Jasperodus drifted to the door, his head lowered stubbornly, a baleful glow in his red eyes. ‘What of it all?’ he said curtly. ‘Am I not entitled to reassert myself? As for you, you are going nowhere. You are a wanted man; I have placed a guard upon this house and you will remain here until further notice. This is for your own protection.’
‘Or because you fear I will inform on you?’ Inwing said acidly.
Not looking back, Jasperodus left.
A time came which Jasperodus saw as a favourable opportunity. There were no sizeable military forces within easy distance of the capital. The city guard was understrength. Most important of all, the Emperor Charrane was absent, away on an inspection tour of the Martian dominion.
Jasperodus and his helpers had been secretly preparing the revolt for months. In the middle of one sunny morning Jasperodus gave the word. A raggle-taggle army of robots, slotmen and indigenous poor suddenly gathered in the streets of Subuh and went pouring into the city. An hour later, when the city guard had been called out, contingents in other boroughs rose to enter the battle.
The rebels were armed with bullet guns, some beamers, pikes, swords and cudgels. Alongside each robot Jasperodus had placed an accompanying human so as to ensure his loyalty in the face of counteracting commands from the enemy. Otherwise organisation was fragmentary except for a small corps – the humans wearing brief uniforms of grey battle-jerkins and berets – surrounding Jasperodus.
His lieutenant was a man known as Arcturus, something of a minor leader in his own right. A product of his environment, he had a physique that was potentially powerful, but he was spindled, his features made pasty as a consequence of infantile under-nourishment. A man of rare intelligence for the Subuh, he was one of the few to have ingested the theory behind Jasperodus’ advocacy of communal land-ownership. His own ideas went further, however. He subscribed to some obscure doctrine that was not at all clear to Jasperodus, whereby everything was to be held in common and all labour centrally directed.
By mid-afternoon several parts of Tansiann were burning. Roiling smoke drifted over the city; from wherever one stood could be heard the distant sounds of clamour. As Jasperodus had anticipated, a large mass of people not privy to his plans had joined the tumult, either as a welcome diversion from frustrating normality or as a chance to loot, and the unrestrained violence of the mob was thus raging in a number of quarters. Members of the city guard, understanding what lay in store and having witnessed the fate of some of their comrades, had already taken to throwing away their uniforms.
Not all went without opposition. The middle-class and upper-class suburbs showed a surprising ability to react quickly to an emergency. Tenure, Elan and others had become efficient, armed camps which had repulsed the first ragged waves of invasion and looked like holding out for some time.
The storming of the palace took place in the evening. Here the fighting was fiercest, for while the palace had never been conceived as a citadel, the palace guard resisted strenuously and were better trained, so that four hours later only half the vast complex was in rebel hands. Just the same Jasperodus pressed the attack; he was determined that his presence should be seen and felt by the notables and staff who had thought him long gone. Finally, round about midnight, the sound of gunfire died down, and a motley mob sauntered wonderingly through intricate plazas and terraces, through apartments and halls the luxury and grandeur of which they had never known.
Together with many other prisoners Ax Oleander was captured. The unpopular vizier, found huddling in a wardrobe in his apartments, would have been lynched had not Jasperodus himself rescued him and consigned him to incarceration in the cellars. Later Jasperodus was to be much amused by a perusal of his private papers, which revealed certain treasonable contacts with the government of Borgor. Even if the Empire should fall to its long-standing enemy the oily vizier meant to survive.
The tensions of battle momentarily over, uninhibited revels began. Jasperodus climbed a tower and spent some time alone, watching the flames leap up here and there from the spreading darkness below.
The next day he was out with Arcturus and members of his corps, attempting to put some order into the chaos he had created. Most of the battalion commanders were nowhere to be found. The hastily-formed army was too busy enjoying the fruits of its partial victory to be much bothered with discipline. Nevertheless he managed to reconstitute the harried and defeated fire service, pressing extra men into duty as fire-fighters. The quicker he could repair the ravages he had wrought the easier it would be to win the confidence of the general citizenry.
