The remaining documents were quickly disposed of and taken away by the clerks. Charrane turned again to Jasperodus. ‘Now, what were we talking about?’
‘The current state of the Empire, sire. I was urging a withdrawal from Mars.’
Ax Oleander spoke in a murmuring voice. ‘Have a care, you iron hulk. You are but one step from the junkyard.’
Charrane looked from one to the other, his eyes crafty. Then he uttered a humourless laugh.
‘Hold your rancour, Ax. I am aware that since the plan was mine, no one has yet had the nerve to tell me it was a miscalculation.’ Leisurely he ascended to the throne, then beckoned Jasperodus closer. ‘Your outspokenness pleases me, robot. It is plain that you are a machine of unusual qualities, and I have great need of talent.’ He shrugged contemptuously. ‘Half the men in my service have less wit than a Class One automatic road-mender. So you may consider yourself appropriated to my staff.’
Jasperodus became inwardly exultant. He was delighted by Charrane’s obvious friendliness towards him. ‘And what will my duties be, sire?’
‘It seems you have an interest in strategy – we will attach you to the planning staff, as an assistant to see how you go.’
‘This is swift promotion indeed, sire,’ Jasperodus reflected.
Charrane’s lip curled. ‘For once you have your machine status to thank. A man would not walk into my entourage so easily – but a machine, after all, is something to be applied wherever appropriate. Besides, I have found robots particularly useful in the planning sphere. They attend unremittingly to the task in hand. All too often the efforts of men are attenuated by distraction or self-interest.’ He leaned towards Jasperodus. ‘But mind, entertain no such treacheries as you practised upon the King of Gordona.’
‘Nothing is further from my mind,’ Jasperodus disavowed. ‘Theft, of whatever variety, is the crudest of achievements. I see that clearly now. My desire is to construct, to help build, not to destroy.’
‘And what of your other ambition?’ Charrane asked softly, as if teasing him. ‘The attainment of consciousness?’
‘It seems I must forgo that also,’ Jasperodus answered in a hollow voice. ‘Clearly it is impossible. Yet, by my deeds, I may still prove myself the equal of any man.’
‘I wish you luck,’ Charrane said lightly. He appeared to consider Jasperodus’ existential dilemma something of a joke. ‘Go now. Oleander here will see to your induction.’
Oleander turned to Jasperodus without enthusiasm. ‘Take yourself through the main door and present yourself to the housemen,’ he instructed offhandedly. ‘They will take care of you.’
Making a farewell bow, Jasperodus took his leave. While marching the length of the basilica he tuned up his hearing. He heard Ax Oleander saying in a low tone to Charrane: ‘The Borgor Alliance has infiltrated robot spies into the palace before, sire …’
But he ignored this attempt at back-stabbing. He sensed the pulse of the city around him, and beyond that the beating heart of the growing Empire. In no way had he tried to deceive the Emperor, and every word he had spoken represented his true thoughts. He felt that the real adventure of his life was about to begin.
10
On his third sitting as a full member of the Military Council, seven years later, Jasperodus had to stare down a certain amount of opposition. As the first robot to occupy so august a station he had, naturally, been obliged to contend with a degree of resentment from the beginning. He had usually countered that with a mixture of charm and bluntness.
Today, however, it was bruited abroad that on the retirement of Marshal Hazzany the Emperor intended to appoint Jasperodus Marshal-in-Chief of the entire Imperial Forces, which would rank him second only to the Supreme Commander – namely the Emperor – himself. It was understandable that for some of the officers present this was almost too much. Not only was Jasperodus their natural inferior – not, indeed, even a citizen – but he was a newcomer to the Military Council and almost a newcomer to the strategic team. The marshals who sat with Jasperodus, several of them venerable, had been soldiers all their lives. Men had to wait patiently for advancement, but Jasperodus, unerringly and with cool aplomb, stepped into every opening.
