Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis

by Barrington J. Bayley

  A sudden flash of fire caught their attention. A pillar of white energy was climbing like a rising sun from behind one of the more distant hills. It lifted aloft a glinting mass of metal which accelerated rapidly until it was no more than a dot in the sky.

  Jasperodus nodded in satisfaction. He was already aware that the Emperor, missing no opportunity to invest the city with an air of impressiveness, had located the Empire’s largest spaceground close at hand too. No doubt the daily thunder of rocket engines reminded Tansiann’s citizens of how far the New Empire could reach.

  The two travellers returned to the highway, from which they had departed so as to gain their panoramic view of the city, and followed it as it descended into the estuary. An hour of walking brought them, through dusty streets lined with canopied shops, to a district near the river. Here, at the intersection of three thoroughfares, they paused and looked about them.

  The place bore the unsettled seediness of a transit area, frequented mostly by sailors, casual labourers and recently arrived immigrants. Taverns, inns and rooming houses were plentiful. One of the three streets curved round to run alongside a ribwork of concrete pillars, through which could be glimpsed the murky brown water of the Tan, much fouled by industrial waste, and bearing slow-moving black barges.

  Across the street a group of three men, flashily dressed in shirts and breeks of coloured silk, appeared to be eyeing the newcomers speculatively. Presently they crossed the street a little way ahead of the two and stood chatting together with studied indifference. As Cree and Jasperodus drew abreast one of them called out suddenly and presented himself, shaking Cree’s hand warmly while looking him confidently in the eye. ‘I can see you are a recent arrival in our town, citizen. Perhaps I can be of some assistance?’

  Cree frowned. ‘How do you know me for a stranger?’ he demanded, taken aback.

  The other laughed lightly. ‘You and your construct both have the dust of travel on you, sir. Besides, the main road from the west leads directly through here. Many migrants from that quarter land up precisely on the spot where you are now standing. Allow me to explain myself. I make it my business to direct and advise newcomers regarding accommodation and employment, whereupon I receive a small commission from certain lodging houses and business enterprises. If you seek a comfortable night’s rest and good wholesome food at moderate charge, may I recommend the Blue Boar, which you will find along that street yonder and third turning to the left. As to work, have you any immediate prospects? What are your skills?’

  ‘I had not expected to install myself with such facility,’ Cree remarked dubiously. The other laughed again and continued with his jovial chatter, mentioning nothing that would seem to suggest an ulterior motive, or any disadvantage to Inwing. While they talked thus, he and one of his companions were shifting casually about from foot to foot, until, inadvertently so it seemed, Cree was manoeuvred into presenting his back to Jasperodus.

  Suddenly Jasperodus’ eye was caught by the third member of the group, who to his surprise was beckoning him urgently from within the cover of a nearby narrow alley. Unthinkingly he stepped towards the fellow, into the opening and away from the others.

  The stranger laid a proprietary hand on his arm and spoke in a commanding hiss. ‘Follow me directly, robot, and be quick about it – quietly, now.’

  The man turned and padded rapidly off down the passage, plainly expecting Jasperodus to obey. In a trice Jasperodus had caught up with him, to seize him by the shoulder and jerk him round roughly. He thrust a fist close to his pinched face.

  ‘The next time you try to take me from my owner, your skull will encounter this.’

  The robot-stealer gaped thunderstruck at his intended victim, wide-eyed with alarm. Immediately Jasperodus released him he galloped frantically up the alley and disappeared from sight. Jasperodus returned to where Cree, all unawares, was still being engaged in genial conversation.

  ‘Cree!’ he warned in a loud voice. ‘These men are thieves!’

  The response from all parties to his words was startlement and consternation. The shysters decamped in great haste, leaving Cree standing perplexed.