About mid-morning, in the middle-class Condra district, a robot ran towards him carrying a field vid-set attached by cable and drum to a nearby public booth. It had been planned to use Tansiann’s vid-line service in this way, but up until now no one had apparently felt the need for communication. He accepted the set and found himself staring, on the tiny monochrome screen, into the crudely-made face of a low-order robot he identified, after a moment’s thought, as one by the name of Chisel.
‘What is it?’ he snapped. ‘You belong to the guard party, do you not?’
Chisel’s head moved aberratedly, as though he were suffering strain. ‘There has been an attack, sir! Men came to the house looking for Major Inwing, whom they attempted to murder.’
‘What transpired?’
The robot began to babble incoherently before Jasperodus calmed him down and extracted the story.
The would-be killers had known their business. Despite the mixed human-robot guard they had got into the house in a surprise attack and two of them had penetrated to Inwing’s room, injuring him before being killed by Rovise, captain of the guard.
Rovise had acted well. Only he, Chisel and another robot called Bootmaker by this time remained to defend their charge. He had ordered the robots to lower the unconscious Inwing through the window and carry him away from the back of the house, holding off further sallies while they did so.
‘What are Inwing’s injuries?’ Jasperodus demanded. ‘Describe.’
‘A bullet hit him in the head. I do not think his brain-case is broken. He is alive, but unconscious.’
‘Who is with him?’
Only myself and Bootmaker, who is even less intelligent than I! Tell me what to do, sir!’
Jasperodus recalled with a sudden chill that when still in Charrane’s favour he had once drawn up contingency measures to be used in case of insurgency. These measures included highly trained assassination squads to knock out traitors and rebel leaders. There was no question but that these squads were now operating, and that Cree was a target. His peccancies on the eve of his disappearance had no doubt been linked to Jasperodus’ re-emergence, which was more than enough to identify him with the revolt.
Jasperodus cursed himself. Once on the trail the assassins were sufficiently skilled as detectives not to let go – and they were utterly dedicated. It was only a matter of time before they gained their objective, unless he could help Inwing.
And the worst of it was that Chisel – as the unlucky construct himself well knew – was simply not intelligent enough to handle the situation. He and his helpmate were of an elementary type of androform robot, generally expected to act only under supervision. For instance, they had thoughtlessly fled with Inwing in a direction taking them away from the enclave, instead of into it where they could have counted on finding protection.
‘Give me orders, sir!’ Chisel pleaded urgently. ‘Rovise gave us no further instructions beyond this point, and is doubtless now dead.’
It came home forcibly to Jasperodus that it was necessary to direct Chisel in the most simplistic, most unequivocal of terms. The situation was precarious. The robots were quite capable of forgetting the real purpose of their mission, or of putting some other interpretation on it instead.
He mustered his sternest, most commanding voice. ‘You are to prevent the assassins from killing Major Inwing, using any means whatsoever that are available. That is a pr
ime directive, which must engage all your attention, permanently and without attenuation. Do you understand?’
Chisel nodded feverishly. ‘I understand. Prevent the assassins from killing Major Inwing – at whatever cost. I understand. We obey!’
‘Good. Now tell me exactly where you are, and I will be with you directly.’
But before Chisel could answer there was the sound of an explosion and the vidset screen rippled and then went blank. Jasperodus observed that the overhead lines to the booth had been blown down by a mortar bomb.
More mortar bombs came whizzing down into the street from over the rooftops. Shrapnel rattled against his torso. Hoarse shout and screams mingled with the flat, brief blasts.
The bombardment finished. The survivors picked themselves up from the roadway. Arcturus cursed, examining his arm. The firefighters had fled, abandoning their equipment and several burning houses.
Jasperodus waved his arms. ‘Take cover!’ he growled. ‘Into the buildings!’
