little further so that all present strained to hear, ‘I don’t want to hear what you only meant to say or what you were only asking. I don’t want any suggestions about what we could have done after the event.’
He stressed the word we. General Sandale’s voice was smooth.
‘I do think a thorough examination of what went wrong would be appropriate.’
‘And this shall be done, when we return to Artemis City. Although I think it obvious already what happened back there, General. Kavan is right. Artemis has lost its way. Its own soldiers obviously believe that.’
‘You’re the leader, Spoole. The state is what you made it.’
‘It’s what we made it, Sandale,’ answered Spoole. ‘Look at us all, look at this coach. Gold and
copper and plastic. This isn’t the way that Kavan will travel, I bet.’
‘A leader does not need distractions—’
‘Leaders?’ interrupted Spoole. ‘Leaders stand at the front of their troops. What’s the last battle you fought, Sandale? How long ago was it?’
Before Sandale could answer, Spoole was looking around the rest of the Generals.
‘And you Spine, and you Pont? Ossel? Wines? Chekov? At least Sandale has seen action. You younger ones have never been out in the field, have you?’
The silence in the carriage deepened.
‘I think—’ began Sandale.
‘No,’ said Spoole. ‘I don’t want to know what you think. Not now. Perhaps when we get back to Artemis City.’
‘I really think that we should talk now, Spoole.’
‘No, Sandale. As you said, I’m the leader. Unless you think otherwise? Perhaps you want to fight me?’
General Sandale gave a faint smile as he turned away from Spoole.
‘I don’t think fighting is appropriate for Generals, Spoole,’ he said.
‘I know,’ said Spoole. ‘And I can’t help thinking that’s just another example of where Artemis has lost its way.’
Karel
Karel felt as if he was in a tale from his childhood. He racked his memory: had there ever been a story of someone who travelled to a land of fire at the northern edge of Shull in order to meet a melted man?
If not, then there should have been.
The towers of the ancient city beyond were lit up by the crimson light of the setting sun. The sea was dark with pink highlights. The strange robot seemed almost black, as if made of lead.
‘My name is Karel,’ repeated Karel.
‘I thought it might be. He said you would come.’
‘Who did?’
‘Morphobia Alligator. Before he left me last night, he said he had left oil and metal and a fire for us to repair our bodies. It is waiting in a forge, just beyond the gates to the city.’
Karel turned towards the gates.
‘Then take my arm,’ he said.
He supported the other robot as they made their way up the slope of the beach.
‘How do you know Morphobia Alligator?’ asked Karel.
‘I don’t know. I was coughed up on this beach by a whale. Morphobia Alligator was waiting for me. He said I might be able to help you find your wife.’
‘Coughed up by a whale? What were you doing in a whale?’
‘I don’t know. Look at my body, how melted it is. My mind must have melted a little, too. All the memories have run together. I can see mountains and cities and the sea. I can see different lands through which I must have travelled, but I don’t know the order in which I visited them.’
‘You don’t know who you are?’
‘I can see faces of robots, but none of them can be my own, can they?’
‘Can you see a robot’s face in a mirror?’
The other robot paused, remembering.
‘Clever. But no, the memories are all jumbled; I can’t tell where one person ends and another begins. How can I tell who I am?’
‘You must know some names?’
‘Part of me is missing, Karel. Part of my mind has melted too far.’
Karel wondered if the other robot was telling the full truth. He had met robots in the past who had claimed to have lost their memories, back when he worked as an immigration officer in Turing City. Those robots had a reason to not admit the full truth of their past. What reason could this robot have for wanting to do so? It occurred to Karel that maybe he was ashamed of his past.
‘But still, I have to call you something,’ he said.
The other robot’s face didn’t move. It was melted into an expression of permanent surprise.
‘A name,’ said the robot. ‘Then how about Melt? It describes me, at least.’
‘Melt,’ said Karel. ‘And you are going to help me? Morphobia Alligator says you used to be a soldier.’
‘Yes, that feels right.’
‘Who did you fight for?’
Melt paused. This time Karel had the definite impression that the other robot knew the answer to this question.
‘I don’t know,’ said Melt, slowly.
The two robots passed under the broken arch of the city entrance, and they paused a moment, looking at the strange architecture of the ancient buildings around them.
‘Does this feel right to you?’ asked Karel, ‘that we should do what Morphobia Alligator tells us?’
‘I don’t know what feels right any more,’ said Melt, and there was a sincerity to his tone that had been lacking in his previous speech.
Karel pointed straight ahead. ‘There is a glow coming from that building. Do you think it’s the forge Morphobia Alligator mentioned?’
‘What else could it be?’