  He rubbed his nose ruefully when Jasperodus described how the thieves were able to commandeer a robot by removing it momentarily from its master’s attention. ‘Afterwards it would be hard to find grounds for complaint against them,’ he explained. ‘You were careless; your robot wandered off. What is that to do with them? Most constructs would be susceptible to such a technique – it can be likened to stealing a horse. Presumably there is a market for purloined robots hereabouts, but doubtless the natives are not so easily manipulated.’

  ‘And I am instantly recognisable as a country bumpkin!’ Cree exclaimed in dismay. He looked down at himself thoughtfully. ‘It’s the cut of my garments that gives me away. One of the first things might be to obtain clothes in the prevalent fashion, and cut from the local cloth. But time for that later. I am in need of refreshment.’

  He moved towards a nearby tavern. At the entrance was a dispenser selling some kind of printed journal. Cree examined it with interest, made a small sound of approval, and placed a coin in the slot. The delivery chute ejected a folded copy.

  Within, the tavern had a rough-hewn air, which was the reason why Cree had chosen it. After a brief word with the landlord he obtained permission for Jasperodus to sit with him, and purchased a mug of sour red wine, which he swallowed with evident satisfaction and then bought another. Much cheered by the beverage, he began a perusal of the journal.

  Jasperodus meanwhile sat in silence. Their wanderings together had frequently been interspersed with Cree’s practice of reviving himself with alcohol, and such halts in their progress were now familiar to the robot. Though secretly a trifle sullen that he too could not partake of the experience, he had grown patient with the habit, looking upon it as part of their working arrangement.

  The truth was that their partnership had been of such benefit to them both as to warrant a degree of mutual tolerance. As a footloose construct Jasperodus would have faced many difficulties in journeying across the continent. The solution was simple: Cree represented him as his property.

  Jasperodus himself had proposed this arrangement. Cree at first had shown some diffidence about casting into the role of a slave, even if only for the sake of appearances, someone who recently had been his own king and master. Jasperodus had quickly put him right on that score: he felt no loss of dignity.

  On his side the robot’s physical strength and mental acuity had stood them both in good stead on numerous occasions. In addition Jasperodus had now and then allowed Cree to hire him out, helping perhaps to erect a barn, to build a bridge, or to audit the accounts of a tradesman, in return for enough money to provide food, drink, lodging or rail fares.

  While Cree was engrossed in the journal he was studying, Jasperodus casually inspected it over his shoulder. It was a news journal, containing reports of happenings in Tansiann and in other parts of the world. That in itself was cosmopolitan enough a touch to excite interest: such a thing as a news service was practically unknown elsewhere. As it was, the journal – boasting the emblazoned title ‘New Empire’ at the head of its first sheet – had the rough-finished appearance of a recent innovation. It was printed on crude, cheap paper manufactured from wood pulp and had been turned out, Jasperodus could discern, on a rotary printing press using relief type. Not as rapid or as accurate as some photochemical processes Jasperodus knew of, but no doubt efficient enough for present requirements.

  By looking askance he found he was able to read the reports without disturbing Cree. The lead story was splashed right across the front page in headlines two inches tall.

  CHARRANE CONQUERS MARS!

  News reached Tansiann yesterday that the Mars Expeditionary Force has added interplanetary territories to the New Empire. Landing on the Red Planet a month ago, the Emperor’s crack space commandos have since been fighting a successful campaign to bring this strategically impo
rtant world under the imperial writ.

  It is now little over a year since explorers first discovered that human communities still exist on Mars despite having been cut off for eight centuries from the mother planet, basing their way of life on the deep fissures and rills in the Martian surface where they have learned how to maintain a breathable atmosphere. On hearing of the Red Planet’s continued habitation the Emperor Charrane had immediately pronounced it a top priority to ‘recover the ancient Mars possessions’. The Emperor’s early triumph will go a long way towards substantiating his boast that the Empire will eventually ‘rival the glory of Tergov’.