He helped carry still-living wounded into one of the deserted houses. They laid them down in a lushly carpeted drawing-room. One began to groan in an empty, uncomprehending tone.
Arcturus turned to Jasperodus from an inspection of the injured. ‘Two of these men need immediate medical attention. What do you think’s happening?’
Jasperodus shook his head. He went to the door and peered cautiously out. He saw men in imperial uniform passing the end of the street. The troops paused, as if checking the avenue for activity, then moved on.
As soon as all seemed quiet Jasperodus took a number of men on a reconnoitre. Keeping close to the sides of buildings, they passed through streets displaying only a few bewildered citizens who quickly disappeared at the sight of an armed force.
A burly figure came staggering towards them, a bottle clasped in one hand and a machine-gun in the other. It was the commander of one of Jasperodus’ battalions.
‘Any news?’ Jasperodus demanded of the besotted rebel.
‘Imperial troops are in the city. They moved in this morning from Axlea – only forty miles away.’
‘How many?’
‘At least four thousand, I’d say. They’re moving fast. They’ll be at the palace soon.’
‘And where are your men?’
‘I don’t know. Drunk. Whoring.’
Jasperodus grunted in disgust. The man was useless. At least, he thought, he could depend on the robots and slotmen.
He hadn’t known of the presence of troops in Axlea. Perhaps they had been quartered there en route for rest or retraining. Still, the situation was not irredeemable. He could contain it – if he could rouse his shabby army out of its stupor.
But what of Inwing? Jasperodus found himself in the grip of an unaccustomed anxiety.
‘We will move towards Subuh,’ he announced, ‘and gather up what we can on the way.’
At the first vidbooth they came to he put a call through to his headquarters in the enclave and ordered a search of the surrounding district for Inwing. He also called the vidbooth exchange to inform the operators of his whereabouts and of the direction he was heading in. Possibly Chisel would try to contact him again.
Barely half an hour later this hope was rewarded. The moronic robot trembled with the duress of too much responsibility as he stared out of the vidscreen.
‘Well?’ Jasperodus snapped. ‘Where are you? How are things with Inwing?’
‘We are in the north of Subuh, sir, in Monk’s Road. We have carried him as fast and as far as we could, but it has made no difference; he is still unconscious.’
Jasperodus became exasperated, both at Chisel’s peculiar reasoning and at his actions. If he and Bootmaker had been carrying Inwing openly through the streets all this time it was a miracle the assassins had not struck.
And as luck would have it a segment of the relief force from Axlea now lay between Jasperodus and North Subuh; the imperial troops had been attempting to carve up the city, cutting off borough from borough. Also, in heedlessly heading north Chisel had put the assassins between himself and South Subuh, thus depriving himself of possible help from that quarter.
‘Inwing is with you now?’ Jasperodus queried.
‘He lies in an alley, with Bootmaker standing over him.’
‘And you are armed?’
Chisel displayed a machine-gun. ‘I have this, and Bootmaker is similarly equipped.’
Jasperodus paused, then spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘Listen to me carefully, Chisel. This is the most important thing that has ever happened to you. An assassination squad is out to murder Major Inwing, and you alone are in a position to prevent it. Have you got that?’
‘Yes, sir, but I am scarcely capable of initiative! I do not have the brain to plan strategy!’
Jasperodus waved aside the robot’s complaints. ‘Even robots can make efforts. You must try your utmost; use what mental capacity you do have and think out ways to frustrate the killers. If you try even you, Chisel, can think. I am depending on you to do this thing.’
Chisel’s head trembled even more and his distress and exertion were almost palpable. ‘I am trying my hardest. We will not fail. I swear it! You can depend on it!’
‘Good. Now the first thing you must do is to get Inwing under cover. He is far too vulnerable out in the open. Find a room in a stout building. A small room with no windows and only one door, so that it can easily be defended against intruders. As soon as you have installed yourselves and Inwing into this room call me again through the central exchange.’