They walked towards it, and Karel felt a sudden sense of homecoming. Despite the strangeness of his surroundings, despite the distance he had travelled from his broken city, there was something about the glow of a forge that always reminded him of home. The memory of his dead son glowed for a moment, but it quickly faded, and a picture of Susan arose instead. He felt a faint satisfaction.
He was coming for her.
Well, he was beginning the journey.
The inside of the building was at once familiar and alien. The doorways were a little smaller than was comfortable, some of them so small he wondered if the robots who had once used them crawled through on all fours. A frieze was carved into the stone near the ceiling, pictures of creatures with the head, arms and chests of robots, but with the bodies of horses. Karel stared at them for a moment, wondering if the animals they depicted had once existed. His gaze was drawn back to the red glowing fire in the corner of the room. A bucket of good, hard coal stood at the side, there was a trough filled with sea water nearby. Plates of iron and copper and tin lay stacked on the floor and, on closer inspection, joy of joys, Karel found two cans of thin, clear oil.
‘Oh, to clean out my feet,’ said Kavan. He sat down on a metal stool and began to strip the panelling away from his legs. ‘Or maybe we should start with each other’s hands?’
Melt said nothing, he just remained standing by the door, watching Karel.
‘Come on, Melt, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. You go on.’
Karel rose to his feet and, electromuscles bare from the knee down, walked to Melt.
‘Come on, I’ll help you get this panelling off,’ he offered.
‘You can’t,’ said Melt. ‘It’s welded to the electromuscle.’
Karel felt a wobble in his gyros. He peered closer at Melt’s dark metal body, looking at the faint lines where the seams of the panelling had melted together.
‘What happened to you?’ he murmured.
‘I don’t remember,’ said Melt, and once again Karel had the impression that this wasn’t quite true.
‘You know,’ said Karel, ‘I used to work as an immigration officer, back in Turing City.’
‘What is that?’
‘I used to speak to people, communicate with them. See if they were suitable to join our state. I got know when people weren’t telling the full truth.’
‘Really?’ said Melt. Karel wondered for a moment, but didn’t press the point. He ran a hand down the seam in Melt’s arm, feeling the mix of metals there.
‘What are you made of?’ he asked. ‘I can feel cast iron in there, and lead, and steel. How can you walk around in that body? It must weigh so much! We should just remove your mind and start again.’ Karel glanced back towards the fire. ‘There isn’t enough metal here, but I’m sure if we head back to the battlefields we’ll find a body there we can use. Or maybe we can put it together from parts. These Artemisian bodies are pretty standard,’ and he rapped his knuckles on his chest for effect as he spoke.
‘There’s no point,’ said Melt. ‘My coil is fused to this body. I’m trapped in here.’
Karel felt as i
f his gyros had been dropped in the fire, as if they were melting, spinning out of true, jamming. He had seen death and destruction on the battlefields of Artemis. Nothing had been quite as nasty as this.
‘So as you can see,’ said Melt, ‘there is no point waiting for me. Tend to yourself. That body needs cleaning and adjustment. We will travel easier once you are repaired.’
‘No way,’ said Karel. ‘Not with you fighting against that body to make every step. Come over here to the fire. I’m good with metal, all Turing Citizens are. My wife was . . . is . . . much better than I. When we find her she will fix you up properly. In the meantime, if we are ever going to get to her, I need you working as best you can. You’re a soldier, aren’t you?’
‘I think so.’
‘Well, there you are. We’ll need to fight, I’m sure. Now sit down here on this stool while I see what I can do.’
‘I can’t sit down. I can’t bend my legs enough.’
Karel thought about that. Melt couldn’t even sit down to rest from the weight of his body. What other hardships did he suffer?
‘Okay,’ said Karel. ‘We’ll start on the legs.’
He selected a piece of metal from the pile by the fire, and started to shape it with his hands, folding and pulling it, making it into a crude knife. ‘I’ll see if I can open up these seams a little. Maybe plane away some of the metal from your body, reduce the weight a little. The least we can do is loosen you up, restore some movement to your body.’
He thrust the proto-knife into the fire. Oddly enough, he felt quite positive. For the first time in months, he was doing something useful. He was helping someone. It felt good.
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do
Sangrel was built on a rocky plug of stone thrust clear of the rolling grassy countryside that surrounded it. Centuries ago, robots had chipped away at the natural outcrop, making its walls more sheer, carving steps and passageways into the slopes leading to the summit. They had dressed stone to make bricks and flags and used it in building gates and archways and walls, making a maze of passageways and courtyards overlooked by firing steps and loupes, the better to defend the city they planned to grow on the flattened top of the hill. Sangrel was a fortress at its foundations, but something more beautiful had risen from them.
Blood and Iron Page 9