  Not all the news from space today is good. The Moon outposts have come under fresh attack by spaceships bearing the insignia of the Borgor Alliance and have sustained what is described as ‘significant damage’. It is to be expected that the Alliance will attempt to loosen our grip on the new Martian province by striking at supply carriers and even by aiding forces of insurgency still remaining within the native population. Altogether the holding of Mars will prove one of the toughest jobs our armed forces have ever had to face. Nevertheless all sources at court are jubilant today. The Emperor is to issue a proclamation (turn to back page).

  Alongside the text was a blurred photogravure picture, admittedly stirring, of a row of spaceships – ostensibly part of the Expeditionary Force – lifting off en masse amid clouds of flame, dust, smoke and steam.

  Cree Inwing’s eyes gleamed. ‘Hah! Great stuff! That’s action indeed!’ he muttered to himself.

  He turned the pages, glancing over the lesser news and articles that filled the journal. Midway through was a half-page advertisement offering commissions in the Imperial armed forces.

  HELP DEFEND THE EMPIRE

  The New Empire is ranged about with enemies hostile to the advance of civilisation. Gentlemen of quality are needed to officer the strength necessary to our safety and growth. At present opportunities for promotion are considerable, as are the opportunities to see action under testing conditions. The newly gained Martian dominions offer a whole new world of soldiering for a man of resource. Preference will be given to men of previous military experience, but all men of good family or proven ability may be eligible to participate in the great adventure of building an empire. Provided all conditions are fulfilled a captaincy may be purchased for nine thousand imperials, a lieutenancy for seven thousand imperials.

  Cree fell to fingering his moustache and became very thoughtful. Jasperodus said nothing. On a following page was a similar advertisement in rougher terms, inviting men to join the ranks for adventure, service to the Emperor and two imperials a day. Cree merely glanced at it with a grunt.

  ‘Fellow,’ he called to one clearing tankards from the tables. ‘Bring me another mug of this wine.’

  A mood of some despondency seemed to have come over Cree. Many mugs of wine later he was fairly drunk and seemed disposed to sleep, laying his head on his arms. Jasperodus rose and approached the landlord.

  ‘You have accommodation in this place?’

  The other nodded brusquely.

  ‘My master requires a room at least until tomorrow, in which I also will be domiciled.’

  ‘If you wish.’ The landlord produced a key and motioned towards some stairs. Jasperodus aroused Cree and they were conducted to an upper room, adequate but not too clean, containing a bed, a table, a cupboard and two chairs.

  Cree flung himself on the bed and instantly was asleep. ‘The charge is half an imperial a night,’ the landlord told him, handing Jasperodus the key.

  The robot placed the key on the table. ‘If my master wakes and should ask after me, be good enough to inform him that I will return later. I have certain enquiries to make.’

  The landlord, who had been about to quit the room, looked at him with new interest. ‘Indeed? Is your owner accustomed to giving you such freedom of action?’

  ‘He is; I am entirely dependable. You need have no anxieties on my behalf.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ The landlord pursed his lips and left with a contemplative air.

  The enquiries Jasperodus sought to make were in fact of a very general nature. He merely wished to continue his reconnoitre of the city.

  After leaving the tavern he walked in the same direction as before, trying to recall the layout of the city as he had observed it from the hilltop. Soon he left the riverside area and had a choice of avenues before him. Some instinct advised him to keep to the poorer districts to begin with; and so he found himself heading deep into Tansiann’s worst slums.

  Seven-storey tenements reared on all sides, decrepit and dirty, some derelict, interspersed with waste grounds and piles of junk. Dust was a fact of life, drifting down from the crumbling buildings, hazing the air, blowing across the open spaces. And the inhabitants seemed to swarm everywhere; this was, probably, the most teeming part of Tansiann.