Chisel took in the instructions with great attentiveness. Suddenly he stiffened. ‘A man I recognise has just passed the booth. He is one of the assassins!’
‘Do not panic,’ Jasperodus warned. ‘If he is moving away from the location of Inwing, let him pass. If he is moving towards the alley …’
‘He moves towards the alley!’
‘Do not let him near Major Inwing!’ urged Jasperodus, agonised. ‘Kill him!’
Chisel turned and stumbled from the booth. Jasperodus’ screen went blank as the equipment switched itself off with his departure. He waited for some minutes but Chisel did not return.
He wondered if he had done enough to make the preservation of Inwing Chisel’s overriding goal.
Then he turned his attention to getting through the cordon that separated him from North Subuh.
‘This is no way to save the city,’ Arcturus grumbled. ‘What are we supposed to be doing?’
Jasperodus deliberated. He had gathered about a hundred men and they huddled in an archway hidden under a bridge carrying a railway track that led westward out of the city. They listened to the crackle of gunfire in the middle distance. Two men tinkered with a motorised vehicle captured by ambushing an imperial patrol.
‘I have a private mission,’ he confessed. ‘Possibly I could accomplish it alone. If you prefer you may take charge of operations until I return and conduct them as you see fit.’
Somewhat displeased by his attitude, but asking no questions, Arcturus agreed. ‘We will proceed towards the palace and try to organise matters in a somewhat more coordinated fashion,’ he said. Just then the robot carrying the field vidset again appeared, having attached it to a booth in the next street, and Chisel once more faced Jasperodus.
This time there was no head tremor and the cretinous robot’s voice was full of confidence. ‘Success, Jasperodus! Our goal is achieved! It is impossible for the assassins to kill Major Inwing now!’
A feeling of relief flooded Jasperodus. ‘You carried out my instructions?’
‘Indeed yes. A room with no window and only one door. Bootmaker is there this very minute. Many difficult decisions were involved in finding the room! Breaking down doors, arguing with tenants – furthermore, by vigorous application of intense mentation all conditions stipulated by you have been fulfilled …’
‘What is the address?’ Jasperodus interrupted.
‘The house is at the north end of Monk Street, second from
the corner with Abbey Street, and is set back from the road. We are on the third floor, at the rear.’
‘Then I am barely a mile and a half from you, I believe. I hope to be there within minutes.’ He handed back the set to the carrying robot.
Wondering if he would be able to find a doctor for Cree in the vicinity, he set out in the motor vehicle, which had a raised armoured skirt for protection from gunfire. Otherwise he carried only his long-tubed beamer. The vehicle was steam-driven, with a small fast-heat fire-box fuelled by pellets made from a woody composite. He worked a lever, pumping in pellets, then steamed up the engine. The vehicle rolled out from under the archway, careened round the corner and down the road to the main avenue separating the boroughs.
The imperial troops had set up firing points on all the main intersections and on many minor ones, thus establishing an effective cross-fire. Jasperodus’ advantage was that they did not always immediately recognise him for a robot, and so tended not to bring into use their beamers, which alone could destroy him. He swept at speed through the streets between him and North Subuh. Bullets drummed against the skirting and occasionally pinged off his body, but he clung to the steering wheel and managed to keep his seat. Once a beam hit the side of the truck, burned its way through the skirting and hissed behind his back, but it did not touch him. Eventually he realised that the firing had stopped; he was through the cordon and in Subuh.
The house was as Chisel had described it. The line of tenements was broken just there and the building stood alone, set back from the street. Otherwise it had the same unkempt appearance; the stonework was grimy and cracked, many of the windows were broken. The front door had been broken down – by Chisel and Bootmaker, presumably. Cautiously Jasperodus entered a darkened hallway and mounted narrow stairs. Surprisingly, the robots had chosen well. The house offered good defensive positions, with its sharp twists and turns and close passages.
On the third floor he found a door at the end of a short passage, facing the back of the house. He hammered on it.
Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis Page 21