Unembarrassed by his successes, Jasperodus had continued to produce innovation after innovation, scheme after scheme. All had to admit that he had transformed the situation – though, at the time, many had argued against the measures he had introduced to do it. He retained control of the strategic planning staff – an office it had taken him two years to gain and which, even if the promotion to Marshal-in-Chief should be forthcoming, he had no intention of relinquishing – and, in addition to all this, he was now one of the Emperor’s close circle of viziers.
On this occasion the Emperor did not attend the council meeting, as he sometimes did, because he had already discussed its business with Jasperodus. Afterwards Jasperodus would acquaint him with the Council’s view of the matter.
‘What is the reason for this chopping and changing of policy?’ grumbled Marshal Grixod. ‘Only a few years ago you urged our withdrawal from Mars.’ He threw up his hands. ‘What a business! The loss of face was awful. God knows how the Emperor ever agreed to it. And now you want us to go back to Mars.’
‘I have never said that we should not add Mars to the Empire,’ Jasperodus responded, remembering with what pain Charrane had been forced to see the irrevocability of his reasoning. ‘Only that the time was wrong. Today our situation has improved. The Empire controls one half of Worldmass. The Borgor Alliance has been dealt a blow which has put it on the defensive. Furthermore, the new invasion scheme devised by the planning staff carries crucial advantages over the previous method. The time has therefore come for the decisive conquest of Mars, and once taken, the red planet will be our springboard for the occupation of the moons of Jupiter.’
The invasion plan, like much else lately, was Jasperodus’ own idea. Instead of launching a series of space squadrons in the normal manner, involving all kinds of organisational and logistical problems, he proposed to build three huge ‘invasion drums’ which would orbit themselves around the target planet and be self-sustaining for anything up to five years. The plan called for a force of seventy thousand men, all of whom would be transported aboard the shuttles in one go. Thus the campaign could not be impeded by attacks on supply ships sent from Earth, and Jasperodus believed that, backed up by these orbiting forts, the troops on the ground (more accurately in the Martian rills and fissures) would prove themselves invincible. If work began now, the shuttles could be sent on their way in about four years.
Marshal Davidon raised the usual objection to orbital fortresses: their vulnerability to missile attack. Jasperodus answered that to deal with this the shuttles would orbit at a distance of three thousand miles. It was unlikely that Borgor would have supplied the Martians with missiles large enough or accurate enough to reach that far, but if they had then the long range gave the shuttles adequate time to defend themselves.
Marshal Grixod, who had once been the fiercest opponent of withdrawal from Mars, had now come to stick doggedly to the opposite view earlier enunciated, in milder form, by Jasperodus: that the Empire should concentrate on conquering Earth and not expend itself in costly interplanetary adventures. ‘This is going to be very expensive in men and resources,’ he said. ‘Are we sure we can afford it?’
Jasperodus acknowledged the point with an inclining of his head. ‘One of the features of this plan that most recommended it to me is its relative cost-effectiveness,’ he told the Marshal. ‘It will work out much cheaper than the campaign of eight years ago. Initially the cost is high – building and outfitting the shuttles, equipping seventy thousand men, who for that time will be denied to the Imperial Forces here on Earth – but once that has been borne there will be very little further expenditure. The figure of seventy thousand is intentionally an excessive one, designed to overwhelm the Martian settlements quickly and with a minimum of bloodshed. Once the planet has
been subdued something like half the force could be returned home, and thereafter the Martian province will pay for itself.’
The arguing continued. The marshals pored over his plan, finding fault after fault. Jasperodus doggedly dealt with each point on its merits. In more congenial circumstances they would have been delighted with the scheme – he was well aware of that – and it was only their resistance to his leadership that made them obstinate now. If his past experience of men was anything to go by, that resistance would in due course pass.
Finally he forced the issue. ‘Well, gentlemen, what is our verdict? The Emperor would know the opinion of the Council before making a decision himself. I might add that he strongly desires to see us established as an interplanetary power before he dies. The New Empire is considered to be the successor to the Rule of Tergov, perhaps even a continuation of it, and in that respect the annexation of Mars is seen as the recovery of ancient possessions rather than as a fresh conquest.’