  Poverty was much in evidence. Jasperodus found this paradoxical. Out in the west where the tiny kingdoms and principalities boasted little wealth even the lowliest peasants were, generally speaking, comfortably off. But as he and Cree had progressed eastward towards the centre of civilisation a sort of polarisation had begun to manifest, greater riches producing pockets of poverty as if as a by-product. Here in the Imperial Capital was not only unparalleled wealth but also penury and degradation – an unlooked-for concomitant, surely.

  As he proceeded Jasperodus mulled over this phenomenon, wondering what its causes might be.

  He was surprised to note an unusual number of unattended robots on the streets hereabouts, many of them in a condition of poor repair. Jasperodus hailed one, intending to question it, but it clanked off with great haste and scrambled over a broken wall, after which it went running across a waste ground and disappeared. Several passers-by laughed jeeringly.

  Puzzled, Jasperodus continued past some tramps and drunks who had made a camp fire on a vacant lot. A little further on he came across a scene oddly reminiscent of the first. The ruined shell of a building stood separated from the street by a stretch of rubble. Half hidden by a partly tumbled wall, a group of robots appeared to have made a camp also and were sitting round in a circle.

  Jasperodus clambered over the rubble towards them. They evinced no reaction as he approached but continued to sit motionless, and he discovered them to be not functioning constructs but dead hulks, their skulls and bodies emptied of all usable parts.

  Junk. But why the careful arrangement to suggest a social gathering? … A sound caught Jasperodus’ attention. A group of half a dozen children, boys and girls aged perhaps ten to twelve, came scampering out of a defile between walls and surrounded him, tugging him back the way they had come.

  ‘Come on, come on, your wanderings are finished!’ the leader bellowed shrilly. ‘We have found you a master! Resistance is useless!’

  What? A repetition of this morning’s experience? Robots commandeered by children? With grim amusement Jasperodus allowed them to hustle him through the defile. Behind the ruined building was an empty space hidden from any surrounding streets. Here a fat man waited, bedecked in a gaudy brocaded frock-coat and a flowered shirt stained with sweat. He grinned sourly; the youngsters descended on him with whoops and shouts.

  Their leader, a skinny buck-toothed lad whose eyes seemed older than the rest of him, waved them away and led Jasperodus to the waiting buyer. ‘I told you we’d get one, Melch. Here y’are.’ He slapped Jasperodus on the torso. ‘The best robot you ever seen.’

  The buyer cast an appraising eye over Jasperodus. ‘Not bad at all,’ he admitted grudgingly. He looked boldly into the face of his prospective merchandise. ‘How long you been loose?’

  ‘Always,’ Jasperodus replied brusquely.

  ‘Hmm. He seems all right on the outside, but he probably needs fixing up in the head. Okay, I’ll give you five imperials. That’s a pretty good return for your time, eh, kids?’

  ‘Good return nuthin’!’ the boy exploded, eyes flaring. ‘I want fifty!’

&
nbsp; ‘Don’t waste my time.’ The buyer turned away.

  ‘We’ll take him to another dealer. Maybe we’ll deal him ourselves and get thousands!’

  ‘Try it if you like, kid. I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.’

  ‘We’ll keep him ourselves!’

  Jasperodus raised a hand. ‘I can settle all your arguments. The question of price is meaningless; I have not been captured and am not for sale. I followed these youngsters only out of curiosity.’

  The buyer looked at him with narrowed eyes and then chuckled. ‘A smart one, eh? That’s a good try, robot. But you’re still here.’

  ‘I am not under anyone’s command but my own. Try giving me an order and you will see.’

  The buyer did not put the proposal to the test. ‘You got a command language, huh?’ he asked, a trifle wearily.

  ‘Something of that nature,’ Jasperodus told him suavely. ‘You may take it that I am a highly sophisticated type of construct; you would find it difficult indeed to coerce me and you would be advised not to try.’

  The fat man appeared to be thinking, running his tongue round the inside of his mouth. Finally he turned to the juvenile gang leader.

  ‘Sorry, you got a dud here. Bad luck. He’s not worth all the trouble it would be breaking him in.’