There was silence. Eventually Marshal Grixod nodded his head grudgingly. ‘The plan is good. I have to admit it.’
One by one they all consented. The talk turned to other matters, chiefly the question of whether the Borgor Alliance would be in a position to pose new threats in the near future. Marshal-in-Chief Hazzany, who up to now had said little, spoke of the nuclear weapons that had existed in the time of the Old Empire. ‘If we had a few of those,’ he rumbled, ‘we could make short work of them in any conditions.’
The theme was an old one of Hazzany’s. Always he was yearning for the stupendous explosives produced by the expert nuclear science of a previous age but not understood by present-day engineers, who saw radioactivity only as a means for making power units. To Hazzany nuclear bombs, shells and grenades were a tactician’s dream. The possibility of actually manufacturing such weapons seemed remote and was not seriously considered. Old documents revealed that they depended on a certain isotope extracted from the metal uranium, either for the explosive itself or as a trigger for even more devastating nuclear processes. So voracious had the Rule of Tergov been in its use of this uranium that there were now no significant natural deposits left – and fortunately so, in Jasperodus’ eyes. He had no wish to see the Earth ravaged by these reputedly annihilatory devices, and he fervently hoped that no deposits of uranium would be found on Mars.
A short while later the meeting came to an end. Jasperodus took his leave and sauntered from the military wing of the palace, making for the inner sections. All military personnel saluted him smartly as he went by. Others, even civilians of high rank, eyed him with respect.
He made a striking figure in these luxurious surroundings, even more so now that he wore an item of apparel: a medium-length cloak which flowed down his back and set off the angular lines and bronze-black hue of his body. The cloak had arisen from the need to wear insignia in the absence of a uniform. It was divided down the centre by a purple line; on one side was the blazon of a vizier, on the other the badge of rank of a marshal of the Imperial Forces.
Crossing a terrace, Jasperodus entered the group of smaller buildings surrounding the basilica. There, in one of the several large lounges, he came upon the Emperor in conversation with Ax Oleander. Charrane looked up at the sound of Jasperodus’ arrival.
‘Ah, Jasperodus! The fellow I was waiting to see. Join us, and we will come to our business presently.’ He turned back to Oleander. ‘Pardon my interruption. Please continue.’
Oleander shot an unwelcome look at Jasperodus and shifted perceptibly closer to the Emperor. The man had never made any attempt to improve relations with Jasperodus. Jealous of his influence, he had continued to insinuate that the robot was secretly under orders from the Borgor Alliance – a suggestion which could hardly stand up against Jasperodus’ record. For his part Jasperodus had sought no retaliation for these provocations, though several times he had been amused and fascinated to see Oleander, in a room filled with people, adopt the classic stance of a monarch’s toady, whispering information into Charrane’s ear.
At the present moment the vizier was criticising the economic arrangements within the Empire.
‘In one vital respect we are particularly primitive in comparison with the old world, sire,’ he was saying. ‘I have been studying how Tergov achieved its prodigious level of production – I am referring, of course, to the “factory system”, as it was called. It seems to me that we must adopt this system ourselves. Our present arrangements are haphazard and old-fashioned.’
Charrane’s reply showed that he too had given this question some thought. He mused for a moment, then snorted softly. ‘Mass production! Have you studied also how Tergov came to fall? The reasons were complex, no doubt, but among them was that the level of production was so prodigious, in comparison with the amount of labour required for it, that the majority of the population found no place in the manufacturing process. An idle populace, Ax, is no substitute for a happy and industrious citizenry, no matter how much it may be pampered by the state. That is why I am no advocate of this “mass production”. I am content to see the main wealth of the Empire produced by individual artisans, assisted when they can afford it by a robot or two, perhaps.’
Oleander chuckled fawningly. ‘Statecraft, my lord. You are a wizard at statecraft! But think! The nations of the Borgor Alliance have already begun building their factory complexes – Borgor herself is particularly advanced in it. The advantages to be gained are overwhelming. Production lines may be operated in the first instance by unskilled labour, and finally can be made completely automatic. A commodity which an artisan would make at the rate of one a week can be turned out by one of these factories every two minutes! Think, at least, of the military potential this opens up!’
‘Well, what do you think, Jasperodus?’ Charrane asked.
‘I concur with your own outlook, sire. A society’s strength lies in its people, not in its machinery. A city of independent men is worth a continent of slaves. There must be some large-scale enterprises, of course – foundries, certain heavy industry and so forth – but the free artisan, plus the peasant-proprietor farmer, is by far the healthiest base for the economic pyramid. Besides, who would not prize the produce of a craftsman of Tansiann above the rubbish from a Borgor factory?’
‘Pah!’ muttered Oleander. ‘A pair of boots is a pair of boots. What does it matter whether it’s made to custom or turned out by the million? Look at it this way, sire. On an assembly line the manufacturing process is broken down into simple steps which can be performed by untrained hands or by crude automatic devices. No time is wasted. An artisan, however, needs skills that take years to acquire – and often he is assisted by a robot that itself has taken months to manufacture, that is needlessly self-directed and has abilities entirely redundant to the task in hand. What a ludicrous superfluity of talent! Mark my words, if we do not match her industrial output Borgor will bury us in cheap goods within a few years!’
‘I do not think so,’ Jasperodus retorted. ‘I think Borgor’s factories will bring her social unrest and she will crumble within, as Tergov did.’
He paused, and judged the moment ripe to broach a related subject that had entered his mind from time to time, but which he had not dared to mention.
‘Sire, it is heartening to hear you assert the right of every citizen to earn his living by his own efforts. Yet it is noticeable that there is poverty in the Empire, markedly so here in Tansiann. Many lack their proper dignity, while faced on all sides by unbounded wealth which they cannot touch. When I first arrived here I was puzzled by this disparity, for there is no extreme poverty in the lands where I first saw the light of day. After deliberation, I believe I now understand it.’
‘Yet one more brilliant idea from our construct friend,’ Charrane said caustically, giving Oleander a sarcastic glance. ‘Speak on.’
‘My lord, I believe the root cause of poverty lies in the private ownership of land.’
Both Charrane and Oleander frowned, the latter with a trace
of indignation. ‘How so?’ Charrane asked, suddenly serious.
‘In Gordona, and in many other small kingdoms in the West of Worldmass, it is a recognised custom that upon attaining the age of responsibility a man has the right to occupy a piece of land where he may live and work, whether as a farmer, a craftsman or a trader. This is regarded as his due. Where land is free and any man who so wishes may acquire a plot for himself there need be no question of poverty, since he will always be able to provide for himself. Very often he will need little else by way of starting capital – sometimes only a few simple tools. Within the Empire, however, all land is in private hands and it is by no means a simple matter to acquire even a few square feet of it. In Tansiann, where land values leap up year by year, it has now become virtually impossible for any but the affluent to come into possession of property. Unable to acquire sites on which to set themselves up in business, increasing numbers of men are forced to offer themselves for employment by others more fortunate, generally for low wages, or failing that to become dependent on the state. Thus I see it as a social law that the independence of men requires free land.
‘The same principle is the cause of slums – is it not an irrefutable fact that slum dwellers invariably occupy land owned by someone else? The tenants of these properties are in no position to improve them, of course, and the landlords have no incentive to do so – slums, sire, are profitable.’
Oleander smiled smugly. ‘The population grows. Land is in short supply.’
‘But there is no shortage of land. The city contains countless thousands of derelict acres that are being held out of use. Meanwhile the employee class grows and may eventually outnumber that of independent men. These conditions, my lord, are already sowing the seeds of the factory system which you decry. It will come by itself. Soon we may have a class of propertyless factory labourers.’ The more he thought about this the more important it seemed to him to be.
Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis Page 16